---

Transylvania, 1921

---

"Alfons…how the hell do you know about this?"

Alfons was shaking. Shaking, wide-eyed…like some cat was caught in the headlights of a speeding car, or maybe like a poor little kid when they find out that their parents are getting a divorce. Something like that. Something awful…something akin to shock…

Frightened.

Cornered.

He probably shouldn't have been towering over Alfons as much as he was.

But at the moment he really couldn't find himself giving much of a damn about the idea.

He had stared at him…watched him…mentioned things offhandedly that had to do with his past even though he wasn't part of his past and he had no real ability to know these things…slept next to him, worked with him, talked to him jovially and played translator for him when he needed help (even when he didn't want it, dammit)…he didn't trust him at all, but he was right next to him. With him the whole time.

He could have watched him.

He could have investigated his weird behavior.

At least investigated it sooner…

And yet…

He found this.

The array was well-drawn, straight-forward and precise, like he had been doing it for years. The equivalent of what Edward would have seen on Colonel Mustang's gloves…The circle had no notches in it, no strange curves, and each individual line was perfect, almost like it was done with a straight-edge.

But the question was how the hell Alfons Heiderich knew about it.

How the hell Alfons Heiderich, rocket scientist and boy wonder and goddamn Alphonse Elric clone, knew about alchemy.

His Alchemy.

Alchemy was defunct on this side…a pseudo-science. All the books had said so, all the professors had said so. Hell, even his Dad had said so, may the bastard rot in Hell. It was fueled by the dead spirits of this side, transformed into energy for transmutations…

The arrays…the science…the physics…everything was for naught, and impossible to teach or get anyone on this side to understand.

And yet Alfons, he…

"Ah…E-Edward…" Alfons was backing up on his hands and feet, backwards-crawling, almost.

His eyes were so wide…

And his expression was so shocked.

I'll bet you were shocked, you bastard. What else are you hiding?

"I…" he was almost whispering, moving to stand on his feet. "I can explain…"

"Then explain."

"I…ah…"

He wasn't saying anything. Simply sitting on the floor, staring at him with wide blue eyes…like Edward was going to raise a hand to him if he did anything that wasn't to his liking. Or even worse, that he was about to get killed.

Fear.

That was clear enough.

Alfons backed away a bit more.

"Well?" Ed took a step closer. "Didn't you say you could explain?"

"Ah…it's…a…long story."

I bet it is.

"I'm not sure…if you'd be willing to listen to me tell it."

"We have all night."

"Ah…w-well, I…I just…"

"Just what?"

Alfons let out a sigh; a soft sigh, and one that Edward was sure, in the back of his mind, that he had been holding in for a long time. Blue eyes had lowered (silver, they were supposed to be silver, dammit), and he had even brought himself to turn away, glancing down towards the floor.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you, Edward…"

---

Transylvania, 1921

---

Edward didn't seem to be fazed by it, even when Alfons looked up. His eyes were still hard…impossibly hard, and gold, staring at him with an intensity that made him want to stand up and bolt, locking the closet door as he proceeded to hide in it for the rest of his existence, never to see humanity again in fear of what the man would do to him once he did. His prosthetic fist kept clenching and unclenching, and his mouth was formed in a tight, straight line.

A tight straight line that didn't foretell any sort of mercy for Alfons.

Not that he would have expected anything less from Edward Elric…not in a situation like this. Not when he, who shouldn't have known anything at all about this, in fact knew too damn much about the subject for it to even be healthy or normal.

Oh yes.

Alfons Heiderich had to be pretty damn suspicious in his eyes.

Especially now.

But the chances of him even…even accepting what I have to say are so slim…He'll be able to flatten me in no time at all, too…I'll hardly have time to scream before I'm a bloody mass on the floor. Edward isn't the type to go after weak, defenseless young men, but with the circumstances I'm pretty sure he'll think of me as anything but 'defenseless'.

"Even if I did tell you…and you did believe me…what would it prove?" he was digging his own grave. "I can't perform Alchemy…as you said, it's impossible on this side. I can't take you ho—"

"Damn it, quit playing games with me and tell me!"

Oh God, he was going to die. Edward took a menacing step forward.

It took all of Alfons's willpower to not curl into a ball and weep.

How the eyes of an Elric can bring down even the most rational of men, bring them down to their knees and turn them into shaking, crying children.

"I'm…!" He almost lost his words…they almost got caught in the back of his throat, never to be seen again: "I'm not playing games. I'm telling the truth. If you want to know, I'll be" petrified, frightened, unwilling "glad to tell you, but I'm certain you won't believe me, even if I do tell you."

"How do you kno—"

"I don't have to be a rocket scientist to see that you would call me a liar."

But at the rate that Edward was going, staring him down, just glaring at him like that…it wasn't like he was going to be giving him any other choice in the matter. Alfons was going to have to break down and just talk to him eventually, and that was the last thing he wanted. He had wanted it before…but seeing those distrusting, coldly blazing golden eyes made him start to rethink his priorities.

Very, very quickly.

"…I think you're making up excuses."

Well, you're right about that. I'm not denying anything.

Edward paused, taking a breath. "…because you're too scared to get beaten for a second time. What I want to know is why you're still playing dumb. Why you didn't kill me when you had the chance. You could have done it a long time ago…God knows you tried your best to get me to figure it out."

Wait, wait, wait, WHAT?!

"But now you're not attacking me. Maybe you've really weakened on this side. After all…Homunculi aren't natural to this side…your powers aren't meant to really work here."

Homunculi—

Wait.

God.

Oh God no.

Edward wasn't implying what he thought he was implying, was he?! That he was a…

"Maybe that's why you made that lame-ass copy, instead of making the real thing. Thought you would trick me with that appearance—you look just like Al, but at the same time you look different enough for me to be thrown off. I must say, you're getting sloppy."

Wait, wait wait. He thinks I'm a…

Alfons had to resist the heavy urge to laugh.

A Homunculus. He thinks I'm a Homunculus. And not just any one—that shapeshifting one, the cowardly one who had to rely on using others' forms in order for him to get the upper hand. What was his name, anyway—I can't seem to remember which one he was—

His body started to shake; softly at first…just light trembles…until his entire form turned into a great rumble, his already fallen body now hunching over, arms over his stomach and eyes closed and tears pouring down his face…

It took a second for him to realize with dawning horror that he was actually laughing.

Laughing, long and hard, with an infuriated Edward Elric over him, fists clenched and he was certainly ready to let a few punches fly. He was laughing while he could get the sense kicked out of him at any time. He was laughing when this certainly wasn't the right situation to laugh.

"What the hell?!" He could hear Edward snarl. "What's so funny?!"

Oh Lord, he was going to die. He had enough time to do his final prayers before Edward sent him into oblivion with his fists, feet, body…his skinny body wouldn't take many of Edward's hits before it was down for the count and gone, faster than one can even blink.

But for the love of God, his mouth had started to run away with him in-between chuckles…it was like his mind and body were two separate entities, running away from each other—

He was screwed.

"Edward…you…you seriously think I'm…I'm a…Oh God…hahahaha!!"

He knew that he was going to die. He knew that Edward was going to pull back a fist and hit him, hard, if this kept up. He knew it but he couldn't bring himself to stop laughing.

It was all just so damn ironic.

"Here I am…thinking that you're…some figment of my imagination coming out of my dreams, and you…accuse me of not even being human, of being the one who isn't real…"

His laughter had started to fade…the voice that had once been so loud lowered and fell to a dull chuckle. He closed his eyes, unable to look up at the man he was sure was fuming at him, fuming and ready to beat him into the ground for the nonsense he was most likely spouting out.

"I've dreamt about you long enough…Maybe all of this is just a dream. I'll wake up, over my blueprints…"

It was like Edward wasn't even there. What was he doing? He was just babbling to himself now.

"And realize that the dreams I had about the Fullmetal Alchemist are just that…dreams. Nothing to be embarrassed…much less frightened about."

Who am I trying to persuade with this? Me, or him?

"Dreams?"

He almost didn't hear Edward speak, not over the blood rushing in his ears or his heart racing. The edge was still there, but it was soft—so soft that Alfons's mind didn't register it at first.

Alfons's eyes opened, but now they stared down at the floor.

"Yeah." He whispered. "Dreams."

"Mother…"

Blue eyes had looked up at him, long blond hair falling down her shoulders, down her back…her face was so gentle, so sweet. Like an Angel's—at least, that was how he had always seen it.

"I…" Eleven-year-old Alfons shuffled a bit where he stood, unable to meet her gaze. "I had a strange dream."

Call him a mamma's boy—say that he was too weak to ever fight for the sake of Germany, say that he had been better suited as a woman than a man. It didn't matter. Nothing did, not when his mother spoke her next words:

"What kind of dream was it, Alfons? Come on…tell me about it."

That's right.

She was the only one who he had told about them. Not his brother; no, he would have laughed. Not his father, either. He would have said something about how he didn't raise a novelist, and would have been very disappointed.

She was the only one who had ever listened to him.

"If you dream about that 'Edward' fellow tonight…be sure to let me know how he is, all right?"

"Of course, Mother."

Mother…damn it, what he would have given to have it be her right now. She may have humored him, but it was the best he had…she was the only one who listened. She was the only one who he would let into that. And yet here he was, facing the subject of all those dreams that had entertained her so much, even when Father and Brother went off to war when he was around thirteen, leaving them alone…He was facing him and had to tell him everything.

But…

"You'll probably laugh at me. That, or I'll look more suspicious than I already must be to you."

He didn't want to do this. He had wanted to at first—but being confronted with it now…

"If you want to know, I'll tell you. I doubt you'll believe me, though."

---

Transylvania, 1921

---

That couldn't have been him. That slumping, pathetic, almost broken young man that was sitting in front of him now couldn't have been someone who wished him harm. He looked like he had gone through a meat grinder, maybe worse, hair falling over his face and blue eyes down towards the floor as his fingertips idly made transmutation circles into the wood (Plant Alchemy, like Fletcher Tringham used in Xenotime…). He made no effort to move from his spot; rather stayed there, not even bothering to look at him.

If it was Envy, he would have attacked me the second I exposed him. Who the hell is this guy?!

Ed let out a mental sigh.

If it was Envy he would have killed you by now, and he sure as hell wouldn't have given you HINTS like that. What the hell were you thinking?! Seems like you're steadily going crazy right along with this world you're in.

"I…" Alfons swallowed hard. "I had a fever when I was around ten years old. I was horribly sick, I didn't know if I would make i—"

"No offense," Edward interrupted with a snort, "But what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"It will make sense, Edward. I promise. Just…hear me out."

Edward huffed, crossed his arms, but shut up.

"Anyway…I wasn't sure if I would make it. My mother thought I was going to die, and my older brother and Father weren't too hopeful either. I was delirious, I remember that. Crying, and calling for things I didn't quite understand at the time. It had started suddenly. I think I was eating an apple or something when I had fallen over in pain and got the fever. I was pretty young and I was always sickly, but this was the worst I'd ever had in my life. …You can understand me, right Edward? Do I need to go slower?"

"I'm not a fucking idiot." Edward didn't even bother speaking German—as far as he could tell, Alfons understood him, his responses were just bad. Sort of like how Ed was with his German. "Just continue."

"All right. Well…the fever lasted only an hour at the very most. But as I said before, I was in horrible pain, and my entire body felt like it was on fire. I screamed and held out my hands, as if reaching for something. I was speaking in a strange tongue, something my parents knew snippets of but something I knew not a word of, and yet…

"Well. That was just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. After the fever I drifted in a deep, deep sleep; it was hard to say how long I was out, but I'll never forget what I saw. Or what I saw the nights thereafter for the years to come."

Where was he going with this?

"When I woke up…" Alfons let out a tiny sigh. "I…couldn't feel my body. I was in a dark room…a basement, maybe. I'd held out my hands in front of my face, tried to maybe feel something, but I realized very quickly that I wasn't the one in control of the body I was in. Blood was everywhere; I was very, very scared. I wanted to run away, but I couldn't. The body just looked around in disbelief, speaking in a language and in a voice that wasn't mine, but somehow I understood.

"He saw a young boy in the corner, without an arm…without a leg…"

No…No fucking way.

Ed's heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat. This couldn't be right. No fucking way. There was absolutely no way.

" 'Sorry Al', the boy had said, 'for my arm and leg, I could only get your soul back'."

…Fucking Hell. No, this couldn't be right. No. No, that…

That doesn't make sense. Why the hell would he dream about Al when he became armor? And start having fits right before that? On that exact night he became armor? It doesn't add up. He's not from my side, and even though he looks like Al, he's not Al at all.

"Did this 'fever' of yours happen during the day, or at night?" The question popped out before he himself could stop it. It was ridiculous…there had to be something wrong with this.

Alfons kept his head down, and his fingers stopped moving.

"At night…sometime late. Maybe around ten to eleven o'clock…I was supposed to be in bed, but for some reason, I couldn't sleep. Something had kept me up…I'll never forget that."

Ed wasn't aware that he had started shivering until he pinched himself to get him to stop.

"I started having the dreams shortly after that."

"Dreams?"

"Dreams." Alfons repeated. "Every night, I had dreams about the suit of armor Alphonse Elric, and his older brother, Edward Elric. You, I'm assuming. You two started out just recovering in Miss Pinako Rockbell's home…"

I can't fucking believe this…This isn't right…

"…I still remember the screams when you got your automail. Al was supposed to wait outside, but I still remember the sight that greeted his eyes when he looked inside. He always blamed himself for that, you know…the pain you suffered when you had the automail…"

A homunculus would have been a better explanation for this. He's spouting off stuff that only people on the other side would know…but damn it, this doesn't make sense! Why would he know this?! Why would he dream about it? Dad had mentioned that there were different 'versions' of us on this side, but for the connection to be this close…

"…I still wonder what exactly the Colonel would say to you in his office that would make you so angry back then. Al always wondered too, though I admit I did ponder on it a lot when I was awake. Maybe a bit more than was necessary…."

This is…this is insane.

He…had to sit down. Had to get a drink of water, had to think, had to something…He had to do something other than stand, stay there and gape at the man whose mouth was running off with him, blue eyes not looking at him and taller body like rigid water in a slumped sitting position.

Too many questions…

Too many non-answers.

Who the hell was Alfons Heiderich?

"…I even dreamt the time you guys were studying for the State Alchemy exam…because of you, when I went to school, I almost answered arithmetic questions with alchemy formulae…and somehow, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to forget any of them…"

This really was too much.

What…the…This doesn't make any sense. Fever, pain, dreaming about Al, speaking a language that his parents knew but he didn't; if you're delirious you speak in gibberish, usually—it's just not possible for a person to speak a known-language that they don't know themselves…

Ed coughed once. God, his throat was dry. His throat was dry, his mind was hurting, and his heart was racing at a mile a minute, holy shit—

"Hey, Alfons, hold on."

Someone tell me I'm dreaming—

That was the first time Alfons had looked up; were those…were those tears prickling at the side of his eyes? His cheeks looked like they were stained, and his lips seemed to be quivering…

No, that couldn't have been right.

But…

"You said you yelled something in a foreign language when you got the fever."

Alfons nodded. "Yeah. The first time I got it, anyway. It was in English, strangely enough. I didn't even know English as a little boy—to be honest, the reason I started studying it in the first place was because of this exact thing."

"There was a second time you got the fever?" Ed asked.

"I got it three times. Once when I was 10, another time when I was fourteen, and then the final time was two months after that. I only turned fifteen a month ago, actually…"

Once when he was ten…the next when he was fourteen, and the third time two months after…

"Though…considering what I dreamed about, afterwards…it was sort of strange that I had said what I said."

Strange? "What did you say?"

Alfons let out a shaky laugh and lowered his eyes again. "I said…"

Damn it, just tell me! "Well?"

"…Bruder."

Edward Elric then fell backwards, landing on the floor with a loud, unceremonious thump.

---

Resembool, 1924

---

Dinner had gone by as per normal…nobody said anything, rather staying in their own little worlds, most likely imagining the extra set that they(Winry, not 'they'…Granny looked upset when she had decided to set the plate, fork, and knife out like that…) had set filled, his loud voice booming through the room and making everyone feel as chipper as ever. Granny at least tried to make some scrap of conversation, and Al followed suit. But Winry just wouldn't say anything…rather let her pretty little head lower and let her eyes go down towards her plate.

He didn't try to say anything to her this time.

He managed to make it on his own to his room tonight; it took him a few tries to get up the stairs but he ignored Winry's protests when she told him that she'd help him.

"Al! Don't keep doing this! You'll get hurt! You don't have to push yourself so hard!"

Al grit his teeth, clinging harder to the rail.

"I do though, Winry. If I don't walk now, how am I ever going to find Brother and bring him back home?"

"Al, don't be ridiculous!" he couldn't see her, but he knew she was glaring at him. "Ed's—"

"Going to come back home to us one day, Winry." He said with more firmness than he actually felt, "Trust me. He'll come home. If not now, if not a few years from now, he'll come home. I know it."

Tough words from him. Tough words from the coward who could hardly face a single girl, and was too scared to go to sleep at night.

Al flopped down on his stomach on the bed, letting out a tiny sigh.

Why would he dream this stuff? Was his brother trying to tell him something?

But he was in his body, "Alfons's". Not his own. Not in his brother's, either. So was this "Alfons" trying to tell him something instead? But that didn't make sense…he dreamt of Al, too. He was just as confused as he was, trying to make sense out of something that he must have been trying to cope with for years. And then his brother comes into the picture, and he became more confused than ever.

In a way, the two of them were in the same boat.

But he seemed to have gone through this for years…and yet this was the first time—stretch of time, rather—that he had ever dreamt of him.

Did "Alfons" know?

Did "Alfons" know what had happened to him during those lost years of his?

It was probable…but…

Al nuzzled his face into the pillow and took a deep breath of the scent of the pillowcase; soft, light and flowery. Winry had done the laundry that day, she had to have…it smelled almost just like her.

He had done her blanket earlier, when he had decided to help with the chores; did she notice his scent? Maybe she hugged it closer, knowing it was him.

Al shook out the thoughts and nuzzled the pillow some more, pulling up the blanket and sheet and wrapping both around his tiny body.

It felt good. Felt warm.

His skin was so sensitive, and everything was just soft enough…it didn't irritate him at all.

Not at all…

Letting out a soft sigh, Al curled himself into a tiny ball, closing his eyes and falling into slumber.