Title: Spirit's Fall
Series: The Blood Toll Saga
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood/manga
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairings: one-sided Edward Elric/Original Female Character
Warnings: Ed's potty mouth, Vampire!Edward Elric, blood, canon typical violence, questionable morality, character death
Summary: Born too early, Ed and Al don't manage to find a way to return Al to his body before his soul leaves the armour for good. Ed will do anything to save his brother, including making a deal with the closest thing to the devil he believes in. Can he keep his humanity long enough to save his brother, or are they both doomed to the separate hells that Ed's deal has trapped them within?

A/N: All the nods to Mere's glorious Second Chances, New Places (on AO3) for the idea of a band of Xerxesian survivors roaming the desert.

-0-
Chapter Two
-0-

"Alchemist," the white figure said, tone bland.

Ed didn't have time to figure out what that meant, before something – someone – tackled him from behind and a hauntingly familiar voice sobbed, "Brother!"

"Al," Ed recognised, let his crutch and bag both fall to the ground as he twisted to wrap his arm around his brother and press his face against a bare, too-skeletal shoulder. And he hated how thin Al was, how he shook like it was taking everything he had to keep standing. But, too, it was a relief. He was alive, had a body, and Ed could hug him. That alone was worth any cost the white freak might require in return for this visit.

"Human transmutation," said white figure announced, just a hint of irritation in its voice, "is not a revolving door to be used at your leisure."

Ed had no idea what a revolving door was – though he could make a couple guesses, and wondered why anyone would want to use such an oddity – but he did gather enough from the line to shoot back, "Shouldn't have mucked up the price for it, then."

"Brother," Al hissed, disapproving.

Ed huffed and squeezed him once, then pulled away enough to turn and look at where the figure was holding one of Hohenheim's books. "I can't figure out shit if I can't read his notes," he pointed out.

"It's not my job to hand you answers, Alchemist," the figure returned flatly, as Ed's stolen fingers flipped through the pages far too carelessly. "As I've already told you."

"And I don't want to waste another year wandering aimlessly around, hoping I get lucky," Ed shot back, and Al's hands on his arm and shoulder squeezed in silent warning. But Al didn't know the cost Ed was paying, had no idea about the blood already staining his hand; there was no way he could understand how much Ed could not keep on the way he had been. He desperately needed to be able to sit down and research in peace, without having to watch his back every second, wary of being attacked; not for the sake of his own safety, but for the life of his attacker. "Either you give me a hint, or I revolve the door until you get sick of me. Or whatever."

If the figure actually had a face, Ed was nearly certain it would be giving him the most disgusted look he'd ever seen. (Which was saying something; Ed'd been on the receiving end of many a disgusted look.) "You try my patience, Alchemist," it warned.

Ed couldn't stop from tightening his arm around Al's waist a bit, pulling him just that littlest bit closer, and he grit his teeth against any response he might make, reminded that there would always be a price he wasn't willing to pay: The figure had said it would return Al exactly as he was, but there was always the possibility that Ed could push it too far, and none of this would be worth it if Al returned to him as broken as Ed already was; one of them needed to make it through this mess whole.

The figure was absolutely still for a long moment, mouth in a long, thin line. Ed was near certain he was being stared at – weighed and measured – and he did his best to keep from fidgeting or letting out the spray of words knocking against the backs of his teeth.

And then the figure dropped the book back into Ed's bag and held out the strap with its hand of white absence. "In the desert, there are ruins. You'll find answers there, eventually."

"Thank you," Al said, before Ed could make a smart remark, and nudged Ed until he let go to take the bag.

The figure turned away from them, offering a bland, "Five minutes, Alchemists."

And Ed was left alone with his brother.

"I'm sorry," Al whispered.

"What do you have to be sorry about?" Ed demanded, turning to face his brother. "I'm the one who insisted we try to bring Mum back."

"But I agreed," Al snapped, and it was so unspeakably good to see him glaring, having actual facial expressions. "We made that choice together, Edward."

Ed grunted, because he knew Al'd had his doubts at the time, but Ed had just rushed over any attempts to mention them. But this wasn't the time to rehash that old argument. "Whatever," he muttered, before shaking his head. "Still, you getting stuck here, that's my fault, making deals with–" He stopped himself with a cough, wasn't certain it would be wise to insult the figure where it could hear.

See? He could totally learn how to think before speaking. (Mostly.)

"I'm sorry I can't be with you," Al insisted, head bowed. "I'm sitting here, safe, while you're out there, suffering–"

Ed forced out a laugh, hoped it didn't sound nearly as much a lie to his brother as it did to him. "I'm hardly suffering, Al, not like you are. I mean, you're the one stuck here with that one as company, and nothing to do all day."

Al's hand spasmed around Ed's arm and he looked up, his gaze so utterly heartbroken. "I know, Brother. I can watch you."

Watch him?

It was like someone had just dumped a bucketful of ice water over Ed's head, because Al knew. He'd watched Ed revert to animalistic violence, blood coating his mouth and chin and draining down his throat. Seen him throw up meagre meals that he didn't need because the taste of blood on his tongue turned his stomach, or because real food was too abhorrent when he was starved for ever more blood. He'd seen Ed curled up in the dark of the thickest woods, sobbing at the monster he'd become.

Al knew exactly how much blood coated the hand Ed had used to hug him.

Ed tore himself away from his brother, stumbling on too-shaky legs, and croaked, "Send me back."

"Brother!" Al called, and Ed could see it now, that he wasn't the only one who was breaking under the weight of this toll. But he couldn't–

"EDWARD!" Al screamed as the familiar black hands dragged Ed away.

The last thing Ed saw before the stone doors slammed shut, was the white freak's wide, satisfied grin.

-July 1807-

Ed opened his eyes to the patch of woods he'd stopped to draw his array in, lying across the lines he'd scratched in the dirt. Golden light was just beginning to filter through the branches, and Ed closed his eyes against it, against everything.

Al knew. He knew exactly what Ed had become.

And then, with no warning, the hunger hit Ed all at once, and he couldn't stop a gasp, eyes flying open and too-sharp teeth catching the inside of his mouth, sparking a hint of pain, but no blood.

He felt like he'd just been killed, but a vaguely panicked look around him showed neither sign of human life, nor any spilt blood. There was a squirrel, though, holding still to the side of a trunk and staring at Ed like it was well aware its life was forfeit.

Ed had lunged across the empty space between them and had a hand around the squirrel before he could realise he was going to do so, and then blood bloomed across his tongue.

He drained the squirrel dry, then dropped the body to the ground and reached out to lean against the trunk of the tree. His hunger was eased just enough that he could think, and he knew it was temporary, that he would need a bloody bear if he wanted to get this under control for more than a handful of minutes, but–

For the moment, he could think, could step back and consider his next move.

He hadn't been anywhere near so bad before he'd activated the array. Even discounting the animal blood he'd had before going into that village, he'd been at an easily tolerable level, only really an issue because he'd needed to be able to keep food down for the sake of appearances. Which meant the cost of human transmutation, for him, was losing whatever blood he had.

He was so freaking glad he'd opted to do this as far from human civilisation as he could get in one night. Shit.

Well, he was going to need more animals to be trusted around humans so he could buy supplies for the desert. More to the point, he very probably needed human blood to survive the desert, since animals would be scarce out there.

So, he needed to kill more animals – brilliant – and then maybe find a criminal of some sort? Someone he could almost stomach killing for his own accursed survival.

It was for Al. All of this was for Al. And it didn't–

Fuck.

It mattered, okay. Al knew, and it mattered, and he probably hated Ed, hated what he'd stooped to, but Ed couldn't give up, not now, not as close as he was. He needed to get his brother out, free them both from this, this...curse. And maybe then – when the day came that Ed didn't have to manage his own blood levels for the safety of everyone around him – he could stop, could sit down and face Al's judgement, his disgust. Maybe then, he could try to make up for his crimes, instead of just continuing to drench his hand in the blood of others.

Ed took a deep breath, hated that he no longer choked on the taste/scent of blood, and pushed away from the tree trunk, wiping away the blood and fur on his face as he looked around for his crutch.

There was no sign of it.

"The hell?" Ed muttered, stepping carefully toward the array scratched into the ground. His bag of books was there, but there was no sign of crutch. Just like last time.

Ed frowned as he carefully made his way over to the bag most of his things were in, bracing his hand against the nearest trunk so he could crouch down without losing his balance in the process. Once he was steady, he pulled open the bag and took out the knife he kept in there, used it to carve away enough of the bark on the trunk next to him that he had space to draw an array, then took out some chalk to do so.

One quick transmutation later, Ed had a new crutch, and he slipped the chalk he'd used to draw the array away in the compartment for it, then collected all his things – switching the books back to his main bag – and the squirrel carcass to hopefully either trade, or use as bait for larger prey.

He took a moment to consider his array, then shook his head and turned away; it was unlikely anyone would find it before nature reclaimed it, and even less likely that the person who found it would know what it was for, given how rare alchemy knowledge was in the area. So he left it, picked a direction he was nearly certain was opposite the village Hohenheim had died in, and started walking.

-July-December 1807-

He'd discovered, while asking around, that the place the white freak had meant was most likely the ruins of Xerxes, which had belonged to an advanced country that was destroyed in one night about three hundred years before, leaving only one survivor, the man known as the Philosopher of the East, who had brought the art of alchemy to the just-founded country of Amestris. Ed had actually liked the story as a child, had always been the one to ask Mum to tell it again – Al had preferred stories about princes saving the day – but it had never seemed real to him, had never been somewhere he thought he might go.

And yet.

It had taken him almost two months to supply up, find someone to give him useful directions, and make it out to the desert ruins. But, still, he managed it in one piece, and it had left him with a sense of accomplishment that felt all-too-rare, any more.

That said, the ruins were a depressing place, too quiet and empty, and Ed had felt like he was trespassing as he moved carefully through the broken stones, trying not to remember childhood stories and wonder about the truth behind them. (Because he knew, now, what death was, how it felt to slip into that cold embrace, too often without a chance to defend himself.) But it wasn't like he'd had any other choices for his quest, so he'd found himself a building near the centre of the city that wasn't too bad off, turned it into something off a home base, then went searching for whatever resources he could.

He'd had no luck with finding any books or scrolls or whatever they'd used to write things on back then, but he did find a couple of interior walls with painted-on writing preserved, and painstakingly copied it all over to study in his ruined home.

But, it seemed there wasn't a single thing to help him translate Hohenheim's books – save the proof that the strange scribbles he'd used were the same as the Xerxesians had, which was vaguely disturbing for a number of reasons – and Ed clung a bit desperately to the white figure's comment about finding a translation 'eventually'.

That eventually came fairly close to the winter solstice – Ed had a terrible time keeping up with the date, especially as he didn't need to sleep any more, but even he could notice the days getting shorter – when he woke from a nap to the sounds of human voices and rocks shifting.

He took a deep breath, considered his blood hunger for a moment – he'd taken a couple nasty spills over the course of his stay, but none so bad that he'd had to resort to hunting down lizards to keep functioning – then grabbed his crutch and carefully made his way out of his home, trying to sneak, in case they were bandits or something.

As luck would have it, they weren't bandits. In fact, Ed took one look at the small field of golden blond hair – he'd never seen that particular shade outside his own family – and stopped to stare.

It only took a minute for someone to spot Ed, and then he found himself faced with an unfamiliar language and a veritable sea of impossibly golden eyes. He shook his head, swallowed against the block in his throat, and managed a rusty, "I don't understand."

There was some uncertain whispering among the people – hells, his people; he'd never have thought to see another person outside his brother with his colouring, and yet, here stood at least two dozen – before one young man, who looked to be maybe five years older than Ed, stepped forward and said, "It is Amestrisan you have words?"

Ed was a bit thrown by the mangled sentence, but he nodded as soon as he'd sorted out what the other meant. "Yeah. Yes. Amestrisan."

The one who had spoken to him spoke briefly with some of the older men around him for a moment, then stepped closer to Ed and touched a hand to his own chest, giving a short, polite little bow as he said, "Behnam, son of Mas'ud and Shokufeh." Then he straightened and pointed at Ed, expression expectant.

Ed swallowed and replied, "I'm Ed, son of Trisha Elric and Van Hohenheim."

The watching crowd burst into sound at his father's name, and Ed couldn't quite keep from taking a step back.

Behnam shot him a quick apologetic look, then turned to say something into the crowd. An older man and woman – both with hair going white – quickly called out something in their language, and the crowd silenced at the sound of their voices. They both stepped forward to join Behnam, and he looked a little uncertain as he looked back at Ed again. "Mahdi," he said of the man, and, "Sanaz," of the woman, then added, "Masters?"

Ed frowned at that, uncertain. "Chiefs? Or leaders?" he guessed, because they didn't look like a band of servants watching over two people.

Behnam broke out into a smile, though, and he nodded. "Leaders!" He rattled something off in his own language, and the woman – Sanaz – responded, mentioning Hohenheim's name. Behnam nodded again, then turned back to Ed. "Van Hohenheim you father?"

Ed nodded. "Yes. He died a little over a year ago; I'm trying to translate some of his journals."

Behnam shook his head, frowning. "Too many. Words only some." He held up his finger and thumb to show the sort of 'very little' sign than Ed had seen many times in Amestris.

He frowned for a moment, trying to think how to explain, then rebalanced against his crutch and held up a finger. "Wait," he said, and Behnam nodded, so he went to collect one of Hohenheim's journals. When he brought it back to Behnam and the two leaders, he held it out, saying, "Hohenheim's. I can't read it. Uhm... No words?"

It was the man – Mahdi – who took the journal, while Behnam spoke in their language. He opened it and flipped through a couple pages, then closed it with a frown and replied to Behnam.

Behnam nodded and accepted the journal when Mahdi held it out to him, then turned back to Ed and said, "You have need our words."

"Yes," Ed agreed.

Behnam pointed a finger between the two of them a few times, saying, "Trade words?"

Ed couldn't quite stop a relieved laugh, and he shot Behnam a grateful smile as he agreed, "I'd like that very much."

Behnam grinned back, as wide and excited as Ed had ever seen, and he suspected he wasn't the only one who desperately wanted a teacher for another language.

-0-

Between drawing pictures in the sand, and Behnam's broken Amestrisan, Ed learnt the group were desert nomads, and they always spent the weeks around both the winter and summer solstices in the ruins. Ed was invited to join them for their celebrations, which he gladly accepted, though he did beg off the first night to go hunt what lizards he could, grimacing as he drank their blood, but it was better than either refusing, or throwing up whatever food they shared with him.

Over the course of the two weeks the tribe stayed in the ruins, Ed managed to pick up enough of their language – Xerxesian, Behnam had told him when he'd asked, answering a number of other questions Ed hadn't quite figured out how to ask – to be able to have an extremely basic conversation with anyone in the camp. Which was a relief, yet also infuriating, because he felt like he should know more than that, should be able to finally start translating Hohenheim's journals, even though learning their speech was nothing at all like learning their alphabet. (Especially since, Behnam warned him when Ed asked at one point, their alphabet didn't exactly match up with Amestris'.)

Some days, Ed really hated his father.

When it came time for the tribe to move out, Behnam came to him with Sanaz and – with some minor translation hiccups – she asked if he wanted to come with them.

Ed stared down at his lap for a moment, debating. On one hand, he desperately needed the continued teaching to be able to read Hohenheim's journals. On the other hand, he was a potential danger, should he get too badly hurt.

He sighed and shook his head at himself, because the choice wasn't hard; Al would always be more important, and he needed Xerxesian to free his brother. "I am...grateful," Ed said in his broken Xerxesian, nodding. "Yes."

Sanaz offered him a quick smile, then said something to Behnam that was a little too quick for Ed to follow, before leaving them in Ed's ruined home.

"Sanaz say, you have coup– No. One day to prepare. Leave with second sun."

So, in other words, Ed had about thirty-six hours to pack his things and find some more reptiles to, hopefully, tide him over for a few days.

He smiled and nodded in response, showing he understood, and Behnam smiled before leaving Ed to his packing.

Ed sighed as he looked around his home for the past couple months; he'd miss it.

-1808-

Hiding his curse turned out to be remarkably easy when travelling with a large group, both because they were too big for the handful of bandits that made their homes in the desert to make a go at, and Ed was ordered to ride in a cart while they were moving, on account of his disability. Which, well, he was long resigned to getting around on his peg leg and crutch, but it was nice to not have to walk on it all the time. Even better, he could practise their language with whomever was close enough to chat with, without worrying about losing his breath trying to keep up with their easier steps.

The tribe travelled south after the winter solstice, skirting close to Aerugo's border and doing some trade with the villages there. They ended at the coast, where they spent the two weeks around the spring equinox, and Ed got his first taste of a beach, which proved to be quite the experience.

While at the beach, he'd also started to learn the Xerxesian alphabet, since it had been a little too bumpy to try it on the road, and everyone else was usually too tired once they'd struck camp for the night to help him any. He didn't start working on any of Hohenheim's journals then, however, far too busy just trying to learn the difference between the curling letters.

On their way back up toward the Xerxes ruins, they skirted the Xingan border, again doing trade with villages along their route. According to Behnam, who Ed had asked, after the summer solstice, they'd head up north, spending the autumn equinox at a small campground they had staked out just over the border from Drachma, and within about an hour's walk of a few smaller villages.

Behnam also explained that they'd sometimes pick up others interested in travel, who would then stay with them for a season or a year, rather like Ed was doing. Xingan was something of a second language for most of the Xerxesians, and a number also understood Aerugonian or Drachman, for use in trading, or because a native speaker had travelled with them for a while. But they'd never had anything really to do with Amestris, which was why only Behnam had known any Amestrisan. (He'd apparently picked it up from an Aerugonian who'd travelled with the tribe for a season.)

It was an interesting sort of life, Ed thought. Far more structured than his own travels over the past almost-decade had been, which felt at once both constraining and freeing.

When they returned to Xerxes for the summer solstice, Ed finally started on his father's journals. It was slow going, especially as his first choice seemed to be more about alchemical theories which, while certainly interesting, didn't really help Ed on his quest. They did, however, serve as an interesting talking point with the Xerxesian tribe; none of them were alchemists, though he was told that all of their ancestors had had the ability, meaning they almost certainly did as well.

When Ed asked why they didn't practise the art, Banu – the eldest of the tribe's leaders' children, and the closest they had to an historian – explained, "You know Xerxes was destroyed in a single night?"

Ed nodded. "So the tale goes."

She smiled. "The last records we have said it was to be a day of celebrations, for the king had discovered a way to make himself immortal through alchemy."

Ed scoffed, because he knew something of immortality. "That was a bad life choice," he commented.

"So it was," Banu agreed, her smile sad. "We have no explanation for how it happened, only that those who had been travelling returned to find naught but corpses on the streets, fallen in place as though suddenly struck with death."

Ed frowned at that, rubbing at his chin. "Alchemy can do that?"

"So it seems." Banu sighed. "It's in memory of our people and the harm alchemy can do, that we don't practise it."

Ed swallowed and rubbed his fingers together, staring down at his hand, at the chalk he could almost see there, though it had been a couple months since he'd actually used any alchemy; it simply hadn't been necessary while moving with the tribe. "Should I stop?"

Banu touched his shoulder, and he looked up to find her smiling at him, a little sad, but honest. "That's your choice, in the end. For all that you share our blood, you also share the blood of Amestris, and their history is a different one. We do not begrudge you the gift you've studied. And, too..." She trailed off for a moment and glanced around them, as though checking there wasn't anyone near enough to overhear. "I think," she continued quietly, "that there is sense in learning alchemy, if only to guard against it. I think, sometimes, that we fear alchemy so much for what it has done, we don't acknowledge what it may yet do."

Ed considered that for a moment, could see the sense in learning at least enough alchemy to know when it was about to put you in danger. "It sounds like, then," he said, "you could use a teacher."

So Ed had started to split his time between translating Hohenheim's journals and helping Behnam with Amestrisan a bit – he hadn't been nearly as quick a study as Ed, but he'd also only had Ed to practise with, while Ed could find others to talk to – and teaching Banu and her niece, Minoo – who was training to take on Banu's mantle as historian – about alchemy.

It kept him busy on the long days of travel and the the long nights – when the tribe slept and Ed couldn't for fear of nightmares – for which he was grateful. And he hated himself, some days, because finding the information he needed to free Al had turned into less of a priority. But, then, he also thought his brother would rather he have good relations with the Xerxesians, so they would be more likely to welcome Al in as family once all was said and done.

When they returned to Xerxes for the winter solstice, marking a year since Ed had joined the nomads, he pulled Banu aside and said, "When I first introduced myself, Hohenheim's name got a big reaction."

Banu nodded and motioned that they should both sit. "You've told me of your Xerxesian who survived the tragedy and taught Amestris alchemy."

Ed frowned and nodded, leaning forward a bit and wrapping his arm around his right leg. "Sure. The Philosopher of the East."

"They also have stories of a similar man in Xing, and they call him the Philosopher of the West."

Ed frowned at that. "Two men survived?" he guessed.

"So it seems," Banu agreed, her expression troubled. "I don't know if his name survives in Xing, any longer, but our histories have that the Philosopher of the West's name was Van Hohenheim."

Ed's breath caught and he felt his eyes going wide as connections started to form:

The Xerxesian king had been looking for a way to obtain immortality.

Hohenheim had, by many reports, been immortal. At least to a point.

Ed's own immortality required a sort of life to keep going: Human blood. (Animal blood worked in the short term, but human blood seemed to be the only thing that could cure his hunger.)

The entire city of Xerxes had died in one night, falling where they'd been standing, as though someone had simply ripped their souls out of their bodies. (Like what had happened to Al when his time in the armour had been up.)

So it followed, that Van Hohenheim had achieved immortality by killing all of the people of Xerxes.

"I think I am going to be sick," Ed whispered, rubbing at his mouth and trying to ignore the ghost-taste of blood on his tongue.

Banu cleared her throat. "I'm sure it's simply a name handed down through the centuries. I mean, it's been three hundred years; if anyone would have gained immortality that night, it would have been King Xerxes."

Ed forced a smile that ached and agreed, "Immortality is probably impossible, anyway, or every alchemist would be doing it."

"Exactly!" Banu agreed, and they turned to lighter topics, like her filling Ed in on the parts of the celebrations he'd missed out on last year because of the language barrier.

That night, though, after the camp had turned in for the night, Ed crept out of range of the night watch as sneakily as he could. Once alone, he looked up at the stars and snarled, "You bastard. They were your people! How could you do that to them?! How the hell could you sacrifice that many people? And for what?! Immortality?" He scoffed and looked down at his own hand, could almost see the shine of blood dripping off the ends of his fingers. "I hope it was worth it," he added quietly, feeling suddenly tired. Too old, too worn, too broken.

He laughed, then, and the sound cracked and broke against the stone around him. "Hells, I'm exactly like him, aren't I?" That was...disheartening.

Well, at least Ed had one thing up on his father: He hadn't killed an entire country for immortality.

-February-March 1809-

En route to the coast again, Ed finally cracked open the journal that explained the downfall of Xerxes from Hohenheim's perspective:

His father had been born a slave, which had been disturbing to read, while also resulting in a surge of vindictive pleasure for Ed; after what his father had done, it seemed a fitting start for him.

His master, an accomplished alchemist and advisor to King Xerxes, had used his blood one day to create an intelligence, which he kept in a glass flask. The intelligence – which Hohenheim referred to as 'the Dwarf in the Flask, Homunculus', which was both intriguing and disturbing, because Ed had never heard of a successful attempt at creating a homunculus before – was the one to give Hohenheim his name, as well as teach him to read and write and do arithmetic. He'd also taught Hohenheim alchemy, and that last had bought Hohenheim his freedom.

According to Hohenheim, it was the Dwarf in the Flask to whom King Xerxes had turned when he'd wanted to become immortal. At the Dwarf in the Flask's direction, he'd had a large circle dug, then entire settlements wiped out at strategic points around the circle, soaking the land with blood.

Ed'd had to stop for a couple days after reading that, because he knew all too well, any more, the power of blood, and he didn't need it spelt out to understand that an array was being created. An array that would steal the souls from an entire country's population overnight.

And so it turned out to be, but it hadn't been Hohenheim with aspirations toward immortality, as Ed had once assumed. Rather, it had been the Dwarf in the Flask, who had also created a body for himself in Hohenheim's image.

Hohenheim had fled to the east, and been taken in by Xingans. In return for their kindness, he'd stayed and revolutionised their alchemy, until it became all too obvious he wasn't ageing. Then he'd gone travelling.

He'd known about the Xerxesian nomads, apparently, and had written this chronicle of events specifically to one day pass on to them, so they could understand the truth of their own history. Except he'd always been too afraid to approach them, so he'd kept his distance and just kept writing, because it had become familiar.

In time, during his travels, he'd heard about Amestris' Philosopher of the West, and had asked around to learn more about him, afraid it was the Dwarf in the Flask – a fear Ed had begun to share, sickened by how much he'd once so loved hearing the stories of the being.

In one of the villages he'd snooped around at, he'd met Ed's mum, and she'd doggedly followed him through three more villages, until he'd agreed to a single date, which had turned into–

Ed skipped a lot of that, making a face the whole while.

When he got to the part about his own birth, though, he had to shove the book back in his bag and ignore it for a few days, because he–

Fuck. Who knew believing yourself a monster – believing your sins would wear off on anyone too innocent that you accidentally touched – was genetic?

He did eventually make himself go back to the journal, reminding himself this was for Al, and it still hurt, a bit, because Hohenheim spared himself no kindness in describing his failures as a father: Too terrified to touch Ed, too afraid he'd drop and break him when Mum hadn't given him a choice, in turns terrified and awed when Ed's eyes had turned from blue to Xerxesian-gold, how desperately he'd wanted to be a good father, because Ed-the-baby had looked at him with so much trust. And when Ed-the-baby's first word was 'dada', Hohenheim had started wondering about ways to become mortal.

And that...that hurt. That Ed had been the one who, all unknowing, had given his father the push to leave and, eventually, commit suicide in the name of protecting others.

At least it hadn't been right away, he supposed, because Hohenheim went on to write about struggling the same way with Al, and stepping in a couple times because Ed had apparently been a massive brat. (He could almost hear Al's sarcastic, 'What a surprise, Brother.')

But he had left, and the two pages of regrets about not being able to say goodbye, about crying so much he'd ended up becoming dehydrated, made Ed want to punch something. Hohenheim, probably, if only because he'd been holding on to the memory of that cold back for so long, used it to stay angry through the loneliest nights, and to discover his father hadn't been giving him the cold shoulder, but suffering from a broken heart, was just...

Ed'd had to put the journal away again for a while, vacillating between heartbreak and rage, because he didn't need to feel bad for his father. He'd wanted to stay angry at him for forever, because then maybe he could bear the weight of whatever duty the man had left unfinished.

After a couple of days, Banu traded with her niece, who Ed had been riding in the cart with, and asked, "You've had such a storm cloud over your head these past few days, I keep expecting a sandstorm to chase us the rest of the way to the coast."

Ed scoffed, because that was ridiculous and not at all how nature worked.

Banu sighed and reached over to rap a knuckle against his forehead. "It'll never get better if you hold it inside to fester."

"Nothing says letting it out will help, either," Ed retorted.

Banu shot him an unimpressed look.

Ed sighed and drooped back against the wagon bench a bit. "I have always thought Hohenheim hated us, my brother and me. All I can remember of him is him turning his back on us and leaving. But, in his journal..."

"He loved you?" Banu guessed.

Ed hunched down in his seat a bit and nodded. "Turned his back so we would not know he was crying. He did not want to leave, I guess."

"I've never been a parent," Banu offered, "but I have watched enough others lose children to this life, either because the desert killed them, or they wished to settle down in stillness, and the parents always show such heartbreak, it hurts to watch; just because he was the one to do the leaving, doesn't make it any less true that it would hurt."

Ed considered that for a moment, before letting out an irritated huff and muttering, "I do not want to forgive him."

"So don't," Banu returned, like it was the simplest thing ever. "Just because you know why someone acted, doesn't mean you need to forgive them for the action itself."

Oh. That...actually made sense. Just because Hohenheim had hurt to leave, didn't mean that Ed had to forgive him for leaving in the first place. And Hohenheim claiming that Ed, himself, had been the inspiration behind his leaving to find a way to die, didn't in any way absolve him of the choice to put his own mortality before raising his sons.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Banu smiled and patted his leg. "Just helping with the storm cloud problem."

Ed snorted and twisted to get his bag out of the back, determined to find the duty his father had left unfinished before he gave up reading the bloody thing again.

Which, well, that turned out to be a bit of a failure, because the journal ended before Hohenheim made mention of any duties or quests he might have been on. Other than, you know, trying to find a way to use up the souls inside of himself and die. And avoiding any high-profile notice, in case the Dwarf in the Flask was looking for him; the last thing he'd wanted was to chance the other finding out he'd made a family and then try using them against him.

Disgusted, Ed tossed the journal back into his bag and pulled out another one of Hohenheim's alchemy journals, this one focussing on Xingan alchemy, which was plenty intriguing enough to make him forget all about the still-unknown duty.

-September 1809-

Despite his disability, Ed did his best to pull his own weight whenever possible. He and the tribe leaders, Mahdi and Sanaz, had butted heads more than a couple of times, in the beginning, about how much he would be allowed to do – the language barrier hadn't helped, especially since Ed had a bad habit of losing his temper when someone suggested he was too small or too young to do something – but they'd eventually settled on a handful of tasks that the two leaders felt okay letting Ed do, and he tried not to get too annoyed by having people around who actually worried about his safety.

One of the tasks he was allowed to help out with, was gathering materials or foraging for food whenever they stopped for more than a night – so, holidays and trading stops. It was kind of tedious work, especially when their surroundings were more desert than woods, but it gave him something to do to stretch his legs a bit, and he felt a little better about them sharing their food and travelling accommodations with him.

Gathering wood and wild food while they were stopped in the mountains for the autumn equinox was actually quite a bit more challenging than anywhere else, for Ed, because of his crappy balance. He'd actually considered taking the disabled track and sitting those expeditions out, but his sense of equivalence wouldn't let him, so he just watched his step and moved as slowly as he could, ignoring the jeering from the children who were ordered out because the adults were tired of them being under foot.

It was one such trip, Ed keeping a sharp eye out for berries within easy reach for him, while also trying to watch his steps, and lagging behind, when he heard a bear roaring ahead of him, in the general direction that the younger members of the tribe had wandered off in five or ten minutes before.

Ed had overheard plenty of lectures from the older members of the tribe on the dangers of various animals they chanced coming across, so he expected the kids knew how to handle a bear, assuming they were even close enough to it for it to be a concern, but still. It was a bear, and it made him nervous to think of the tribe's children walking the woods on their own with one so close.

Ed grimaced a bit as he debated, but then he heard a second roar, followed by a human scream, and he quickly unhooked his gathering basket from his crutch, leaving it to spill across the ground as he moved as quickly as he could in the direction of the sounds.

The twins, Ghoncheh and Zhaleh, passed him before he made it far, both of their eyes wide and terrified. "Ed!" Zhaleh called, slowing as they came within speaking range, while her sister kept running.

"Get back to camp!" Ed ordered in return, and she didn't argue, just pelted past him, and he hoped at least one of them had sense enough to grab a couple of the more capable members of the tribe; immortal or no, Ed wasn't certain even he could handle an enraged bear, and he wasn't much interested in letting the Xerxesians know about his curse, anyway.

He found the bear before the other children, raging at where one tree had fallen between two trees that were close enough together to catch it with lower branches and form a small shelter. Too small for the bear, who was probably about twice as tall as Ed, but just about the right size for the other three children, the gold of their eyes and hair just bright enough to be seen despite the shadows.

That said, it looked rather like the bear wouldn't take too long to either make itself an opening, or drop the fallen tree on the heads of the children, and Ed spotted a few bright red splatters of blood, including one inside the entrance of their shelter – because spotting blood was freakishly easy for him, any more – but he couldn't see any wounds on the bear. Not that he could see the whole bear, but still.

They desperately needed a distraction so they could get back to camp, and Ed had no idea when reinforcements would come, which meant it was up to him. At least suicidal life choices were a tradition of his?

Ed let out a whistle and threw his crutch at the bear, since it would only get in his way while trying to lead it away from the children. "Oiy! Easy prey, right here!"

"Ed, no!" the eldest of the three, Shahin, called.

It was too late, though, because the bear was already turning, snarling in Ed's direction.

Ed just flashed his best troublemaker's smile, then turned and ran as best he could into the trees, going at an angle to the camp, so the others could make it back safely, but reinforcements shouldn't be too long in coming.

Someone shouted after him, but their voice was lost under the sounds of the bear following him, catching up way too quickly for Ed's comfort. But, then, running away had never been part of his repertoire, so he grabbed for a branch that was going mostly parallel to him as he passed it, raising his legs off the ground as much as he could and letting his remaining momentum swing him around the tree's trunk.

The bear raced past him as Ed hit the dirt, and he didn't give himself time to feel the shock to his bones, just started sketching an array in the dirt with his finger, then quickly activated it and used the resulting spear to help himself stand.

He just barely got the spear up to block the bear's first swipe, lost the tip to the follow-up swipe, and grimaced and ducked forward, jamming the pole into the bear's belly.

The bear roared, took another swipe at Ed and connected with the side of his head.

Pain exploded in Ed's head, and he stumbled back a step, caught himself with his broken spear, and looked up through his one good eye as he licked the blood off his lips. "Ow," he complained flatly, the pain already starting to fade as his curse kicked in.

The bear snarled in response and took another swipe at him, which Ed ducked, blinking a bit as vision returned to his other eye. (That would never not be weird.)

The bear managed to catch him against the scarred remains of his right shoulder with its next swipe, and Ed lost his balance and tumbled down the slight incline a bit, losing his pole in the process.

He hurriedly drew another array and summoned a second spear as soon as he stopped his tumble, but ended up having to cut the transmutation short to dodge another swipe. Still, he had a new spear, even if it was a little short, so he ducked low and ran at the bear, sharp stone point forward, and connected solidly with the bear's belly, grimacing as claws raked against his back.

He shoved down on the end of the spear, the bear roaring above him, pushing it down into the dirt hard enough to get stuck, then tried to roll back out of the way. He tripped a bit, ended up tumbling backward instead, but he still managed to get out of range of the bear's claws, so whatever.

He stopped to breathe for a moment, watching as the bear raged between wanting to kill him, and the fact that the spear in its belly was keeping it from going forward.

Just as he was reaching down to draw another array, summon up a weapon more suited for killing a bear, it let out another roar for no discernible reason, then slumped forward over Ed's spear. A couple of spears were sticking out of its back, far more permanent affairs than the desperate attempts Ed had been transmuting.

He let his shoulders slump with relief and reached up to run his hand over his face, only to touch slightly tacky blood and freeze.

Shit. How the hell was he supposed to explain not being wounded? And how much had he lost? Enough that the hunger was starting to get distracting, now the adrenaline was wearing off.

"Ed?" Akbar, Shahin's father, called. Not quite panicked, like he maybe hadn't caught sight of Ed yet.

He tried to scramble to his feet, get away before anyone saw him, but then Akbar rounded the dead bear, and Ed saw his eyes go wide before he shouted, "Ed!" Panicked, afraid.

"Stay away!" Ed insisted, finally managed to get his peg leg under him and shoved with his left leg so he could stand.

A couple of other men who usually went out with the hunting party rounded the bear, and Ed could see shock, then concern flash across their faces, even as Akbar held up his hands. "We need to get your wounds looked at, Ed. No one here's going to hurt you; the bear's dead."

Ed shook his head, drawing a complete blank on any arguments that would help, and turned to run further into the trees; he needed to hunt down some animals, drink enough that he could think again, come up with some sort of solution to this.

Something let out a cracking noise, almost seeming to come from beneath him, and Ed had just about enough time to be confused, before his peg leg gave out under him and he tumbled to the ground. The too-familiar taste of blood bloomed across his tongue, and he suspected he'd cut his tongue or the inside of his lip on his lengthened canines.

He twisted and looked back at his peg leg, couldn't keep in a hopeless moan when he saw it was snapped in half; the bear had probably swiped it at one point, since he'd never had it break on him because of running before.

"Ed," Akbar said again, approaching slowly, "it's okay."

Ed's eyes caught on Akbar's throat, the spot where he knew a vein pulsed just under the skin, and bared his teeth as much at himself, as he did in a warning for Akbar to get away.

Akbar froze, his eyes going wide with what looked like fear, and someone let out a curse, while someone else breathed, "Daeva," which was the Xerxesian word for creatures very like the demons found in most of the Amestrisan religions Ed knew of.

Ed took his chance and fled, moving in an ungainly cross between crawling and limping, but it was the best he could do with his broken peg leg, and he needed to get away, to protect the Xerxesians from himself.

-0-

Once his hunger was sated enough that Ed could think straight again, he sat down and cursed himself, because that had turned into such a complete and utter screw-up on his part. At least he'd managed to keep from hurting anyone – the day's single saving grace – and he recognised that he hadn't had a lot of options when it came to saving the children from the bear, but still.

He was going to have to leave the Xerxesians. Go back to travelling on his own, having to watch for bandits on the road, killing whatever poor fool decided to try killing him for his rather useless possessions.

Well, he could leave Hohenheim's one journal with them, the one he'd always meant to give them. He very much doubted that was his father's forgotten duty, but at least then the Xerxesians would understand a bit better what had really happened to the home of their ancestors; they were owed that much, at least, for taking Ed in for almost two years.

He'd have to wait until dark, sneak back into the camp to collect his things when most of them were abed. He was plenty familiar with the habits of the night watch, as rarely as he chanced more than a brief nap, for fear of nightmares, so it shouldn't be too hard for him to sneak in and out again. And if they really did think he'd been... What? Possessed by a demon?

Whatever.

At any rate, it was extremely unlikely that they would expect him to return for his things. With luck, they wouldn't have moved them out of his tent yet, but, if they had, Ed was familiar enough with the camp, he knew where his things were most likely to end up, so it still wouldn't be hard to get everything and get out with no one the wiser.

As for where he would go...

Well, he could travel in Drachma for a bit, he supposed. He only knew a handful of their language, but it wasn't like he needed to go into towns or speak with people, or anything, since he hardly needed any of the amenities most travellers required – food, drink, a bed. Eventually make his way back to Amestris, maybe head back to the burned remains of his and Al's house, see if he couldn't somehow find answers about his supposed 'duty' there.

He would manage, as always, would survive alone, once again. The Xerxesian tribe was far better without the danger he was hanging over their heads, anyway, and it was pretty clear he wasn't going to find the solution to his and Al's curse here, so he might as well move on.

It was for the best. For all of them.

Ed covered his face with his hand and tried to pretend the wetness on his cheeks was just blood.

-0-

As Ed had expected, it hadn't been hard to slip into the camp unnoticed, and since his little one-person tent was still up, he went there first.

It didn't look like any of his things had been touched, and Ed couldn't quite silence a relieved breath, because he hadn't really been looking forward to hunting his few belongings down. Most of it was still packed, even, because he'd got in the habit long before joining the tribe, of only unpacking what he absolutely needed when he stopped for the night.

He quickly packed up the last of his things, then sat down on the floor with a piece of blank paper ripped out of one of Hohenheim's journals, and the journal explaining the man's history, intent on writing at least some sort of note, though he wasn't really certain what to say.

(He understood why Hohenheim had always avoided this tribe, honestly; a part of him so desperately wanted to stay with them, despite everything.)

He wrote, 'I'm sorry.' But then frowned, because that wasn't really a good way to start a letter, was it? So he moved his pencil to cross it out, before stopping himself, because maybe it wasn't a good way to start a letter, but it was the most important part. Because he was sorry. Sorry he had to leave, that they'd found out at all, that he'd maybe scared some of them, that he'd...

Ed closed his eyes and swallowed, forced a smile onto his face, because then he could convince himself it hurt less:

He was sorry he'd made any of them care for a monster.

"And here I thought," Behnam's voice said from behind Ed, "that it's against a daeva's nature to apologise."

Ed froze, couldn't think anything other than, 'Oh, fuck.'

A pair of legs moved around him, stopping in front of him and resolving themselves into Behnam as the man crouched down in front of him. "Hello, Ed."

Ed swallowed and let his forced smile fall. "Behnam," he whispered, at a loss for anything constructive to say.

Behnam considered him for a silent moment, then glanced toward where Ed's packed bag was so innocently sitting. "Didn't think it was in their nature to run away, either. More about hurting people, the daevas."

"I'm not–!" Ed started before stopping himself and shaking his head, looking down at the letter he'd been in the process of writing. "I told you: Daevas don't exist. They're just excuses people bandy about to excuse their actions when they do something horrible." Because they had discussed religion at one point, when Ed'd had to ask for translations of some of the terms the others used, and Behnam had had to resort to stories so Ed could equate the words to the closest Amestrisan concept.

"Ah," Behnam murmured, a faint hint of amusement in his voice, "there's the Ed I know so well. And, look, no fangs." He looked past Ed, toward the entrance to his tent.

Swallowing in trepidation, Ed twisted to look over his shoulder, and found the two clan leaders – Sanaz and Mahdi – standing just inside his tent. The flap was being held open by someone outside, and Ed was near certain he saw the point of one of the hunting party's spears in the small space between the two elders. He swallowed again, struggling with a wretched lump in his throat, and quietly said, "If you've come to scare me off, there's no need; I only came for my things."

Sanaz frowned and folded her hands together in front of herself, clearly disapproving of some part of what Ed'd said, but it was Mahdi who replied, "How cruel do you think us, that we would scare off one of our own without just cause?"

Ed couldn't hold back a laugh, and it broke from his throat like too many pieces of sharp-edged glass, shattering to the ground between them. " 'Just cause'?" Ed repeated, couldn't stop from spitting the words, hated that his only defence, once again, was an offence. "And what is that, I wonder? It differs so much from village to village."

"We are not Amestrisan," Mahdi snapped back, his disgust for the country of Ed's childhood and her people all too obvious in the way he said the word. "We do not judge without the facts."

Ed's face twisted with a parody of a smile without his say-so. "Oh, but you have the facts, do you not? I am a cripple who took on and survived a bear twice my size. Bit covered in blood, but not a scratch on me. And then, right! Fangs."

"I see no fangs," Mahdi shot back without missing a beat.

Ed curled his lips up in a snarl, but he had no control over when his canines lengthened, so the effect was rather diminished.

Sanaz placed a hand on Mahdi's arm when he opened his mouth to reply, and it snapped shut with an audible 'click' of teeth hitting together. Then Sanaz stepped forward and slightly to the side, crouching down where Ed didn't have to twist quite so awkwardly to face her. "You're afraid," she said quietly, and Ed couldn't keep from flinching back slightly, hated that that confirmed her statement. "That is what Akbar told us, that you were afraid, and I see it again, now, that you are afraid to stay. You want us to curse you? To cast you out?"

Ed swallowed, had to look away from the concern and caring he saw in her eyes.

"There are those facts, yes, that are full of so much fear, because there has always been something none of us can understand about you. Some dark secret that always makes you smile so wretched a smile when someone asks how you lost your limbs, and yet you never once have said. Or that you're so often up with a candle in your tent all night, and yet never look a bit tired. Or how you sometimes forget to eat or drink, and don't seem to notice the lack, even in the terrible heat of the desert.

"But there is, also," Sanaz continued, "those facts of goodness, which so outnumber our questions. Your insistence that you must be given a task to help, to do your part. That you have been so willing to teach your native language, to any who ask about it. That you have shared alchemy with Banu and Minoo and any other with interest, always giving them warnings, before teaching them something new, as though you fear most for their safety. And, this afternoon, that you saved Shahin, Azar, and Pari, without fear for what might become you."

A hand brushed gently against Ed's cheek, and he turned back to meet Sanaz's gaze, so impossibly kind. "Will you explain to me, please, why you are so certain we should cast you out?"

Ed wanted to say no, to just run away, because he didn't want to see that kindness turned away from him. But...didn't he owe them this much? Didn't they have the right to know what sort of monster they'd been sheltering for the past twenty months?

He tightened his hand around his pencil and looked down at the journal and the paper in his lap – couldn't face her or Behnam, sitting in front of him – as he admitted, "I'm cursed. Immortality. Except there's a price: Any blood I lose, I have to replace, by drinking it from another living being. And I can't–" His voice caught and he squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to take a deep breath and continue, "I can't control myself, when I'm really low. I just...attack. I'm not safe."

Ed fell quiet, felt rather like he was awaiting a blow, knew he'd deserve it, after admitting he'd been putting them in danger for over a year.

Except, it wasn't a blow that came. Instead, arms came around him, and he found himself being hugged tight as Sanaz whispered, "Ed, my child," in such a broken voice.

There was something trapped in Ed's mouth, a sound clamouring to be set free, and he tried to bite it back, but it was stopping him from breathing. He parted his lips just enough to gasp in air, but the sound slipped out in the process, forming into a sob that made his eyes feel far too wet, and he knew, if he opened them, that either tears would start to fall, or this would turn out to be the absolute cruellest dream his subconscious had yet devised. So he kept them squeezed tight, let go of his pencil and reached up to grab Sanaz's arm, wasn't sure if he was checking to see it was real, or just holding on because he couldn't–

He was a monster. Cursed to murder without any control, and someone was hugging him. Someone who knew he was a monster. Who didn't–

Ed stiffened, couldn't stop his eyes from opening wide as it occurred to him: Al had known. Two years ago, he'd already known everything Ed had done, and he'd still hugged him. Had stood there, holding on to Ed, even though he'd been shaking with the effort. He didn't–

Al hadn't hated him. Had even apologised because Ed was being forced to stain his hand, while Al could only watch. 'Safe', he'd said, because no one could touch him, in that place, while Ed–

Ed died, over and over again. It had never mattered to Al that Ed'd been forced to kill, had it? He'd only cared that Ed – just like before, when Al'd been in the armour, freaking out over every little wound Ed got, because Al couldn't bleed any more – was being hurt. Again and again and again. And there was nothing Al could do.

Fuck, he was an idiot, wasn't he?

"You are, a bit," Behnam said in Amestrisan, which caught Ed's attention mostly because he only rarely heard it. When he shot the man what he hoped was a confused frown – he felt off-kilter, wasn't completely certain he trusted his facial expressions, especially since his face was wet because his eyes hadn't stayed closed, the traitors – Behnam said, "An idiot."

'An idi–'

Oh. Shit. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Translation," Mahdi said flatly, his voice far closer than the entrance to Ed's tent.

Ed twisted to look, being careful not to dislodge the arm Sanaz still had around his shoulders, and found Mahdi standing just a little behind him on the opposite side from his wife.

"Ed said he's an idiot," Behnam offered, and Ed couldn't stop a grimace, reached up to wipe at his face in hopes it would hide the expression. Whether it worked or not, he couldn't say, but Behnam did add, "I don't think you intended to let that slip out, however."

Ed couldn't quite stop a snort, and figured that was answer enough.

"You rather are a fool, to think we would cast you out," Sanaz commented.

Ed turned to stare at her. "What's that supposed to mean? It's obvious why I can't continue to stay here; I'm a danger to everyone! And do not start citing that I led the bear away!" he added as she opened her mouth, didn't quite care that he was trampling right over one of the unspoken rules of the tribe. "What I do when I'm thinking straight doesn't change the fact that I can't control myself sometimes!"

He tried to shrug her arm off, but her grip tightened around his shoulder enough to make it clear she wouldn't be dissuaded, even as she, quite calmly, replied, "I don't think that's true."

Ed opened his mouth to tell her...he wasn't actually certain what his response was going to be, but it would almost certainly be idiotically rude, so it really was for the best that Mahdi snapped, "You will be quiet, Ed."

Ed's mouth snapped shut and he scowled down at his lap.

Sanaz sighed and shook him a little bit. "We have heard the story from the others, and it didn't sound as though you had no control. Rather, that you attempted first to warn them away, then scare them away. And when neither worked, you were the one to flee, despite a broken leg." Her free hand reached down, into Ed view, and tapped a finger against the top of his peg leg, which was extended diagonally out in front of him, the closest he could get it to a cross-legged position.

Ed frowned, thinking back to that moment out in the woods. He'd definitely felt starved for blood, but he couldn't say exactly how starved. Enough that he'd struggled to come up with responses to the hunting party, and he'd messed up the array to repair his leg at least four times.

He didn't really suffer the worst level of starvation – unable to control himself as he ripped out the throat of the person nearest him – unless he was on the road and someone killed him. Or when he'd just come back from that other world, when he'd gone after that squirrel. He didn't really know enough to say how close he'd been that afternoon.

But, when he thought about it – put aside the familiar horror, the self-hatred – honestly... Fighting that bear, as many hits as he'd taken – the back and right side of his shirt had been nearly soaked through with blood, not to mention the mess his hair had been – he'd lost at least as much blood as having his throat slit on the road, and yet...

What was the difference? What decided if he went mad with hunger and attacked the nearest living thing?

Did he have more control over his curse than he'd thought?

Mahdi let out a grunt as he knelt next to Ed. "Whether or not you pose a danger, I cannot say," he commented, and Ed glanced up at him, even as Sanaz scoffed. Mahdi shot his wife a brief irritated look, then focussed on Ed, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "But it is true that you've lived with us for seven seasons now, and still no one has been hurt, save yourself." And he actually sounded...upset about that?

(A very large part of Ed suspected he was dreaming, and was waiting with a heavy heart for the part where all of his hopes were crushed; his dreams hadn't ended well since his own ego had trapped his brother in metal and lost himself an arm and a leg.)

Mahdi grunted as he shifted again, into what Ed suspected was intended to be a more comfortable position, then he ordered, "Explain this curse to us. Fully. How it came upon you, what you've observed of it, everything."

Ed looked down at his father's journal, considered just leaving and never looking back, as he'd intended. But, honestly, he didn't want to leave. He loved travelling with the tribe, with the people who shared that half of his heritage that he'd never even known about until after his father was dead. He loved feeling like he belonged, because he hadn't had that in...too long. With Al, certainly, but not with a community, not since they'd left home and sworn never to look back.

He wasn't certain he deserved it, but he didn't want to turn his back on this family he'd found. (For Al's sake, if not his own.)

"It's a complicated story," he warned quietly, brushing the paper he'd written 'I'm sorry' on off the cover of Hohenheim's journal, "and the 'how' is connected to the events that led to Xerxes' downfall."

"The sudden deaths?" Behnam said, before coughing and whispering, "I'm sorry."

When Ed glanced up, he found both Mahdi and Sanaz giving Behnam silencing looks, and he couldn't quite stop a smile – not a particularly happy one, but a smile nonetheless – as he agreed, "Yes." He picked up the journal and held it up in front of himself, catching all their attention. "Banu told me, when I asked, that you were surprised to hear my father's name because he shared it with the man who survived and went to Xing."

"This is true," Mahdi agreed, his words cautious.

Ed nodded and set the journal down on the ground between them. "King Xerxes wanted to become immortal," he offered, staring at the journal's cover, "so he asked for the help of one of his court alchemists, who had created an artificial lifeform – a homunculus – using the blood of one of his former slaves. The homunculus knew alchemy far beyond the knowledge of any human alchemists, and it told King Xerxes how to create the array he'd need. But he didn't tell anyone the price it would cost, or that King Xerxes wouldn't be the recipient of the wished-for immortality.

"My father, Van Hohenheim, originally Slave 23, shared blood with that homunculus, and so he received half of the lives of the people of Xerxes." He looked up, then, meeting each of their wide eyes, before looking back at the journal again. "He was one of the two survivors of Xerxes, and the one who travelled to Xing, refining the art of alkahestry in return for their kindness in sheltering and feeding him while he struggled with the thousands of souls inside him."

Ed sighed and shook his head, then tapped the cover of the journal. "He meant this for you lot, so you'd know what had happened, but he'd never found the courage to actually give it to you. It covers pretty much the entirety of his life, up until the village he died in. He was...trying to find a way to die, I guess. Because he didn't want to outlive my mum and my brother and me."

"Instead he passed his immortality on to you?" Behnam asked, and Ed found a vaguely confused look on his face, when he glanced up at him.

Ed couldn't quite stop a snort. "No." Then he stopped, frowned a bit as he recalled why the figure had cursed him. "Well, yes, actually, in a way. It's–" He sighed and rubbed at his mouth for a moment, then shook his head.

"Hohenheim left when I was four," he said, because none of them really knew his personal history, not the whole of it; it was quite true that he'd always avoided telling anyone about how he'd lost his arm and leg, or where his brother – who he sometimes mentioned – was. "My mum died shortly after, sick from an illness that had struck our village. Al and I had been learning alchemy from some of the books Hohenheim had collected and left behind when he'd left, and I got the brilliant idea that we could use it to bring Mum back." He reached up and touched the remains of his right shoulder, quietly admitted, "I was a fool.

"There is no equivalent price for transmuting life, and we paid for my folly with our own bodies. I lost my leg, and Al lost his whole body. I managed to attach his soul to a suit of armour standing in Hohenheim's study, for the price of my arm, keep him alive." He fisted his hand in the fabric of his shirt, ground out, "I didn't want to be alone."

He still didn't, or he'd have done the smart thing and just left, rather than telling them his story; he hadn't grown up at all, had he?

Sanaz reached across him and gently pulled his hand away from his empty sleeve, and her eyes, when Ed met them, were kind as she said, "If humans were meant to be alone, we wouldn't be born surrounded by our family."

"I know that," Ed muttered, looking away from her. "We went looking for a way to get our bodies back, but–" he put on a smile that felt sickly "–it turns out souls can only be attached to vessels other than their own body for so long before the connection falls apart. One day, Al just stopped moving, and I–"

He stopped, swallowed, tried to figure out how to explain what had happened. "When you...perform– No." He huffed a bit and looked up at his audience, found them all with varying levels of heartbreak writ across their faces, and had to look away, ended up staring down at his hand. "This is about half hypothesis, but I believe everyone who has the potential to use alchemy has a...a sort of door, inside them, or attached to them but stored on a separate plane of existence, I don't really know." He grimaced a bit. "I don't suppose it really matters how it's connected or where it's stored, but it's there, and it determines the price of any alchemic exchange. Like, if I wanted to add skulls or something to my leg–" he tapped his peg leg "–that door would determine exactly how much energy the transmutation would cost, and how much, if any, material would be lost in the process, if that makes any sense?" He chanced another glance around at them.

"As much sense as alchemy has ever made when you've tried to explain it?" Behnam offered, because he'd sat through a couple of Ed's tutoring sessions with members of the tribe who'd been interested in learning a bit about the science, even though he very obviously hadn't cared one way or the other.

"It makes sense," Mahdi announced. "The amount of energy and material required is wholly dependent on the knowledge, finesse, and innate talent of the practitioner, not to mention the array being used. As such, there can't simply be one formula, but an ever-evolving balance. And the most sensible way to determine that balance each time a transmutation is performed, would be if each person has their own set of scales."

Ed couldn't help but shoot Mahdi a disbelieving look, and heard Sanaz muffle a laugh on his other side.

Mahdi scowled, looking between Ed and Behnam. "You can't truly believe my daughter and yourselves to have been the first members of this tribe to realise knowledge is necessary to avoid danger," he snapped.

Sanaz coughed and said, "Mahdi spent a few years studying alkahestry in Xing when we were a little older than you, Ed."

Mahdi shot her a betrayed look, but Ed apparently startled all of them by laughing, and he ducked his head. "I'm sorry," he managed, was fairly certain his amusement was still all-too-obvious in his voice.

Mahdi sighed and ruffled his hair, bringing Ed to peek out at him. The man was smiling faintly, his expression a little bit helpless. "The science of transmutation is in our blood," he admitted, "and even the wisest among us have felt the need to rebel at one point."

"My world view is completely shifted," Behnam announced, and he was wearing the widest grin Ed had ever seen on him when he looked over.

"Be quiet," Mahdi ordered, though he sounded more resigned than cross, and Behnam looked away with an amused cough. When Mahdi turned back to Ed, though, his expression had gone serious again. "You hypothesise that each of us has access to a sort of balancing object?"

Ed sighed and nodded. "A door," he agreed, and Mahdi raised his eyebrows at him. Ed took a deep breath, then quickly explained, "When you perform human transmutation, when part of the cost has to come from your physical being, you're dragged over to this other...plane of reality, I suppose. And there's a stone door and a...a gatekeeper, there. And the gatekeeper takes whatever physical part of your body you've given in trade."

Mahdi had closed his eyes at the words 'human transmutation', a sort of air of ancient grief forming around him.

"Your arm and leg, then...?" Sanaz said quietly.

Ed shrugged. "Yeah, they're in that other place." He looked down at his remaining fist as he clenched it. "With Al."

Sanaz let out a pained noise, while Behnam cursed.

Ed glanced at Mahdi again, found the elder simply watching him, sorrow in his eyes, but no sign of judgement, and that made it a little easier to admit, "When Al– When he stopped moving, I knew where he'd end up, so I went in after him. The gatekeeper, he – it, really, I guess – told me that Hohenheim was dead, but he'd left something unfinished, some duty that the gatekeeper needed seen to. It proposed a deal: I finish what my father left undone, and Al would be returned to this world, body and soul.

"Of course I said yes," Ed continued with a smile that felt wrong on his face, turning his attention to his hand again, as though all the answers were there. "I didn't care about the cost, fully intended to just trade myself for his life, if I could, but I–" He shook his head. "I thought I'd got off free, that time, except a few oddities I couldn't explain, like not really feeling hungry or tired, until later, on the road, when I–"

No, he wouldn't go through this with them. He couldn't.

He shoved his hand down against the ground next to him, shifted his right leg around to start the difficult process of standing, but he was halted by hands on both of his shoulders; Sanaz and Mahdi.

"Ed," Sanaz said quietly, while Ed stared down at his peg leg, "it's okay."

He let himself settle back down, swallowed with some difficulty, then opened his mouth and somehow got out, "A robber slit my throat, while I was taking a break. I thought–" He couldn't stop a wretched sort of laugh. "I thought that was it, I'd failed, but then I opened my eyes again and I didn't... There were– My teeth–" he reached up and tapped his canines with his fingers "–had grown. Fangs. And I just sort of...acted on instinct. Ripped out his throat, drank his b-blood."

For one, horrifying moment, he was once again surviving his first death and murder, the taste of blood thick on his tongue, and bile climbing his throat–

"Ed!" Mahdi snapped, and Ed flinched, realised he was breathing way too fast, his hand clenched white-knuckled tight around his peg leg.

"Sorry," he rasped, and his voice sounded as ruined as if he'd just thrown up, but there was no sign of such. He swallowed and shook his head, couldn't look up as he forced himself to explain the specifics of his curse, since Mahdi had asked for that: "I don't really know the rules or anything, but little scratches – losing a little blood here, a little bit there – is fine, I don't really notice it. Kind of a vague sense of... I don't know. When you're not really hungry, but you wouldn't refuse a couple berries or whatever. That.

"But, it adds up, it always does. And I can– Animal blood sort of...holds off the, the hunger, for a bit, enough that–" He stopped, shook his head. "I can't keep down real food or water or anything if I...need blood. Animals work, just enough – for long enough – that I can play at being normal for a couple days."

A hand squeezed his left shoulder, and he chanced a glance over, found Sanaz watching him with sad, worried eyes. "You've been doing that with us?" she guessed.

Ed shrugged, attempted to sound casual as he agreed, "Of course. It's not like I've had any cause to drink any human blood, and it would have looked strange if I just refused to eat, or threw up after every meal." He shrugged again, looked away from her, toward his father's journal. "Apparently I was already skipping enough meals to be suspicious, though."

"This duty your father didn't complete, what is it?" Mahdi asked.

Ed looked over and shrugged. "No idea." He waved a hand at the journal laying on the ground between them. "I'd hoped to find the answer in there, or one of his other journals, but all I've learnt is his history and some alkahestry."

Mahdi nodded and met his gaze. "So," he said flatly, "you had no idea of how to free yourself from this curse, and you're incapable of controlling it."

Ed flinched, had to look away.

"Mahdi–" Behnam started, before falling suddenly silent, likely having been glared at until he shut up.

"It seems, to me," Sanaz said quietly, "that you've come to a crossroads. You can leave us and continue looking for answers while avoiding other humans for fear of what you might do to them, potentially missing the answers you've been seeking in doing so; or you can learn to control your curse, and eventually leave to search without fear."

"Control it?" Ed repeated, disbelieving. "And how would I accomplish that? Live in a constant state of starving for blood until I can walk through the camp without wanting to rip out someone's throat?"

"No," Sanaz replied, unperturbed. "Your control is best found in learning to stop yourself before you kill whoever you're drinking blood from."

Mahdi let out what might have been an intrigued noise, but Ed could only just hear it past the strange rushing sound filling his ears. "Are you insane?!" he demanded, shoving at the ground with his foot and hand, shifting away from her, because he could already see where she was going with this, and it was horrifying. "No! I'd rather spend the rest of my life killing bandits on the road, than hurt any of you!"

"What if it isn't just bandits?" Mahdi asked, his voice hard. "What if you fall and crack your head open one time, and the closest person to you when you go looking for blood is a child?"

Bile was climbing Ed's throat, panic clawing at the inside of his chest, and he sort of shifted back again, his fingers nudging against his crutch. He grabbed for it, used it to haul himself to his feet, even as he bit out, "I'm leaving." Couldn't say what his voice sounded like, but it didn't matter. He just needed to get out, get away.

So he turned, half stumbled out of his tent, ignoring Behnam calling his name behind him, and ducking a half-hearted grab by one of the guards still standing outside his tent, didn't look to see who it was.

He returned to the woods, kept going until he couldn't any more, then bent over his crutch and coughed up stomach bile; he hadn't eaten real food in almost twenty hours, of course there was nothing to come up.

He walked a bit further, couldn't think about what Sanaz and Mahdi had said, so he turned his mind to other matters, matters he'd been trying so hard not to think of for years: Al.

Al, who he'd shunned. Who was all alone in that other place, with only that being for company, and watching Ed screw up as entertainment. Which, given, Al had always seemed to derive a certain amount of pleasure from watching Ed's various failures, so maybe it was actually entertainment to him? Sometimes?

He stopped to rub at his chest, over his heart, then at his mouth; he missed his brother. Had been missing him for far too long, but now that he could admit that, maybe Al missed him, too, the longing was so much stronger.

Well, he'd only found just enough animal blood to last him the night, anyway, since he hadn't intended to stay any longer than it took him to collect his things; there was no harm in taking a trip to see his brother. Assuming none of the tribe came out after him.

He wasted an hour hunting down a cave, transmuted the opening most of the way closed – he had no interest in suffering suffocation, and he'd need the light of the rising sun to see what he was doing – then quickly sketched the array that was becoming far too familiar. He set his crutch aside, uninterested in losing it in transit again, then pressed his fingers to the array.

-0-0-0-

A/N: There is a side story that falls between this chapter and the third, which I'll be putting up some time tonight. (I'll add a link here to the sites that allow it, once it's up.) It's OC-centric, explaining, a bit, Sanaz and Mahdi's reasoning for letting Ed stay with the tribe.

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