YALL THOUGHT I WAS JUST GONNA END THERE? [cackles]

Kimblee first woke up screaming and laughing.

Or trying too, at least.

Blood was pouring from his lips as he jerked, vision clouded with the red haze as wailing and crying from the stone rang out in his ears. Taunting laugher and echoing noise resounded from everywhere as strong hands struggled to pin him down.

There was more yelling and a sharp pain was stabbed into his arm.

That only made it worse as he jerked his arm away, tearing something and white-hot pain shot up his shoulder.

His hands instinctively moved together, but before his fingertips could even touch, his wrists were wrenched apart. He jerked again, trying to free his arms from the hands grasping his wrists.

Hands that dragged him down as he separated himself from the millions of anguished souls.

Every touch, every hand on him made him want to vomit.

He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, and all he could hear was torment mixed in with yelling and laughter. A stark white grin stretched too impossibly wide was seared into his mind as he was stuck again and again with needles and his neck was warm and wet with blood.

His struggling was becoming sluggish and still, he screamed out, clawing and fighting the hands that grabbed him, that pulled him down, down into oblivion—

After one final stab, he fell still and his struggling stopped, eyes falling closed again.

And then nothing.

The second time his eyes opened, it was much calmer. His mind was sluggish, hazy. He was drifting and felt as if he was floating. Drugged and barely awake.

A heavy weight was resting against his leg and the faint glow of light under a closeddoor cast deep shadows that sent a tremor down his spine.

Shadows— turn the light out, he'll come back— it hurts. Oh god— it hurts! It's tearing, biting, ripping, slashing—

He couldn't breathe— couldn't remember how to breathe—

He jerked weakly, sluggishly realizing that he was bound down at his wrists and legs, and a weak spark of panic shot through his mind. But then something stuck him in the arm and then darkness consumed his vision again and he was drifting once more.

The third time he woke, he woke to voices. Muddled shouting and hushed tones— a voice that was steadily raising and he was certain that it was Edward.

No. That wasn't possible.

Edward was alive, and he was dead. He traded his own self, his own soul, and the souls in Pride that agreed, to pay whatever Edward had to for his brother. Edward wasn't allowed to be dead—

A blurry form hovered into his line of sight and he faintly realized that there was a warmth holding onto his hand. He was still bound, he hazily realized, eyes unfocused and by gods, he must still be drugged. Drugged so much that he could barely remember anything, barely register anything else aside from his previous train of thought.

There was muffled noise, someone said something but he couldn't tell what— gods his ears were ringing and he could still hear the symphony of torment from the stone.

He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and then darkness engulfed him like an embrace again.

He remained in and out of consciousness, never fully aware of what was going on but throughout his wakings, there was always… something— someone?— nearby.

At some point, the bonds tethering him down were removed, and at some point when he woke he remembered how to breathe.

Sometimes yelling could be heard from far away from different voices.

Edward. Darius. He could pick those two out in those small moments of clarity.

(Greed… where was Greed? The bastard was never far from them all…)

Mustang, he heard once or twice. Zampano and Jerso. Alphonse. He knew Alphonse's voice. Edward always with him.

Kimblee finally woke in a fully lucid state to Edward yelling in the next room over and the throbbing pain of an IV in his arm. A much larger hand was grasping his and he made an attempt to turn his head— only for a sharp pain to shoot up into his skull from his neck. He screwed his eyes shut and sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"Solf?"

He blearily opened his eyes again. Heinkel leaned over him, dark circles under his eyes and brows furrowed. Worry easily discernible on his face.

He opened his mouth to speak, only for another sharp of pain to shoot through his skull when he did. He snapped his jaw shut, wincing both from the pain and the sharp and loud click of his teeth that resounded in his head.

"Shit," Heinkel breathed before he left his field of view again and he vaguely heard the blonde leave and flag down a nurse. The yelling from Alphonse stopped and then Heinkel was back next to him, his larger hand holding onto his lightly.

It didn't take long for the nurse to arrive with… Ah… oh…

Kimblee's eyes widened a bit at the familiar face of Tim Marcoh. He was glad to see he lived, though he refrained from greeting him.

He wasn't stupid and if trying to talk shot that pain up into his skull, he wouldn't be trying it again anytime soon.

"How are you feeling, Kimblee?" the doctor asked and he grimaced but shifted, lifting his free arm up with some effort. His body felt so heavy, and the same feeling of not his crawled across his skin again.

'Hazy… horrible… what happened?' he signed shakily and the best he could with one hand. It took a moment but, recognition flashed across Marcoh's face. It seemed like he knew Amestrian Sign Language.

The Doctor sighed a bit as the Nurse shuffled about, checking the drip bag and IV.

"You've been out for around a two, almost three weeks…" he said. "We weren't sure if you would make it at all, the first night you woke you nearly killed yourself. It took nearly a fatal amount of sedatives to get you back to sleep so we could operate again. It doesn't speak well to know that you've built up such a tolerance, but that's a problem for another time."

A ghost of a smile appeared across the doctor's face. "You have an intense desire to live, Kimblee. Or so Edward says."

Kimblee thought for a second before spelling out 'E-D' then the sign for 'alive' followed by a questioning look. He would have to figure out official sign names for them all soon.

"Yes, he's alive," Marcoh assured him. "He and Alphonse have gotten their bodies back."

He felt a bit of happiness upon hearing that before he paused. 'Why the yelling?'

Both Marcoh and Heinkel grimaced, Heinkel's hand tightening around his own.

"There is… conflict on what to do with you, Solf," Heinkel sighed. "Considering your… past record."

Kimblee snorted before wincing in pain. 'Options?'

"As of now?" Marcoh sighed, shaking his head as he pulled a stool over to sit. "Prison for life, Death Row, or spending the rest of your life in Ishval."

'I feel like I'm missing something,' He signed before holding up his hand in the universal sign for 'stop'. 'What's this about Ishval?'

"That is true, we should probably catch you up on the current events," Marcoh mused before he cleared his throat and began.

.:.:.:.:.

The short version of events after Pride was destroyed and Kimblee entered Limbo was that Edward defeated the Father after Alphonse traded his soul for Edward's arm and after Greed sacrificed himself in order to break down Father's body into the weakest substance possible— or at least the weakest form or Charcoal, apparently. After the Promised day there had been a lot of clean up that was needed, considering how it was technically done during a rather violent Coup.

It had been Edward who found him in the aftermath, sprawled out on the floor of the underground chamber near the remnant of Pride. Kimblee vaguely remembered something from then, but even his photographic memory couldn't grasp eveything when he was a tad distracted with quite literally choking on his own blood.

No one was sure how he appeared since Marcoh confirmed that he saw Pride eat him alive. Kimblee had speculations, but nothing concrete. He would need time to go through everything in his memory once the drugs in his system were gone. Still, it was strange to be referred to as having been eaten alive.

He had been in the hospital since the end of the Promised Day.

In regards to the rest of the Nation, the blame was pushed onto Brigadier Generals Cremin and Edison— it took a moment for Kimblee to place the names and faces, as his head was still hazy from the drugs being pumped into his body.

Mustang was negotiating with Grumman— who was being set up by the 'rebels' to become the next Füher— on starting an Ishval Restoration act. Mustang was going to head it from Central with Major Miles on the ground in Ishval— with Scar, though Mustang hadn't been told that bit yet.

Speaking of Mustang, Marcoh had thanked him for giving Alphonse both Philosopher's stones that he had been in possession of. Using one of them, Marcoh had been able to restore Mustang's eyesight and Jean Havoc's legs. That stone from Ishval was all used up now and a part of Kimblee felt relieved for some reason he couldn't place.

So that was good news at least.

And between everything else, there was a heated debate about what to do with him.

From what Heinkel and Marcoh had told him, along with what Miles and Scar had discussed with the two, prison would be the most… humane option of the three on the table— Death row was death row, there wasn't anything special about that, but being sent to Ishval for the restoration act was a risky bet at best.

Kimblee was known among the Ishvalans as the scourge of Ishval, and given the chance, they would kill him. And another war would break out.

( Maybe. It depended on how much the Military cared about if he lived or died— it wasn't much, he knew, so it was a toss-up. )

Alphonse and Edward were adamant about him being taken off of Death Row for his role in stopping the Promised Day, at least. Kimblee personally considered it to be minor in the grand scheme in terms of what was seen— all he did was keep Edward safe and make sure Heinkel didn't die against Pride and Wrath— but Edward, Marcoh had said, was claiming otherwise.

Apparently, the boy had sensed him from within the Stone when he was defeating Pride. Calling Pride out again had been a memorable experience.

Imagine that. The blonde boy always did manage to do the impossible.

But, Kimblee was hesitant to agree with them about prison being humane. In truth, he would prefer to have been left dead than deal with Prison ever again. The physical aspects were still obvious on his body, and when his hands were separated, he was practically defenseless.

He didn't exactly wish to deal with that again.

Not when he was still trying to remove the tendrils of madness and voices of anguish from when he was inside the stone. And not after tasting the warmth of belonging and care from others.

No, he had quite bluntly signed to Marcoh that he would rather they just put him down like a dog and his body left to rot than put him back in solitary— especially with six months of being used to the noise that Edward, Darius, and Greed had kicked up and the almost constant knowledge of Heinkel being nearby.

Heinkel knew enough Amestrian Sign Language to catch what he had been saying and vehemently protested. So much so that it had caught him off guard and he had stared at the blonde in bewilderment for more than a few moments.

That was all Marcoh seemed to need though, vowing the two of them that he'd find a different alternative before giving Kimblee a general rundown on his medical condition.

He had a number of stitches from the various wounds he had gotten from Pride and Bradley— the one in his shoulder had apparently been the most life-threatening of the stab wounds.

Bradley had been aiming for the arteries in his upper arm but had missed— just barely.

Marcoh had done all he could with the Philosopher's stone, but even there were limits to what he was allowed to do under the eye of the Military. Kimblee wouldn't ever be in his former top condition— which wasn't that impressive, all things considered. When all was healed and done, his lungs would be weaker for sure and his vocal cords, as of now, had yet to heal. The damage done to them was still being estimated.

But, Marcoh had saved him from death, so Kimblee had told him that it didn't matter that it would take a longer time to recover his voice. Marcoh had assured him that it would come back, however, so he wasn't too worried.

It had been about five days since that conversation, and Kimblee was fine with still being in recovery.

He found that he slept a lot more— though with the number of sedatives and pain killers he was on he wasn't surprised— and still couldn't talk without a searing pain shooting up from his throat to his skull. Luckily Heinkel knew enough Amestrian Sign Language to get by in conversations, albeit clumsily, and Marcoh had dropped by once to deliver a notebook and pen for him. Marcoh managed to get him transferred to an inclined bed so he could stay slightly sat up without being in pain, which he was grateful for.

He quite enjoyed Marcoh, and Marcoh seemed to not mind him, now that he knew Kimblee wasn't going to use psychological warfare on him or anyone else. He was bringing him updates on the Mustang Situation, as they called it, and the Elric Brothers' recovery.

Alphonse especially would need a long time before he was back and up on his feet, so imagine Kimblee's surprise when two golden-haired boys poked their heads into his hospital room.

"Mister Kimblee!"

"Fireworks-Bastard!"

The Alchemist startled, looking up from his book. Heinkel had left to go grab something to eat, so he hadn't been expecting anyone, let alone the Elric brothers, to show up.

He held up a hand in a wave as he closed the book and set it to the side while Edward wheeled his brother into the room in a wheelchair. Alphonse was pretty gaunt still, though he was slowly putting on more weight.

Apparently, he was going through physical therapy with Havoc as well.

"How are you feeling?" The younger brother asked. And there was no doubt that this boy was Alphonse, with his golden hair and eyes. And obviously the voice.

Kimblee picked up the notebook, scrawling out an answer.

'Better than a few weeks ago apparently. You?'

Alphonse smiled slightly. "I'm doing alright," he said, "It's a bit weird to be human again, honestly."

Kimblee hummed softly, one of the few noises he could make without hurting himself.

'Dysphoric or just not used to everything yet?' he wrote, tapping the notebook with his pen.

"Mostly just not used to everything," the boy confirmed and Edward cleared his throat.

"What about you? You were… a soul for like, half a day," he asked. "Do you need me to run and get anything for you?"

Kimblee frowned, tapping the pen a bit before he started to write again.

'It's not Ideal,' he started, thinking. 'I'm still adjusting to being physical. The time spent in the stone felt much longer than a day. But until I'm sure what's going to happen, I'll just have to deal with it. Should I return to Central prison, then I don't get the luxury to find something that is "alright" for my body. But thank you.'

Alphonse frowned. No doubt that Edward had told him about everything their group went through while the two were recovering. He didn't mind.

"That hardly seems fair," Alphonse sighed. Kimblee shrugged the shoulder that wasn't attached to the arm with the IV.

'Prison isn't fair. If there's one thing you should know about prison is that size matters. That's why I was glad I was at least in solitary for the most part. You only get roughed up by the wardens if all goes well.'

Both boys made faces at that as Edward pulled a stool up to the bed.

"Oh, I've been meaning to ask," Edward started, changing the subject. "How exactly did you manage to keep your individuality in Pride?"

Now that certainly was a question.

'I spent six years with a Philosopher's stone. The first instance you use it, it digs into your mind, whispering words of power and promises. You go mad,' he wrote out, pausing for a second to think. 'It took me two years to come out of that haze. Drunk on power and finally being at the top. The remaining four years I spent listening and assimilating with the souls inside the stone. I suppose it was just that.'

He paused again before he wrote one more thing down under the statement.

'And self-control.' he decided, holding the notebook up to them with a flat look.

Edward snorted before becoming serious. "Truth said that my toll was paid before I arrived in the Gate," he said and Kimblee's eyes widened a bit before he let out a soundless sigh.

'When I arrived with the rest of the souls from Pride, I had been curious, and Truth had also been curious— or feigned so— about me. How I kept myself from falling into the torment and becoming nothing but another soul,' he wrote out, pausing to show the two brothers. He had already told Marcoh and Heinkel this already— as soon as the sedatives had worn off. Though another dose had to be administered almost immediately, Photographic memories were great until there was far too much to take in and remember at once.

Kimblee spun his pen between his fingers before he continued to write. 'Then, Truth asked what would be the equivalent to all the souls in Pride. Pride had millions, and I was the only one who could keep my form. He wanted a game. Perhaps for me to bargain the souls for my own life. To return to the living.'

"You didn't though," Alphonse murmured. Kimblee tapped his pen once.

'No,' he wrote. 'I wasn't interested so I asked for a chance to bargain for something else instead of took a bit, and by then you were fighting the Father, but I had to reenter the souls and ask every single one of them. They agreed, and we all offered our collective millions of souls for Alphonse's soul and body. From what I gather, when you came through yourself you were told that you could simply take Alphonse and go.'

"But why would you—" Edward started before all three of them startled as the door slammed open.

"Mister Kimblee, sir!"

Oh, there was Darius. He had wondered where the other Chimera had been in the meantime.

The Gorilla Chimera strode in, with Zamapano and Jerso behind him. All three seemed to be in good health, their injuries mostly healed though considering how long Kimblee had been out, it wasn't surprising, really.

"How are you feeling, sir?" Darius asked, the three stopping beside the bed. "Heinkel told us you've been up for a few days. Apologies that we couldn't come sooner."

'It's no matter. Recovery is long. I've been sleeping mainly,' he signed with one hand without thinking, the other one already writing the same response down.

He glanced up after a second, holding the notebook for them to see. Jerso glanced to Zampano before both of them grinned.

'How much longer do you think you'll be in recovery?' Jerso signed though it was a bit clumsy and slow. Kimblee blinked.

"These two chuckle-nuts and I have been brushing up on our Amestrian Sign," Darius said, grinning a bit at their former commander's confusion.

'Really?'

"Yep," Zampano sighed, arms crossed. "Apparently, besides us and Heinkel, Doctor Marcoh's the only one who knows what you're saying fluently. All the other guys either never bothered learning or are too rusty. The doctor bullied Grumman and Mustang into learning."

'I'd have loved to see—' he paused before he quickly signed the sign for 'Crystal' then 'Doctor'. 'M-A-R-C-O-H do that.'

"Already got a sign name for the guy? Impressive," Darius observed. Kimblee gave him a flat look that conveyed the feeling of 'who do you think I am?' before he pointed to Alphonse.

He signed the sign for 'Armor' before lightly thumping his chest. He then pointed to Edward before making the signs for 'full' and 'metal'.

"Wha-!? You have those three but not me?" the Gorilla Chimera cried. "I thought we were buds!"

The flat look increased in intensity before he laughed silently before pointing to Darius and then making the sign for Gorilla with one hand, then combined it with 'man'.

The man slumped his shoulders. "I should've figured."

Jerso laughed. "I can assume we're all the same then?"

Kimblee nodded then shrugged, pointing to Jerso and then making the sign for 'Frog' combined with 'fish'.

Zampano's was 'Boar' and then 'spine'.

He paused before showing them Heinkel's— 'Lion' but then instead of letters he gently tapped the spot over his heart.

The both of them pat Darius, though grinned widely at the open display of affection towards the last of their Quad before Edward finally broke he and his brother's confused silence.

"Okay, what the hell was that?" he asked, eyes narrowing with determination as Alphonse laughed softly. "And where can I learn?"

"That, Edward, was Amestrian Sign Language, and I have a few books I'll send for so you can learn," Marcoh's voice said from the door. The three Chimeras moved to the end of the bed, allowing Kimblee a clear look at the door and he suppressed a grimace, seeing Mustang, Grumman, and Miles behind Marcoh.

Behind them all was Heinkel, holding a tray of food and looking less than thrilled at the three's appearances. Marcoh's expression wasn't much better, but they all crossed the room and over to him.

"How are you feeling, Kimblee?" Marcoh asked. Kimblee raised a brow.

'No better than the last time you asked, doctor."

He chuckled. "I suppose that would be the case," he said. "Still, no major pain?"

'I'm certain that you'd know if I was.'

Marcoh nodded. Somehow, Heinkel seemed to always know if he was in pain and would find someone to alert.

Kimblee's eyes moved from Marcoh to Grumman, who had taken a seat patiently at his bedside. Heinkel had moved to the other side of the bed, sitting in his usual chair as he set the tray down on the side table.

Kimblee sighed silently but picked the pen up again.

'And how may I be of service to you, Lieutenant General Grumman?'

He held it up to them, a polite but distant smile on his face. Mustang stood behind Grumman, as did Miles, and both of them wore masks of impassivity.

Grumman's own was of a polite, grandfatherly smile, and had he not been on edge, Kimblee would have probably relaxed.

"Personally, I was curious on your condition," the man said, "I've been making my way through all the hospitalizations slowly."

'Quite a lot of time for the rumored next Füher to be taking out of his schedule.'

"Is it now?" the man asked, tilting his head.

Kimblee just raised a brow in return.

'I apologize for my rudeness but why are you here, Sir?'

There's one more chapter after this one.

Further Notes:

We never really learned how the fuck kimblee stayed as kimblee aside from "ah yes. these noises? a soothing lullaby" like b ? what ? so im going off of the idea that the more accustomed to torment someone is— either the actual act or the sounds— the easier it is to keep their sense of self. But they also have to have an insane amount of personal self control.

once again, my weird ass au, my weird ass rules. Kimblee and the souls from Pride collectively agreed that because Edward had released them, they would pay for Edward's toll so yeah, Ed kept his alchemy. (bonus, the souls silently conveyed to Truth to send Kimblee back too)

Prison is not easy. The physical aspect in losing weight and injury is there and I've already explained it, and the psychological aspect is there too.