Thank you all for reviewing! And now, for one of the longest awaited chapters yet :) We don't get the whole of Ed's explanation in this chapter even if it may seem like it; all the missing holes (and parental Roy) come next time- until then!

"There's another world. Just like this one, in all ways except the ones that mattered. Here and there are like... like two sides of the same coin, and the Gate is the metal in between." Ed raised his hand, staring at his palm and trembling fingers with a far-off, distant look in his eyes. "The names aren't the same. Amestris over here, Germany over there. The times weren't right, either. I left Amestris in 1916, ended up in Germany in 1937. The worst was the people. Everyone over there is the same as someone over here. Everyone has a double. They looked identical, the names were almost the exact same, and even their personalities..." He shook his head, shutting his eyes. "My dad and I took the place of that world's Edward and Hohenheim after they died, and we were so similar no one even noticed except Alfons. Not my brother... the other Edward's brother. He was only one who even realized we weren't the originals."

The young alchemist was sitting back against the wall, leg pulled loosely to his chest and overly large shirt drowning him, making him look horribly small. Roy still sat on the floor as well, half propping himself up against the wall, half still on his side, tentatively massaging the screaming muscles in his leg while he watched him, heart pounding and tension making his body cry out in protest. "I... don't think I fully understand," he murmured hoarsely, and Ed just shook his head without even looking at him.

"Neither do I. I was there for seven years and never understood what that world really was. ...I don't think it even matters, really. I'm never going back there." He shook his head derisively, face twisting. "All I ever cared about was getting out of there, and I never could."

After several moments, his tense breaths faded away into a long, tremulous sigh. He still wouldn't look at Roy, but some of the pain etched into his face had eased away, leaving his gaze tired and empty as he stared into the distance, remembering to the place that had nearly torn him apart. "The first two years I was there, I worked with Alfons, on rockets. It's this- this flying machine thing, it's- it's hard to explain... they've got shit that flies over there, Mustang, it was unbelievable. Like, way up in the air, like you're a bird, and it's all just fuck-awesome physics- the first time I saw it was when I realized Germany might not be so bad." He flashed a grin, eyes brightening for the first time thus far; Roy, for his part, could barely comprehend it. "And it was my only idea to get back to Amestris. Alchemy just- doesn't work over there, it's not... not a thing on Earth, so I thought if I couldn't transmute my way back home, I'd just fly here. Dad was never much for physics; he tried the alchemy angle. He tried to figure out how to make it work over there. And you saw how that ended up- with that psycho breaking through to Amestris and blowing up Central, and he got himself killed in it all, too. Fucking great job he did."

Roy closed his eye for a moment, his head spinning. Ed hardly sounded too broken up about his father dying; then again, he'd had a long time to deal with it, and from what little he'd been told about Hohenheim, their relationship had been... less than stellar. He hadn't been aware Hohenheim had followed him through the Gate at all, but wasn't about to ask how. Even without delving deeper, this was already just too much to take. It was insane. Part of him he shouldn't be surprised; this was Edward Elric after all; that guaranteed the impossible, the unbelievable, the bizarre... but it was still almost too much. Another world? Doppelgängers? No alchemy, but flying machines?

Impossible.

Across from him, Ed continued his quiet story, gaze still averted and shoulders slumped. Whether he was aware of the effect his story was having or not, it didn't show, and Roy did his best to just keep quiet and listen.

"That world's Alfons died, too, same time as Hohenheim. Just in time for my brother to take his place. You'd blown up the passageway, I didn't know if there even was any other way back, and Al and I, we... we wanted to go home, but we just didn't know where to start. We... didn't have any other other choice but just to... to settle down and accept it." He shrugged a little, looking almost defensive as he tried to explain his own actions. "We were going to start trying again, but we really had nowhere to start from anymore, and we really had to accept that we just might be over there forever. We had to start trying to build a life over there, not just spend the rest of the time we had running away. Besides, there was nothing we could even do right away. I had to teach him German, he had to figure out how that world worked, we had to brainstorm, everything..." He trailed off to shake his head, smiling weakly. His eyes were distant again, staring into nothing, looking hazily reminiscent back to a much better time than this one. "I think we just got complacent. It was the first time in our lives we didn't have something we had to run to so badly we couldn't afford to just take a break and breathe. We both knew it would get so much harder the moment we started trying again, so we... we just didn't. ...as things turned out, we should have."

Roy hesitated again. He didn't much want to speak and interrupt, to just let Ed finally tell this at his own pace, in his own time, but by the look on his face, Ed didn't want to even go on. He really didn't want to, but... he seemed to know that he desperately needed to.

He just needed someone to make him.

"So, what happened, then?" he prompted quietly, still watching him. Very gingerly, slowly, he pushed himself up a little higher on the wall, holding his leg still but trying to sit straighter, something in him not sitting right with hearing this story just lying down half-dead. "How did things go wrong?"

Ed sat still for a moment, not even looking at him. He tilted his head back against the wall, letting his messy hair cover his eyes from his view. He looked almost disturbingly vacant, hollow, and when he finally did speak again, his voice was just the same: as vacant and hollow as a corpse.

"Germany decided to declare war."

There was another silence, and Roy waited without a word, but a seed of dread had already been planted in his gut by that one soft declaration alone.

Ed wrapped his arm around himself here, still shivering, and hesitantly lifted his gaze up to watch Roy. His shadowed eyes were unreadable but pained, exhausted but not hostile; for the first time in so, so long, they finally weren't hostile. God, he almost forgotten what Ed looked like when he was just Ed, not a spiteful, hurt creature that cursed his every word. "You have to understand that this wasn't a normal war, Mustang," he said, voice strained. "The closest parallel I can think of over here is the Ishvallan genocide, but, even that... there isn't a parallel, Mustang, for what happened in Germany. I thought about it for a while, and there's just not one. Amestris has done some pretty despicable things, and genocide is genocide, right, one's not better or worse than the other, but... what they did..."

When Ed just trailed off weakly into nothing, gaze still hollow and distant, Roy swallowed, pushing himself shakily up another inch. Worse than Ishval? His first impulse was a shocked, almost nervous instinct not to believe him. Because Ishval was... Ishval. It was the worst thing he had ever done or seen, and in all of recorded history, he'd never read of anything more barbaric. There simply could not be anything worse than it. It just didn't register with him. It wasn't that he didn't believe Ed, but that he couldn't. Ishval had been a systemic massacre of every man, woman, and child in that desert, so brutal they in the end, they weren't even given a chance to surrender any more. He knew, god, he knew Ed wasn't naive, he wasn't stupid, if he said it was worse than Ishval than it was, and after seeing him try to recover from it he realized it must have been horrific, but- he just didn't want to believe it.

And then, Ed started talking.

"The Ishvallan war, at least there was a reason for it. It was to make a Philosopher's stone, even if you didn't know it at the time, and they were fighting back- maybe just to protect themselves, but you weren't just steamrolling through a country blowing up hordes of unresisting civilians. That doesn't make anything you did right, but it was still a war. Nothing about war is right. But this..." Ed swallowed, hugging himself even tighter now. "They slaughtered their own people, Mustang. They led- led people like animals to slaughter. Millions of them. The elderly, the sick, infants, Mustang- they butchered infants- and for no reason except they were different. Like Ishval, the Nazis excused it by saying it was for the good of Germany, that the Jews were trying to ruin us- but the Jews were just as guilty as that as the Ishvallans. They hadn't done a damn thing except exist and be a little bit different, and the Nazis killed them for it. It... it was a war against the rest of the world, but against their own people, it was a massacre."

Ed huddled up again, trembling and small, haunted and empty- but his voice low and steady, an empty monotone that trotted out the crimes and horrors of war. He spoke the way only one who had witnessed it all could, like he had seen so much of death and human depravity it had finally just desensitized him to its existence. "Al and I were in Germany at the time, when they declared war. We wanted to get out at first, but just didn't know where to go. This wasn't a civil war, this was- this was the whole world. They ended up calling it the second world war. There was nowhere to run to. Our last hope was America, even that was a long shot, but... but Al said no." He shook his head weakly, face still half-hidden behind his knee again. "He insisted it'd be like running away, and that that wasn't who we were. And, I guess he was right. America was so far away, it would've been safe, but... we wouldn't have been able to help anyone there. And there were people in Germany who needed our help." He shook his head, then just rested his chin on his knee. "...we really should have run away."

Roy swallowed bitterly, nervous dread thudding in his chest like a physical pain.

Oh, yes, that sounded like Al, all right.

And it also sounded like Ed.

Of course Al would stay in an open warzone, for the sake of helping the civilians and refugees... and of course Ed would stay there with him. It didn't surprise him in the slightest. Al was a saint that would sacrifice anything to help those in need- and Ed would sacrifice anything for his brother.

Seeing that look on his face now, though, and Roy found himself wishing with all his heart that had been one argument that Ed had been able to win, and that he had dragged Al to this America and never gotten involved in the war at all.

He kept such words to himself, well aware it would be a monumentally stupid thing to start crying over spilled milk now, and still just watched as Ed sighed, sinking back against the wall again and still not really looking at him. He looked quietly miserable, eyes downcast, and Roy found himself reluctantly settling in for more of this story of horrors. "We stayed in Munich," he said slowly, "still worked on rockets for a little while, just for the money. Our main work was smuggling Jews out in our house as best we could- but it was hard. There were always people dying, every single day, and every time we had to turn someone away we knew what we were condemning them too, but-" He shook his head vigorously again, shutting his eyes tightly. "There was nothing we could do. If we took too many people, we'd attract the Nazi's attention. ...It didn't make it any easier, turning people away, but... we did what we had to do."

"...You didn't have a choice," Roy offered gently after several moments of broken silence. He knew this was Ed's story, and it wasn't his place, either to interrupt or try and draw any attention to himself, but something told him he had to say it. "A few others and I smuggled out a few Ishvallan kids, during the war. You know whomever you turn away dies, but if you help too many and you're found out, you won't be able to help anyone at all. You did what you could. Never forget that."

Ed didn't respond for a long moment, pale and withdrawn. "We saved forty-one, and watched millions die," he said finally, voice desperately empty of anything but regret, and Roy knew from experience that that deficit would be one Ed would never forgive himself for.

The alchemist sighed, rubbing a shaking hand over his face as if in effort to force himself to move on. "W-well," he coughed harshly, "it worked for a little while. We stayed under their radar. The Nazis, they raided our factory at one point; they wanted the rocket scientists... they arrested whomever wouldn't join them. But Al and I managed to get out of it, somehow." He smirked, face twisting in ugly dislike. "We were so young, we'd never even been to university- they thought we were just a couple of dumb kids tacking our names onto the actual scientists' work. The other scientists protected us... the Nazis didn't believe we could've been anything but machinists, and they didn't need anymore of those- they just let us go." He nearly choked on a weak, hysterical chuckle, still half-covering his face. "It was a miracle. It was also too close a call. The only reason we'd survived was because we were kids and looked Aryan... their fucking master race," he spat, loathing contorting his voice. "I'm telling you, if we'd had darker hair and eyes, they would've shot us."

Roy blinked, taken aback. He stared at Ed, waiting, hoping for some kind of clarification, or weak grin like it was some sort of terrible joke- but none came.

It wasn't as if racism didn't exist in Amestris, after all. Being visibly Xingese, Roy had faced it often enough himself, and had seen it against anyone with darker skin far, far worse than it had ever been against him. He knew a big reason Bradley had picked Ishval for his massacre was because, in the eyes of so many Amestians, they were the weird others, these strange outcasts out in the desert, the ones with the kooky religion, the brown people not like them- but it wasn't as if that had been enough to execute them. Bradley had gone to great efforts to paint Ishval as the aggressors, and even then had let the war drag on for almost five years before giving the extermination order, when he could finally justify it as the only way to end the bloodshed.

By the way Ed was talking, these Nazis had just gone with extermination right off the bat, and no one had even tried to stop them. And once again, Roy almost couldn't believe it. The military would've revolted. Soldiers would've deserted. Civilians would've rebelled. Sure, some cowards would've followed orders, but give a decree that terrible and any decent human being would refuse to follow it.

But Ed didn't waver for even a moment, and Roy, with an ever increasing sense of horror, began to realize that he was not exaggerating.

"We kept on smuggling Jews out, for a little while," he said bitterly, shoulders slumping. "We actually beat up my automail a little bit... the Nazis hit our area pretty hard, conscripting soldiers. They didn't force anyone to enlist, not really, but everyone knew bad things happened to you and your family if you said no. But when I looked disabled, and with Al taking care of me, and still a minor, they left us alone after a while." He shrugged weakly again. "First time of my life I felt handicapped. I had to pass it off as an explosion at a the rocket factory- something masculine, heroic... they killed lots of disabled people, too."

Roy started, jerking again. "Why?" he stammered out, before he could stop himself. "What purpose could that possibly- ...sorry." He shook his head, running a shaking hand through his hair. "I just... that doesn't win any support from anyone. That doesn't get rid of any resistance. It's just... killing people because you can. There's no reason for-"

"And I told you, this wasn't like Ishval, Flame," Ed broke in viciously, his eyes flashing. "Hitler's aim- think of him like Bradley, except just a human but ten times the monster- Hitler's aim wasn't to get public support. His only goal was to put his stupid fucking Aryan people on top of the world, and if you weren't Aryan, you were only good dead. Disabled?" He shrugged viciously, face twisting hatred again. "Well, then you'd obviously be polluting the Aryan gene pool. You're dead. End of discussion."

Ed stared at him, his hard eyes piercing in their disgust, and this time, Roy had no answer for him.

For several moments, it was just that, Ed staring at him, and Roy couldn't deny that he was grateful when those angry eyes were finally hidden, the alchemist turning away again to slump back into himself and stare at the cold floor. He wrapped his arm around himself a little tighter, fingers digging into his empty sleeve, twisting the cloth into a hopeless fist. "I..." he murmured, "a... anyway." He coughed, sounding unsettled. "Anyway. Like I said. We kept on helping out who we could. No one around us really took refugees, but... we made do, I guess." He bit his lip. "The war started in late 1939. We got out forty-one people before November, 1941. The... the Nazis raided our house the night we were taking in our forty-second."

His voice, with such a steady undercurrent of nervous tension or twisted pain up until now, suddenly drained of absolutely everything until all that remained was just a cold, empty, listless husk.

He sounded dead.

Roy's trembling fingers, still massaging the spasming muscles, stilled, and his stomach twisted.

This was not a story that would end well.

"They sent us to Dachau," Ed said quietly. Still, with any emotion so absent it chilled him to his core. "It was their closest... well, they called it a work camp, but they were fucking liars. They told the fucking world it was just work camps, prisons, but they were liars. It was hell. It was a prison for slaves if you were able bodied, and a death camp if you weren't. It's that simple. It was all Hitler's final solution... if you were Aryan, German, a good servant to the Third Reich? Then you were safe. Anybody else, and your only use was working for them in their shitholes. If you couldn't do that, they executed you. End of story. ...They executed ...millions. For- literally no reason at all. ...You know, I didn't even believe it myself at first." He let out a weak, despairing little laugh, shaking his head at himself and trembling. "I knew it was bad, but I thought the rumors couldn't possibly be true, that it could not be that bad. I know we're a shit fucking awful race that's always coming up with newly horrific ways to do horrifying things to each other but- no one could be that horrible. That... that awful, but... the rumors didn't even do it fucking justice." He laughed bitterly, face contorting in loathing, stricken smile. "It was worse than we could have ever imagined."

Ed sunk even more into himself, hiding his entire face now, and Roy found himself reaching out helplessly, just wanting to touch him, comfort him- but his leg hurt too much to even drag himself that far. It was a good thing. No matter what his instincts wanted, he thought, his stomach churning... this didn't sound like a story during which Ed would be very open to a damn hug.

He still wanted to try, though, as he listened on, helpless to so much as comfort him as Ed finally told him his own living hell.

"They dragged us there like animals. That's not- they put us on literal cattle cars, Mustang, c-crammed so many people in there some of them were crushed to death- and they j-just threw out the bodies at night and burned them!" He let out a tiny moan, squeezing his eyes shut like the memory caused him physical pain. "Like they didn't even matter! An animal would've gotten more respect! Then at Dachau they just dragged us back out, and the first thing they do is decide whether or not you get to even live. If you're strong enough to help them work or if you just get to die, since you're of no use to them. It was like we were animals again... they just- just put us in a line, and they look at you, and if you looked like you could work, they sent you to the left, but if you weren't they... sent you to the right." The trembling hand moved slowly, twitching to cover his mouth, muffling his voice, but it didn't silence the tremulous, sickening story- or calm Roy's rising horror. He suddenly found himself acutely glad that Ed's face was otherwise hidden. He didn't think he wanted to see the look in his eyes.

"To the right was..." Ed went on at last, trembling, "They said it was... the s-showers. They said it was to disinfect you, before you went on to the prison. ...They lied. It was to kill you. They sent you by the dozens into a room, and they gassed you all to death, and then just s-stuffed all the bodies in an oven and burned you to ash. If they sent you to the showers, it meant you were dead."

He paused, hugging himself a little tighter again. He pushed himself to scoot back on the wood floor, looking almost like he was inching away from something...

Roy choked.

His shower.

He was inching away from his shower.

That day... when Roy had tried to force him to wash off all that blood..

Oh, god.

"Ed-" he gasped, suddenly heedless of the pain as he jerked away from his support, reaching out for him with a trembling hand again. "Ed, I'm so sorry- I had no idea- oh, god... If I'd known- Ed, if I'd had any idea I'd never have-"

"You didn't know," Ed murmured quietly, absolving him of traumatizing him just like that.

"But Ed-"

"You didn't know," he said again, voice even more dead than before. "So it doesn't matter."

Roy gritted his teeth, heart still pounding as he fought back another horrified apology. Oh, god, what was wrong with him? How could he not have realized at the time?! He... god, Ed...

But Ed was already continuing on. This, such a horrible crime Roy could barely even process the depravity of it, was just the beginning for him, and as Roy sat there horrified and struggling to so much as grasp it, Ed went on, moving past the abuse like it had barely even touched him at all. He still wouldn't look at him, eyes shut now to lean his head back against the wall, hand open and limp on the cold floor- and once again, all Roy could think was how selfishly relieved he was that he didn't have to see the look in his eyes.

"Well, Al and I were in line. In shock, I guess. It hadn't really sunk in yet, what was happening. I knew they weren't going to kill him, they were passing on people who looked way worse than him, so all I was thinking about was what we were going to do once we got inside, how to get him out of there, and... and then, I... heard his voice."

"...Whose?" Still trembling, Roy moved a little closer still, not close enough to touch him but close enough for Ed to have recoiled if he was frightened. He did not. He didn't know why he asked, because he really did not want to even hear any more of this nightmare, but something in him dragged him forwards in a sickened, horrified curiosity. "Whose voice, Ed?"

Ed shook his head slightly, rolling it from side to side against the wall. "The officer doing the intake," he murmured, voice strangely thick. "I heard him. It... didn't register at first, I was so worried about Al I wasn't thinking, and I guess Al just didn't recognize it. But then, we got closer. And he kept talking. And t-then I realized, and... and I couldn't... believe it, and so I looked, and... and it was you."

Roy froze.

Very slowly, Ed lifted his head up just enough to meet his stunned gaze, and in Ed's eyes, open for the first time in minutes, Roy was finally greeted with agony.

"Officer Rainart Mustang," he said quietly. "That world's version of you."

His stomach dropped.

It was dead silent for several long, unbelievable seconds. Roy just stared, his mind grounded to a nauseating halt, and Ed stared right back, unblinking and unwavering. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. Ed didn't waver so much as an inch, just kept gazing at him, and suddenly, all Roy knew anymore was that every second longer those dark eyes pierced into him, Ed brought the weight of the world crashing down around his shoulders even more. When he finally did go on again, his voice quiet and cold, so steady it sickened him, his gaze still did not waver even at all, and Roy found himself powerless to so much as look away- even though there was nothing he wanted more.

"Al... and I... made it out," Ed told him slowly. So slowly, like each individual word was another added weight to the growing, crushing horror on his head. "You just sent us to prison. You sent at least a hundred others to their deaths... and that was only on that day. You did the same every time more prisoners got in." He shrugged blithely, like it didn't even matter, like such death was just another day for him, eyes fixating on him with blame, accusation- hate- and, oh, god, for he first time, Roy understood it. He understood it all. "Not like it matters, though. Some people said the ones you executed got off lucky. At least they had a quick end. No matter what they called it, Dachau was a death camp- they all were. The only difference was whether you died quickly or slowly. You just gave us the slow end."

They shaved our hair," he went on, viciously spitting it out in disgust, the hatred in his anguished voice only growing, "and burned our clothes. Put us all to work. Sometimes for shit to help with their war effort, sometimes just shit to keep us busy. There wasn't enough food; they carted in prisoners by the thousands every month, and the only reason they didn't run out of fucking space was because we all kept dying. Even most of those that weren't gassed to death ended up dead anyway- hundreds died every week; starvation, sickness, the conditions, whatever." His glare intensified, eyes burning with a livid, anguished hatred that made his heart stop all over again. "You think I'm exaggerating? I saw the bodies, Mustang. I saw people just keel over dead. Pass out into mass graves or fall over in their own sick. I saw you dragging them over to the ovens to burn them."

Roy barely felt his head turn in another shake, heart lurching and head spinning. It felt like he was caught in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. He stared at Ed, stomach tightening to the point he almost wanted to throw up, then looked down to his shaking hands. He blinked, trying to imagine the horrors Ed was describing, something so perverse and sickening it seemed impossible to exist anywhere in reality. "Ed," he whispered, limp with horror... but Ed allowed no mercy.

"What?" he laughed at him, the sound crazed and horrified, high-pitched with manic pain and exhausted suffering. "You going to act like you'd never do such a thing, you shit? Don't lie to me. You and Rainart weren't identical, but you're close enough that I know you wouldn't have done anything different in his place. I know what you did in Ishval, after all, Flame Alchemist. You killed kids. Unarmed, surrendering civilians. Winry's parents."

The breath left him like he'd just been kicked in the chest, and his hands- his murdering, bloody hands- suddenly felt cold.

As cold as they'd been when they'd gripped the gun.

Roy couldn't stop himself from leaning over, turning his face away from the accusation in Ed's eyes. The pain in his leg just didn't exist anymore, the rest of him too far gone to feel it. A small moan wrenched itself from him, head roaring as he fought against the images and feelings that threatened to assault him all over again. The naked horror, the sickened shame, the anguished self-loathing... two good doctors, you killer, you murderer, two good doctors who'd never harmed a single soul you butcher-

Orders to become a butcher. Orders any decent human being would've refused. Orders you took and let ruin you.

"You did whatever you were ordered to," Ed told him harshly, like he'd known exactly what he was thinking, and Roy barely dragged his head up enough to meet that stare, a judge, jury, and executioner all in one. It took him a moment to realize Ed wasn't speaking of him at all, but Rainart. "Guess you have that defense, for whatever it's worth. You weren't giving the orders, you just followed them. Killing hundreds every month, watching hundreds more die because you wouldn't so much as give them a blanket or something to eat. You punished us whenever we fucked up- pass out because we were sick and starving? Better make us just stand out in the snow until we actually die- because you were ordered to, Mustang. You were just following orders." He grinned, or perhaps just bared his teeth, because there was nothing kind-hearted or gentle behind that predatory snarl.

Because Roy knew Ed believed in that excuse as much as he himself did.

And he went on then, he still went on, no matter how much every fiber of his being was screaming for Ed to stop. "Yeah, let's talk about that, Mustang, some of those punishments you had to give us. You know what you did, Mustang? Al and I, there was no way out, there were just too many guards, too many guns, no alchemy, we weren't strong enough, so we decided to try and help the prisoners that we could, we stole food for them, they were dying because you wouldn't help them and we stole food for them. Such a horrible, unforgivable crime, isn't it?" His face twisted into a horrifying mockery of a grin once more. "Thousands of prisoners, and we threw an extra loaf of bread or two out there every week or so- fat lot of good we did. But you know what you did to us because of that, Mustang? They found out we were stealing food, and they ordered you to punish us, and you did. You followed your stupid orders to the letter. You tied us both up in front of everyone, and you just whipped us. ...You whipped my brother, Mustang."

He was beyond further shock.

He was not, evidently, beyond further self-disgust, even if before this moment he would've sworn it was impossible to hate himself any more than he already had.

He'd... he'd what? He physically could not comprehend it. It was not possible. He stared at Ed, remembering the stomach-wrenching scars on his back, remember the blood boiling rage that had swept through him at the sight. The swell of hot revenge and the immediate oath that he would murder whoever was responsible-

...It was him?

He had done this?

Ed... Al...

His stomach turned again, and the wrenching pain through his leg was nothing as he pulled it up to his chest, huddling against the wall in a horrified shock. He'd... Ed, Al... no, he wouldn't have- he'd never have done that to them. Never. His entire being rebelled at the very thought. He would never-

Except...

That wasn't true.

He would.

If ordered to, the soldier he'd been back in Ishval...

He would have.

Hurting two defenseless prisoners who'd done nothing wrong would've been far from the worst thing he'd done under orders, after all.

"I'm... sorry," he whispered, but the words sounded empty, hollow, and one of the most worthless apologies he'd ever given in his life. How many more times would he have to apologize for hurting someone so badly, ruining someone's life? Ishval, a thousand times over, Riza, Gracia and Elicia Hughes, Winry, now Ed and Al... "I'm sorry, Ed."

His hands had more blood on them than he could ever apologize for.

"Why don't you tell Al that?" was all Ed said in answer, vicious and designed to hurt, and his heart throbbed.

Then, he realized.

Al.

Al was dead.

And ever since Ed had returned home...

He'd accused Roy of killing him.

No.

Oh, no, no, no.

No...

This can't... I wouldn't have...

No...

"Ed," burst out, a gasp, weak and trembling. No, this wasn't real, it couldn't be- "Ed, how did Al... how did he die?" Roy knew he should let Ed tell it at his own pace and shouldn't push, but at the same time- god, he couldn't stand not knowing. It wasn't true, was it? He'd followed despicable orders over and over again, murdered countless people who hadn't deserved it, was an irredeemable monster in so many ways, but he wouldn't have killed Al. Surely there was a limit, surely there was an order he'd have said no to. There was a limit, and Al, innocent, good-hearted, kind Al, was it.

It had to be.

Ed just looked at him then, and the anger he'd been bracing himself for not coming. Instead he remained calm, and somehow, that calm was far more nerve-wracking than any anger would've been.

Ed just met his gaze without flinching or care for a long, quiet second. There was no emotion in his expression, none at all- and then, voice as hollow as an empty chasm, he spoke.

"We were in Dachau for two and a half years. I don't know how either of us survived. I hung on for Al, and... I guess he hung on for me. The guards hated us because we were always stealing food and medicine, but I think by the end neither of us expected we'd ever get out of there. If we were going to die, we decided we just might as well do it helping people. And we managed it, for two and half years. Until..." He sighed weakly. "There was this kid. Seven years old, but big for his age, so the Nazis let him live to try and work for them- but he ended up in really bad shape. Really sick... I stole one of the officer's blankets for him." He shrugged loosely, eyes still distant, so much so it left him numb with horror. "It's stupid, in the end. There were tons like this kid over the years; nothing special about this one. I'd done so many things worse than helping him, over the years. I didn't think of it as a big deal. And it wasn't, at first... when the shit realized it was missing, he just accused me and Al like always. Didn't have any proof, couldn't figure out which one of us it was so he tried to blame both of us. I confessed, told him everything, that Al had nothing to do with it... and he believed me. So I thought it'd be fine. They'd leave Al alone."

Ed paused, going very, very still.

"He hauled me and Al outside, in front of everyone. He called Rainart over, and... and he told him... he told him that since I hadn't learned my lesson any other way, then maybe I'd learn it if they gave my actions a consequence I couldn't ignore. So he ordered Rainart to shoot Al. And he did. You did, Roy. You got your gun out, and you shot him in the face."

For a moment, Ed simply looked at him. He looked limp and shellshocked, like his soul wasn't even there anymore and his empty body was just calmly recounting a story as dry as his paperwork...

Except he was crying.

Silently, calmly, wet tears slowly spilled over his staring eyes, rolling down his cheeks as he passed down his final sentence, with all the soul crushing weight of an order to death row.

"You murdered my brother."