I never expected to get such an overwhelming response to this fic. I almost didn't even post it when I first put it up. So thank you thank you thank you to everyone's who's reviewed and this is for everyone who wanted a second chapter. I hope you all like it!

Van Hohenheim had not been expecting to see his son in the newspaper.

In fact it was the absolute last thing he ever would have expected.

He almost didn't notice it at all. He had only spared the newspaper a passing glance on his way out of the town he had stopped at. Hohenheim had always preferred to stay out of the public eye when it was possible. For one, he wanted to make it as hard as possible for Dwarf in the Flask to find him, but the mistrustful looks also got tiring. He knew he couldn't help but inspire them with the way he looked, but they did get exhausting.

However, every once in a while it would become necessary for him to foray into civilization. Whether that was because he had run out of food, was desperately craving hot, fresh food, needed directions, or found another ally, he had probably visited most of the towns in the country at one point or another.

This time he had needed a map. There were a few calculations he needed to do, and he needed a map with more precise measurements than the one he used most often.

There just so happened to be some newspapers in the small shop he bought the map in. And while Hohenheim would never be able to honestly claim that staying up to date with all of the going ons in this country was a priority (he was never surprised by the frequent wars; he always knew exactly where they were going to spring up, it was only the reasons behind it and the humans' stupidity that ever surprised him), he did like to know, generally, what was going on. So he picked it up and started to read the first page or so. Nothing terribly interesting.

Then he came to page three. His eyes honed in on a face that he knew fairly well. General Grumman was an old… well he wouldn't say friend, but he was one of the few normal humans outside of Resembool that he genuinely liked. Next to the old fox was a confident young man (well, young to Hohenheim. But then again, to Hohenheim even Grumman was a child) with dark hair and eyes, smirking at the camera. The caption under the picture named the second man as a Colonel Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist.

Hohenheim nodded, understanding. He had heard of the Hero of Ishval. The Flame Alchemist. Probably one of the only men on the planet who knew something about alchemy that Hohenheim didn't. He imagined that if he was given a few months he could figure out how the man did it, but he had honestly never felt the urge to be able to light an entire town on fire.

He was about to skim the article and move on, when something else caught his attention.

In the picture, behind the two main subjects were two other people. One was a veritable giant dressed in armor. Hohenheim frowned at the armor trying to figure out why on earth he would be wearing something like that in public. Perhaps he was a bodyguard of some sort? That seemed a bit over the top. Then he frowned and looked even closer.

But… that was impossible.

That was… he could swear that that was his armor. The armor that he had been awarded for saving a Cretan Prince's fiancé. The man had offered them their first child to wife, and Hohenheim had politely declined and accepted the armor. He didn't really have any idea what to do with it—he may be tall, but he certainly wasn't that tall— but it had eventually found a home in his basement. Trisha didn't like it in the house where it might scare the children.

But it couldn't be the same armor. That would be impossible. Unless it was stolen or… Hohenheim's heart clenched. What if his family had been forced to sell the armor to stay afloat monetarily? He thought that he had left enough money for them to survive comfortably for some time, but he supposed it might have run out already if something tragic had happened. If the house had been burned down or Al had gotten terribly sick and they needed to pay medical bills…

If that were the case, he would send them money that very instant. He had built up more than enough of it through the past few centuries. He never really had much to do with it so it had just built up. Hohenheim felt the urge to smack himself in the forehead. He should have given her the information to get to all of the various accounts he had stored it in. Then she wouldn't be stuck in this situation!

Already writing the letter in his head—he wouldn't tell her how much he loved her and wanted nothing more than to return to her, that would only make what he was doing harder—and trying to remember all of the different towns and names, he glanced at the second figure that he had seen next to whomever was wearing his antique armor.

He almost dropped the paper.

… Edward?

… no… that… that was impossible. Why would… that couldn't be Edward. Absolutely couldn't. Just a fifteen year old that looked a lot like Ed.

But his hair. The antenna… the eyes. Even with the black and white photo, he could tell that they weren't brown, green, or blue. They were gold. They were his eyes. His and Trisha's. They were Ed's eyes.

How? How? HOW?

He clutched the newspaper in his hands, reading every word.

It was all about the two men and how they had both been influential in calming down the Eastern area after the recent Civil War.

It was only at the very bottom that the article said anything about the presence of his son in the picture.

Even more attention was brought to the Colonel when he recruited Edward Elric (pictured in the top left corner with his brother, Alphonse Elric) to become a State Alchemist at the young age of twelve. Many politicians questioned his motives, but Elric has proven himself well up to the task of being a State Alchemist. In some areas, the Fullmetal Alchemist has become almost synonymous with "the good" in the military.

The Fullmetal Alchemist.

Edward.

State Alchemist.

Up to the task.

Pictured with his brother Alphonse.

Armor.

How?

… How?

Hohenheim's head was spinning. It didn't make any sense. Why? Why on earth was Ed a State Alchemist? What would drive him to take a job like that? Was it the Flame Alchemist? Had Mustang convinced his son to do this? Why didn't Trisha stop him! He had never told her in precise terms what purpose the State Alchemists served, but he had told her that they were even worse than the human weapon stigma.

Why would Trisha let him do something like this? And why was Al in his armor? The boy was thirteen, there was no possible way that he would be able to fit in that.

"Is something wrong, Mister?" the clerk of the store asked.

Hohenheim looked up. The man had been in the back of the store, looking for the map that Hohenheim was looking for. Apparently he had returned. Hohenheim looked from the newspaper to the man and then to the map and back at the newspaper.

"I…"

"Find something alarming?" the clerk prodded, a concerned look on his face.

"I… No."

"Are you sure? You don't look too good."

"I don't feel too good."

"Do you need something? I sell medicines—"

"No… I need to get home. That's what I need."

Home.

Home. Home to Trisha. Home to figure out what was going on here.

Home.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he answered firmly, throwing some cens on the counter. "I'll be taking this newspaper too, if you don't mind."

"No, of course."

Hohenheim nodded at him and smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

"Of course. Make sure to tell your friends about us!" Hohenheim smiled once again and left the store with the newspaper and map in hand. He would still plant the souls. He had come far enough that that was a priority.

Then he would find the first train that could possibly take him Resembool. He had to figure out what was going on. He had to.

None of it made any sense.

And as he left the store, studying the map to figure out where the best position to place the souls would be, he couldn't help remember a snippet of a conversation he had had months ago.

"He can just clap his hands and do alchemy too!"

There was only one way that Hohenheim knew of that a person could learn to do alchemy without a circle.

He couldn't help make the connection that if his sons had committed the taboo (he refused to accept that as the only answer. They were his sons. Maybe it came naturally?)… who would they have tried to bring back?