A/N: Here's the new chapter. This one's mostly the aftermath of the last one, and is perhaps a little fluffy. However, I found it rather enjoyable to write, so I hope you'll have fun reading it. By the way, a note on written Amestrian: I decided when I started this story that written Amestrian would be different from written English, in order to make it harder for Pierce to just pick up one of Ed's books and figure out everything from that. So, written Amestrian ends up looking a lot like Middle English in some of the spellings and capitalizations, with some of the "s"s printed as "f"s like in documents printed on printing presses in the late 1700s. It's not really related to Amestris's association with Germany, but it serves the purpose of making the writing difficult but not impossible to read, which is necessary. Okay, the explanation's over. Enjoy!

A Recurring Nightmare with Popcorn

Chapter 10: We'll All Go Crazy

"If we don't go crazy once in a while, we'll all go crazy." –Dr. Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H.

The morning found Father Mulcahy trying to figure out why his tent smelled like smoke.

He poked his head out of the door, and spotted Klinger walking past in a sea-green A-line strapless dress.

"Klinger, did you happen to see anyone smoking near my tent?" he asked.

"Nope," Klinger answered. "Hey, if you got some time, would you mind throwing up a prayer or two for us? Someone broke into the supply shed and stole a bunch of stuff. Hot Lips is on the warpath and it's all I can do to stay out of her way."

"What was stolen?" Father Mulcahy asked. If the thief showed up for confession, he wanted to be ready.

"That's the strange thing, Father," Klinger said. "It was all completely unconnected. A couple of containers of the ammonia we were using to clean the latrines are gone, but so is half of the salt the cook was supposed to use this month. Maybe half the water supply's missing, too, and the iron supplements Pierce ordered from Seoul last month. No one can figure out the connection."

"Maybe it was different thieves?" Mulcahy suggested.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but Hot Lips is convinced it was all the same person," Klinger said. "And even if I do want to go home, I'm not stupid enough to start an argument with her and risk going there in a pine box."

"I understand," Mulcahy said. "But if you go around saying things like that, people might start thinking you're sane."

"Good point," Klinger said. "Can't have that, can I?"

Mulcahy just smiled. He didn't exactly approve of Klinger's methods, but he understood that everyone had their own ways of staying sane in the present madness. Even if Klinger's happened to be pretending to be crazy.

He waved as Klinger walked away, the hem of his gown kicking up a cloud of dust as he went. Then, sighing, he sat down on the edge of his bed and opened his bible to James.

After a few minutes, he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said absently. He heard the door creak open, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, and the thump of someone seating themself on the floor.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, looking up. He tried not to allow a note of surprise to enter his voice when he noticed that his guest was the young Amestrian major…Ed, he believed, was the boy's name.

"Don't get all excited," Ed grumbled. "I'm just in here because I need to be somewhere where Mustang isn't."

"Have you had an argument?" Mulcahy asked.

"Worse," Ed spat. "He's worried about me."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, the guy usually acts like he couldn't care less," Ed muttered. "But today, he keeps giving me these sideways looks like I'm gonna break or something. I can take care of myself! I've been doing it long enough."

"I see," Mulcahy said, although he didn't, really. He knew Ed didn't even care if he understood. The boy just needed someone to talk to. Mulcahy got the distinct feeling that he was filling in for whoever the boy usually confided in.

"I mean, come on, he's Colonel B-, since when does he have a heart? And why does he have to grow one now, of all times, when Al's not here? He's probably actually appreciate the idiot being concerned, but to me, it's just creepy."

Mulcahy blinked in surprise at the boy's nickname for his CO, but said nothing.

"D- Envy, this is all his fault…."

"Envy?" Mulcahy asked. "Like the Deadly Sin?"

It was Ed's turn to be confused. "Deadly Sin?"

"Oh, that's right, you said your country wasn't very religious," Mulcahy said. "In Catholicism, we call the sins that are most dangerous to ones' eternal soul—the most deadly, if you will—the 'Seven Deadly Sins' or 'Seven Cardinal Sins.'"

"Seven?" Ed asked, suddenly turning very pale. "Could you list them for me?"

"Of course," Mulcahy said, delighted that Ed was showing interest in religion, even if it was an odd place to start on. "There's Envy, as I said, and then Lust, Gluttony, Wrath, Greed, Sloth and Pride."

Ed stared at him, startlingly golden eyes wide. "D- it," he said softly. Then, he blinked. "Oh, um, sorry. I guess I shouldn't say that to a priest."

"I don't mind," Mulcahy said evenly. "Is there a reason you're so interested in the Sins?"

Ed was quiet for a few seconds. "Ah, what the h-. You're a priest, who're you going to tell, anyhow? There are a bunch of b-s in our country that are using your Deadly Sins as code names."

Mulcahy wasn't sure how he felt about the Deadly Sins being "his," but he was more concerned about other things Ed had said.

"Erm, what, exactly did these, erm, what did they do to deserve being called, um, that?" Mulcahy asked haltingly.

"Beat me up, killed one of Mustang's friends and injured another bad enough that he got discharged from the military, and, believe me, that's hard…." Ed trailed off pensively, then continued. "Tried to kill Mustang, too… actually, mostly they just killed people, lots of them. I really don't even know how many, but a lot."

"And they're using the Sins as names?" Mulcahy asked, trying to wrap his brain around what Ed had just said.

"I think so," Ed said thoughtfully. "I mean, I've only seen some of them, so I don't know if there's one for every sin. But if there is, that means there are more of them, which would suck."

Almost absently, Ed began counting on white-gloved fingers. "Let's see…there's Gluttony, but I haven't seen him in a while, and Greed, but the Fuhrer stuck four swords through him in Dublith, so he's probably dead…."

"Probably?" Mulcahy asked, feeling a little light-headed.

"And Lust, but Mustang burnt her to a crisp, and then Envy, who needs to die but hasn't yet, d- it! That leaves…um…."

"Pride, Wrath and Sloth," Mulcahey supplied as his lightheadedness increased. "Did you say 'burnt her to a crisp'?"

"Yep. That was after she tried to kill him and Havoc, though, so she sorta brought it on herself. Anyhow, Pride, Wrath, and Sloth…great, just great. Three more of them to deal with…Sloth doesn't sound like much trouble, but Wrath's got to be good in a fight."

The blond looked up from his fingers. "Well, this sucks. Thanks for telling me about it, though, Father. You're probably the least annoying priest I've ever met."

"Um, you're welcome?" Mulcahy said hesitantly.

"See you around!" the boy said cheerily, standing up slowly, one hand wrapped around his abdomen.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" Mulcahy asked.

"Ah, this is nothing," the boy said dismissively. "And Colonel Ba—I mean—Idiot made me take some sort of pain medication anyhow. Not that it really does anything for the pain—I've used too many pain meds for any of them to still work on me—but they make me kinda loopy so I don't notice it so much."

Mulcahy practically laughed out loud at himself. He was so gullible sometimes. Some kid comes in high on pain meds and feeds him some ridiculous story about people named Greed and Lust getting skewered and burned, and he actually bought it. His teachers in seminary had always said that a priest had to be able to laugh at himself. He just wished he would stop doing laughable things.

Someone else knocked at the door.

"Just a minute, please," Mulcahy said.

"Is Ed in there?" a voice asked.

"Breda," Ed grumbled.

"I heard that!" Breda said, opening the door. "The Colonel's been looking for you. Get moving, Shrimp."

"'M not a shrip!" Ed protested blearily. "And I just found out that there are more things like Envy! The priest told me all about it. He didn't even try to shoot me like Cornello! But anyway, there are seven of them, like the Deadly Sins in…what was it called?"

"Catholicism," Mulcahy supplied patiently.

"Yeah, that," Ed continued.

"Wow, Mustang went a little overboard with the pain meds, huh?" Breda asked. "Be serious, Ed, I doubt the priest knows any more about those guys than we do. How about we go over to the mess tent for the meeting and you go to sleep?"

"Can I curse once the priest isn't here?" Ed asked.

"Whatever," Breda said. "I taught you half the words you know, anyhow."

"I knew it was you!" Ed said. "I gotta tell Frank…" he continued absently.

"Goodbye," Mulcahey said as the two left.

It wasn't until later that Mulcahy realized a number of things. First, Ed had been acting completely normal, if a bit immature, at the beginning of their conversation, not like he was high on medication. Second, Ed had never actually mentioned what had happened to him, only that it was bad enough to warrant pain meds, and that he had "used too many" for them to actually work on him, which was, in and of itself, interesting. Third, that Breda had never denied the existence of Envy, he'd only expressed doubt that Mulcahy knew anything about him or his associates.

They hadn't covered any of this in seminary.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"What was that?" Breda asked once they were far enough from Mulcahy's tent.

"I just got some useful intel from the priest," Ed said. "But Mustang definitely gave me too much of that medicine, and I ended up saying more than I meant to. I acted a little "high" so that he'd think it was the medicine talking."

He rubbed his rib. It hurt, but it was a dull ache, and the medicine, was, if nothing else, messing with his brain enough that he couldn't focus on it…or anything else, really.

"So, what did you find out?" Breda asked.

"Seven?" Mustang exploded at the meeting. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hand. "You sure you didn't just think you heard him say that?"

"Nah," Ed said calmly. "I just can't concentrate too well right now; I'm not hallucinating or anything. By the way, that is the last time you give me pain medicine."

"Look, we can't let Pierce know that what he saw last night actually happened, and explaining away a broken rib isn't easy," Mustang said. "Pierce is a doctor; it's his job to know when people are in pain. This isn't something as simple as hiding the fact that you're automail's bothering you from Al."

"But won't Pierce notice that I'm sorta…off…today?" Ed asked. "I sound weird even to me right now."

"I didn't realize that the pain medicine would make you so loopy," Mustang admitted.

"Y'know, that's in my personnel record," Ed pointed out. "You never read it, did you?"

"I did…a while ago…" Mustang protested weakly.

Riza's gun was out and pointed at him before anyone could blink.

"Sir, I believe it's time that we reviewed the personnel records, wouldn't you say?" she asked sweetly, her finger resting lightly on the trigger.

"Y-yes, of course," Roy said quickly.

He practically ran out of the tent, with Riza close behind him.

"I think the meeting's adjourned," Breda said.

"Seems like it," Falman agreed.

"I'm gonna go back to the tent and try to avoid Pierce," Ed grumbled. "I hate this. My attention span's shot, I can't even think straight and I'm pretty sure I'd blow our cover completely if Pierce actually asked me."

"Good luck, kid," Falman said.

"'M not a kid, or a shrimp," Ed said.

"I didn't call you a shrimp," Falman said.

"I know. That was Breda," Ed said.

"Ed, that was ten minutes ago!" Breda said.

"Oh…" Ed said slowly.

"Why don't you go sleep, Ed," Fuery suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," Ed said, leaving the mess tent.

From behind him, he heard Falman say, "I'm with Ed. The Colonel's not giving him pain medication again. This is sort of scary."

"I don't know," he heard Fuery say. "He's sorta cute like this."

If Ed hadn't been feeling incredibly drowsy, he would have gone back and killed Fuery for saying that.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

About an hour later, in the Swamp, Trapper stared at Pierce as he tried to absorb what his tentmate was telling him.

"I'm with the kid," he said slowly. "You really need to lay off the booze. That is one weird dream."

"I know," Pierce answered. "But it was so vivid! I never remember my dreams like that."

"Hawk, I hate to say it, but maybe you oughta talk to Sidney about this," Trapper said carefully.

"I'm not nuts!" Pierce protested loudly.

"I'm just saying, I think you're making too much out of a couple of coincidences," Trapper said.

"I know what I saw," Pierce said. "The scar on Mustang's hand is exactly the same as the design he had on his glove in his dream."

"Maybe you noticed it earlier and it ended up in your dream," Trapper suggested.

"It's more than that, though!" Pierce insisted. "In the dream, when he snapped his fingers, he made fire. And the design on his glove had a salamander on it, and triangles…I know those have something to do with fire..."

"Hawk…"

"The kid's books! That's it. Maybe there's something in them…."

"He's not gonna like that, Hawk."

"He's drugged up to his eyeballs," Pierce said, gesturing to the sleeping boy, who twitched in his sleep. "Mustang told me he gave him the wrong medicine for his headache…we'll be lucky if he wakes up this week."

"The kid's a genius. He'll figure out you looked at his books."

"He caught me looking at them before and didn't care. He said they were in code."

"Then how the heck do you expect to find out anything from them?"

"Humor me, Trapp."

"As if I could actually stop you from doing anything," Trapper grumbled.

Pierce smiled crookedly in reply as he approached Ed's suitcase.

"Okay, the recipe book isn't going to help…what's this?" He picked up an old-looking, cloth-bound book. "Weapons of the Amestrian Military? This looks promising."

He seated himself, Indian-style, on the floor next to the suitcase, and opened the tome carefully.

"Geez, what is this?" Pierce muttered to himself, squinting at the pages. "Their spelling is almost like Middle English…Okay, Trapp, listen to this: This Hiftorie cannot be called 'complete' without the mention of a certain Weapon of the Amestrian Army whiche has eftablifhed its effectiveness in War, moste specifically the Ishballan Conflict. This is the Human Weapon, whiche we know by the Name of State Alchemist. By the drawing of Circles, they affume control of the Powers whiche course through the Earth and caufe Death and Defolation within the ranks of the Enemy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trapper asked.

"Don't you get it?" Pierce asked. "'By the drawing of Circles, they affume control of the Powers whiche course through the Earth,' just like the circle in my dream, and the one on Mustang's hand!"

"So you're saying that these people have figured out how to control some sort of natural force and use it to do magic tricks?" Trapper asked.

"I'm not saying it, but the book is," Pierce said.

"For all you know, that's some sort of gag book," Trapper argued.

"I've heard the Amestrians mention the Ishballan Conflict," Pierce stated. "They never joke about it."

"So the author's serious," Trapper said. "But how do you know what he means by "controlling the Power that courfes through the Earth"? Maybe it's some sort of indirect scientific reference or something cultural that an Amestrian would understand, but we wouldn't."

"Or maybe it's just what it seems like."

"Do you even hear yourself? You're suggesting not only that the Amestrians have some sort of weird supernatural ability, but also that they lied about having it and told you that you'd dreamt real events in order to cover it up."

"Well, if you had a way of making people into "Human Weapons" that "caufe Death and Defolation within the ranks of the Enemy", wouldn't you try to hide it from other countries?"

"Hawk, think about this! What you're suggesting is impossible."

"I know it is!" Pierce practically shouted. "But no matter how hard I try, I can't think of any other way to explain this. Trapp, something happened last night, I'm sure of it. I'm just having trouble with figuring out how to make it fit with reality."

"But none of what you're saying makes any sense!" Trapper burst out.

"I know it doesn't! I'm trying to figure it out!"

"Maybe you're just losing it!"

"Maybe I am! I don't even know anymore!" Pierce cried in frustration, throwing Ed's book back into his suitcase.

Neither of them noticed Mustang listening to their exchange from the doorway with a small smirk on his face.

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A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Don't worry, the plot will continue to move forward slowly but surely. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you'll take the time to review. The next chapter is currently undergoing revision, but the tentative quote is: "I'm tired of this. It's like, just when I think our goal is within reach, it slips right through our fingers. It's happened time and again. Now, when we finally have it in our grasp, the truth slaps us in the face."—Ed Elric, FMA. See you next chapter!