Chapter 82 – Pieces of Family

There was an abundance of awkward silence in the room that Hohenheim walked around in, and he feigned ignorance to the silence deliberately. The old man moved from the corner of the room to the coffee and sofa tables that were covered with numerous paper and glass things, some of which sparkled or glittered. His smile grew a little more every time he stole a glance of Winry standing at the back of the couch. He would keep this moment cherished with wild amusement, growing better still when she finally spoke.

"Um," Winry glanced around hesitantly, "there's a pine tree in the living room."

"It's a fir tree, actually. And yes, there is," was his matter-of-fact answer, as though nothing were out of place or wrong about a Christmas tree.

"Same difference," Winry moved her balance from left foot to right foot, then back again, as her fingers kneaded the back of the couch, "Why is there a pine tree in the living room? It's going to turn brown and die," she eyeballed the clean cut at its base.

"It'll only be here for a week, and then I'll chop it up for firewood," Hohenheim thought that this conversation was funny, and he tried not to laugh. It was just as funny as when Edward had seen this tradition – the boy hadn't said much, but the clearly perplexed look on his son's face had been absolutely priceless.

Sweeping her hair over one shoulder, Winry rubbed her hands together uneasily before running her fingers through the ends of her hair, "And you're making it pretty… now that it's met this untimely demise?"

Hohenheim would laugh at that. Straightening up, he grinned over to her, "It's for Christmas. Most households will have one. There were trees decorated at the party, remember?"

"Yeah, but I thought they were decorated for the party…" she replied in defence, recalling the party from a few days prior. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to see if there were other things she might be missing, "this holiday isn't making any sense. Why put a holiday this close to new years anyways?"

"It's a religious thing, Winry, let's leave it at that," collecting a worn box full of painted glass bulbs, Hohenheim wrapped a few wire hooks around his pinky finger, took a spool of thread into his hand, and moved back to the tree.

When the front door opened, all attention was refocused to the end of the hall behind Winry. Dropping an oversized paper bag to the floor with a thud, Ed entered without a word or greeting, and shut the door behind himself.

Hohenheim's brow rose a little with curiosity, "What's in the bag, Edward?"

Without taking off his coat, but stepping out of his boots, Ed snagged up the bag again and marched into the living room. He put his empty shoulder against a wall and replied flatly, "Laundry."

Interesting, Hohenheim thought before speaking further, "That's quite a bit of laundry. Are you doing laundry in brown paper bags now? Doesn't that get the bag soggy?"

"Shut up," he hissed at his father. Ed lifted the bag by its handles and shook it, "This is the laundry I took to the tailors."

The fingers on Winry's left hand danced at her chin, "Does that mean your pants fit now? Or should you dare pulling them down lower, so your ankles aren't an embarrassment?"

"You can shut that noise hole too," Ed pointed a daring finger at the giggling girl, "at least it was cheaper than buying new pants. I really hadn't planned on spending that much money before the new year."

Hohenheim tipped his head in thought, pulling a hum and a haw into his voice, "Did you have any money left for Christmas gifts?"

"I don't buy people Christmas gifts," Ed dropped his statement like a weighty brick.

Winry's gaze darted between the two men, "You buy gifts for people on this holiday?"

"Yes, you do."

"No, you don't."

Hohenheim turned to Winry, "I buy Christmas gifts for people and Edward chooses not to participate."

"Aw shit," Ed's upper body sagged as he stepped away from the wall, "you bought gifts, didn't you? I told you not to."

Winry's expression sagged as well, "I don't have any money to buy gifts…"

Grinning, Hohenheim passed a comforting gaze Winry's way, "It's a 'it's the thought that counts' kind of gift exchange. I expect nothing from either of you. But, I did think it would be nice to do something more traditional, since Winry's never seen the holiday before."

Ed's expression soured as he started grumbling, "If you start singing Christmas Carols, I'll kill you."

"You can sing?" her expression widened with a childish delight at the man fussing over the tree, "can I hear?"

"NO," Ed announced to any creature that might be living in the cracks of the house.

Laughing, Hohenheim kept his attention squarely on the decorating task at hand as an amusing thought struck him, "Edward, take Winry out to see some carolers. They should be out this evening."

"Why me?" he stiffened at the order given, "I don't do this bullshit holiday crap."

"Well, I'm decorating the tree, you're still wearing your coat, and I think Winry would enjoy herself."

Winry shuffled her way into Ed's line of sight, flashing a pair of wide, shimmering eyes at him, "I'd like to see what carolers are, Ed."

"They sing holiday songs in a language you don't understand," Edward began to whine when Winry wouldn't leave him be, like he was suddenly suffering through excruciating agony, "Why do I have to do this! I don't want to see any carolers."

"Pleeeease?" Winry took on a similar whine to her tone. She tugged on his empty right coat sleeve.

"No, just… no. Son of a bitch… DAD!" the young man's voice cried out in protest as the tugging and waving of his armless coat sleeve continued, a bit more eagerly than before, accompanied by a pleading whine that dragged on and on… and on…

"FINE! Shut up, we'll go!" Ed relented.

"Go put something warm on Winry, you're going to be outside," Hohenheim instructed with the wave of his hand, much to the chagrin of his son.

Letting go of Edward's sleeve, she giggled and quickly vanished from the room, her footsteps thudding up the stairwell of the house.

"Why the hell did you volunteer me for this?" Ed's whine subsided to more of an angry bark, "you know I don't like this garbage."

"I know I know," Hohenheim acknowledged, setting a few ornaments back down on the table, "but, let Winry come to her own conclusions. You can't force your opinions on her all the time and it is one of the more pleasant times of year. There's something that can be said for that."

"UGH," Ed groaned. Throwing his head back, he dragged himself back down the hallway.

A light drizzle began to run from the grey sky overhead, and Alphonse lifted the hood of his jacket over his head. Pulling the strings, he adjusted the knapsack he wore and continued to walk in time with Wrath who appeared unaware of the rain's presence. Al figured Winry would end up being the death of this homunculus if she ever saw the state of the AutoMail, and how Wrath was completely indifferent to how the elements affected it. At least her workmanship was excellent and the AutoMail still functioned well enough.

Al concluded that Wrath had actually been waiting for him outside of town, like some sort of guide dog following it's master's instructions, because there would have been no way he would have caught up otherwise. Wrath seemed genuinely happy to have the company, though he'd occasionally pipe up about how he was looking forward to his treat of red stones. Al passively wondered if there was any way to prevent that. But, his focus at the moment wasn't that; it was Winry and his brother – two things Dante had a ton of information on. Again and again, the young Elric tried to convince himself of Mustang's words: killing Winry wouldn't fit with Dante's style. Why would she tease everyone so much just to anger him with her death? If she wanted to meet with Alphonse Elric, and wanted to talk about something, fine, he'd do it. He was tired of ulterior motives, political agendas, fear mongering, and general caution. They weren't getting him anywhere; in fact, they seemed to be setting him back. He'd accepted during this walk that his actions had been selfish, rash, and poorly thought out, but maybe that would help change things up. If he behaved a little more like his brash older brother, then maybe things would fall in to place. Ed seemed to have an infinite amount of luck with that sometimes.

But, in the meantime, Alphonse had Wrath to talk to, and the homunculus seemed to have no problem answering any question given to him. He easily answered questions about Dante, questions about Tucker, and questions about Nina. As the walk continued, Al thought up a new line of questioning.

"Wrath?" his thoughts drifted in and out of the wooded area they wandered through, "Who's Aisa?"

The young creature stopped dead in its tracks. It wasn't at all the reaction Al had thought he would get, and he could have sworn Wrath shivered, "Aisa's gross…"

"Gross?" the young Elric filed the description in the mental folder of 'not what I was expecting'. "Gross like…?" he took a few steps ahead, trying to keep Wrath moving.

"Gross like bad leftovers in a stew pot," was Wrath's conclusion as he began walking again, hopping over a fallen tree trunk along the way.

"Yum…" Al shook his head to dispose of the strange imagery. He slid his hands into his pockets, "is she a homunculus like you?"

"No, I'm real," Wrath answered, quite affirmatively, "but that, she's… um… leftovers."

At least the answer wasn't 'yes', Al concluded, because that would have meant someone else had tried human transmutation, and he didn't want to get into that realm again. But, then what did that make Aisa? Leftovers? Human, hopefully, "So, why does Dante like her so much if she's so… stew…ish… stew-y?"

"'Cause she's useful," Wrath sounded almost hurt, as though her mention demeaned his own existence, "She looks after what's left of the Philosopher's Stone."

"Interesting," Alphonse mumbled his thought aloud. He'd always assumed that Dante either had the stone on her, or stashed it somewhere. "How much is left?"

"I dunno, I can't see how much is there."

Al looked down at his feet as he trudged through a mix of grass and mud, fallen leaves, and broken tree branches along the unmarked path the pair took. The longer they walked in the drizzle, the louder the boys' feet squished into the earth.

"How come you can't see how much stone is left? Dante won't show it to you?" Al couldn't get his mind off the idea.

"It's still in Gluttony's stomach," the half-mechanical creature shrugged.

Stopping, Al reached out and sharply grabbed Wrath at his good arm, "Gluttony? He's still alive?" What a terrifying prospect. Izumi had told Alphonse about all the homunculi as best she could, and Gluttony seemed to be the least desirable one he wanted to meet. He was gross.

"Oh no, Gluttony's not alive anymore," again, Wrath dumbfounded the Elric beneath the weeping grey sky with a casual response in a profound exchange of words, "but the stone is still in his stomach."

"I'm so confused," Al's helpless thoughts fell onto his lips once more. He wasn't sure which one was less desirable, Gluttony alive with the Philosopher's Stone in his stomach, or Dante keeping Gluttony's corpse around because the Philosopher's Stone was in it. Al wondered if that stunk. He shuddered and hoped she'd mummified him or something. Rolling the thoughts off his shoulders, the hooded Elric found another question to pose, "How did Dante get the Philosopher's Stone? I thought I had it all."

"Gluttony ate some," Wrath toddled along side Alphonse again, much happier to converse when the topic wasn't Aisa, "so there was some in his stomach when Dante took him apart, and that's how she got it out."

Al's brow rose, "… took him apart?" Lovely, that meant he wasn't a corpse and he was in pieces. That was a bit more disgusting than the thought of keeping around a homunculus corpse. "You know what… I think I've had enough details on that," the young Elric concluded, "and now Aisa looks after it… the, uh, dismembered stomach parts with the Philosopher's Stone?" That certainly qualified as gross.

"Yup."

There was that tone in Wrath's voice again at the mention of Aisa. Perhaps it was the fact Aisa was in charge of Gluttony's remains that set the creature at odds with her.

"Aisa makes the red stones, so I have to be nice to her or she won't give me any," Wrath continued to walk, scraping his bare feet into the muddy mix of woodland soil, "don't tell anyone I called her gross, okay?"

An unforeseen shot of adrenaline widened the young Elric's eyes, "How does she make red stones?"

"I don't know," the golem shrugged, "she just does, and Dante gets them from her."

"Okay…" again the razor's edge of Dante began to threaten Alphonse, and he found his pace slowing suddenly, "Dante just gets creepier the more you talk about her. No wonder my dad left her."

Wrath suddenly shivered, shaking his body of a disturbing memory, "When Dante killed your dad, that baby screamed so loud, I thought my head would explode."

The verbal bomb affixed Alphonse's feet to the muddy soil, "Dante did what?"

The purple eyes of the homunculus child returned to the Elric's vision, "Dante killed Hohenheim. She broke the bonds between his mind, body, and soul, and shoved him at the Gate. He died; the Gate killed him."

Al's mind stumbled. Dante killed his dad? When? But… that didn't make sense. His dad was on the other side of the Gate… somehow. Brigitte knew his dad; she'd written his name and described him. Alphonse folded his arms as he thought – something wasn't right. Dante had broken the bonds that held his father's existence together. That action took his father to the Gate. But, instead of killing him, did that action send him beyond the Gate to Brigitte? How else would he have gotten there if that wasn't it? Al's eyes shifted with his thoughts.

Dante didn't know that.

Dante had no idea that his father was beyond the Gate; she thought he was dead. She thought going beyond the Gate was by sacrificing yourself to the Gate like his brother had done. The youngest Elric's eyes widened at the realization. So, if two great alchemists were on the other side of the Gate, and they had all this incredible information at their disposal, but neither one of them came home, it was because… their bonds had been broken?

Al's brow began to stitch together. No bonds meant no alchemy. Could that be it?

Like a string of dominoes falling freely, a weight released from Alphonse's chest and a coherent thought formed in his mind's eye clear as day. That was it. It made sense. That was one of the keys that was missing. The bonds had to be broken to cross the Gate. If his dad had bonds, then he would perform alchemy and come home – Alphonse wanted to believe that with all his heart. If his brother was on the other side and had his bonds, he would definitely perform alchemy and come home – Alphonse knew that with all his heart. But, if their bonds were broken, both of them would be stuck beyond the Gate, because alchemy was needed to get to the Gate.

That was the problem then. Alchemy wasn't possible for his father or brother because their bonds were broken.

"… That's the problem, then…"

"What is?" Wrath asked, confused by the expression on his travel companion.

"Nothing," Alphonse's responded quickly, before calming his actions and words, "nothing at all, I was just thinking."

Sometimes, waking up was like getting a flashlight shone in your face, Edward concluded. Sleep was a black pit of nothing, not a place where dreams and aspirations could be cultivated, explored, or nurtured. It ended up serving the function of 'an escape' from reality. Although dreams were intended to be an escape, the blank hours of sleep ultimately served the same purpose – you escaped from everything. So, when you rose from the black pit of nothing, it was like falling into polluted light, especially when it was someone unwillingly waking you.

After the ump-teenth whisper of his name, Ed cracked an eye open in the early morning hours. He couldn't find the energy to make a disgruntled face in response to the far too delighted expression Winry wore.

"What do you want?" he shut his eyes again, pulling his sheets up tight around his neck.

"It's Christmas morning," she bubbled.

Taking an annoyed glance around the room, Ed buried his face in his pillow, "I hate my dad so much right now."

"Get up you miserable lump," Winry snatched the pillow out from under his head.

"It's Sunday, and early on a Sunday. Go away," Ed pulled his covers up over his head and curled up, "get out of my room. I don't barge into your room when you're sleeping."

"I'd beat you senseless if you did!" wielding the pillow like a weapon for a few strikes over his head and shoulders, Winry eventually dropped it on his head and marched to the door, "I'm supposed to tell you to get downstairs in the next few minutes, or your dad will come up and fetch you."

The body beneath the white sheets deflated as her footsteps faded, and a grumble incoherently rose up in its place. A few deep breaths later, Ed decided he'd better haul himself out of bed rather than wait for his father to take pleasure in doing so. Sitting up and sliding over to the side of the bed, Ed put his left leg on, patted down his untied hair, and began to drag himself lazily towards the door. He paused in the entry way, listening for the sounds of people on the lower floor. Hearing both his father and Winry chatter away down below, Ed turned back into his room and poked his head in the closet. Rather than taking a robe or a change of shirt, he grabbed a round hat box from a brown paper bag and abruptly left his room.

By the time Ed had made his way downstairs, the box was gone from his possession, and he stomped his way into the room with the tree dressed in tacky ornaments and flickering candles. Ed grumbled as he sat down on the sofa.

"Could you at least pretend like you care?" Winry folded her arms, sitting opposite to him. Ed continued to grumble incoherently, dumping his head to the side of the seat. Choosing to ignore him, Winry wiggled herself up straight and gave her attention to Ed's father, "So, how does this work?"

Hohenheim gave a shrug, amused at how different her reaction was compared to his son, "Kind of like a birthday. I give you a gift, you open your gift, we eat breakfast, have a relaxing afternoon, and then I cook a magnificent dinner." The father gave himself a nod for the day's master plan, before re-involving his son into the event. A thin, rectangular box was produced and handed to him, "Edward, you get to open your gift first."

"Swell," he slurred, eyeballing Winry as she gave him a warning glance for his behaviour. Taking the box, Ed put it down in his lap. How the hell was he supposed to do this with one hand? A scowl crawled through him as he turned the box over, slipping a finger into an open slit in the wrapping. Winry reached out and held the end of the box while Ed ripped it free of the paper. Carelessly dumping the waste to the floor, he returned the box to his lap and flipped up the lid. A sudden change in expression hit him that surprised Winry and seemed to thoroughly satisfy his father.

Ed pulled out a deep red, long-sleeved dress shirt. His eyes slit suspiciously, "… People don't make stuff in this colour." Crap, why did his dad have to go and find him something in a colour that he liked? At least dress shirt fabrics were kinda… no, this one actually felt like quality fabric. The stitching was excellent and the buttoning was professional. He spoke his next absent thought aloud with the curious twist of an eyebrow, "This is a really nice shirt…"

"I'm glad you like it," his father nodded, "And Winry," Hohenheim switched attention to her before Ed had the opportunity to draw his thoughts out further. Reaching behind himself, the father produced a long, thin, cylindrical object, bound with a red ribbon and curled bow, "I hope this suffices."

Fascinated with what Winry could only describe as a 'scroll', she took the object from Hohenheim and slid the bow off. With her hands careful at the edge, Winry began to unroll the sheet. Both Ed and his father watched her intrigued reaction begin to explode.

"… Oh… my… god…" Winry gaped, unraveling it further, discovering there was more than one sheet wrapped up in this bundle, "what is this?"

"It's the blueprints for a Bristol Tourer T28 biplane," Hohenheim's smile brimmed.

Edward gawked at his father, not sure if he was reacting at what his dad had found for Winry, or because the old man had sounded excessively smug about it.

"Oh my god…" Winry's wide eyes raced around the sheet, silent for a moment as she frantically went through papers, "Oh my god… this is the single most awesome schematic I have ever seen in my entire life," she gripped one of the curling sheets tight in her hands at both ends, "it's a thousand times better than anything I've found in Germany," with sharp snaps of her wrists, Winry dropped the sheets to her knees, "WHERE did you find this?"

"I picked it up when I was out visiting with Charles when we were still in England," Hohenheim's eyes drifted up as he recalled the memory, "I chatted things up with an executive and wound up with that. Since the war ended, England has done a fair bit more with air plane technology than Germany has."

Darting to her feet, Winry scrambled around the table, schematic in hand, and tried to hug the life out of the old father, "This is so awesome, you have no idea! Thank you thank you thank you!"

"I'm glad you like it," he beamed, watching in astonishment as the girl suddenly flew away from him, and blew out of the room.

Ed hopped up to his knees on the seat as she ran by, "Where are you going?"

"My room!" she yelled back, her feet thundering up the stairs, "This needs studying! Don't you dare think for one second I can't make a sexy mechanical beast like this roar," her voice vanished into the upper floor.

Both Hohenheim and Edward looked to the ceiling, hearing the girl trample the hallway floor and clatter into her room.

"Good job," Ed nodded, sitting back down properly, "now we'll never see her again."

Hohenheim laughed before looking at the ceiling again as the noise from above went quiet.

"And now she's seizing up on the ground from the overload," Ed stretched his arm and pushed to his feet, "Or studying. I'm going to go lay back down."

"Alright," his father gave a wave to him, dismissing him from the room, "have a good nap."

Ed snatched his boxed shirt up and dragged himself to the upper floor. At the top of the staircase, he paused, listening for signs of life in the upper floor locked in silence. There was nothing. He thought for a moment to see if Winry was either studying or seizing up on the floor, but he decided that an intrusion into the joyous world of mechanics would definitely prevent him from sleeping. Ed returned to his room, and dumped himself back in bed without bothering to detach the fake leg. He threw the sheets over his head and welcomed the blissful sanctuary of sleep back into his room. The peace and quiet of the dark void entered his mind, but the dampened sound of feet wrapped in stockings swept everything away.

"Get out of my room, Winry," Ed grumbled.

"Where did you get this?" she asked quietly, sitting down on the side of his bed.

Without any visual acknowledgement of the item she questioned, he answered flatly, "Nowhere. I asked the tailor's wife if she could make it when I took my pants in. She does a craft thing once in a while for carnivals and fairs."

"… Why?" her words quieter still, "I thought you didn't get people Christmas gifts."

Ed grumbled into his pillow and pushed his sheets away. Begrudgingly, he swung his legs out over the side of the bed, and stood up again. Without another word to Winry, Ed went to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Tossing a few things aside, links of a silver chain brushed together as he produced the replica of his silver pocket watch from the drawer, "I haven't shown you this, have I?"

"Ed…" Winry's attention became entranced by the object.

Walking back over to the bed, he placed the watch carefully down in her hands, "Dad gave it to me for my second Christmas here. He, um…" Ed sat down on the bed next to her, "said it was good to have a reminder of home."

With a pinch of the button at the watch's side, the lid flipped open. The second hand ticked away stiffly. On the surface, it was the same watch, but Winry was certain it did not have the same ticking sound that the original had. Edward watched as she ran her thumb through the empty lid, where no date had been re-written. With the snap of her hand, the watch closed again, and Winry turned it over to examine the back.

"Dad had it custom made in London," Ed reached out and took the watch back from her, "so, I have this, and you can have that."

From her lap, Winry picked up the raggedy doll that had been left in a hat box on her bed. Pale burlap had been sewn together and decorated with lazy brown yarn for hair and solid black buttons for eyes. It smiled happily at anyone who looked its way. Winry's fingers ran along the bottom hem of the pink fabric dress the doll wore and eyed the matching bow in its hair. There were subtle differences in it, because the original was impossible to recreate, but for what it was meant to be, it was just like the one she had on her dresser at home.

"She's cute, thank you."

Ed frazzled a bit at the shaky tone of her voice, "Don't start crying on me, that poor doll will be 0 for 2 if you do. She's too happy for you to be crying," he rumbled a disgruntled noise through his chest, "and Dad'll kill me if you cried on Christmas Day."

"I don't see any tears, do you!" Winry protested, her words defiant. She turned the doll over in her hands again. She laughed a little for no explainable reason, placing the doll back down in her lap. She gave a sigh before wrapping a smile around her face, "You should come see these blueprints on my floor, they are awesome."

"No…" Ed's expression pinched, his eyes shifting to the side, "I think I should go back to bed."

"No, I think after making me put up with weeks and weeks of your alchemy prattle, you can come look at these blueprints with me," she held Edward dangerously at the end of her pointed stare, "they . ARE . awesome ."

There was really no escape from this and Ed knew it. He wished he could throw a tantrum like a five-year-old; how come nobody ever let him sleep through Christmas Day?

Alphonse restlessly buried his cheek into his knapsack. It was lumpy and hard, with scattered soft points that didn't seem to make up for the fact it was lumpy and hard. The bag was a lousy pillow to sleep on.

Al's dreams were always something fleeting: his childhood, his future, his family as a whole, his family as himself with his brother and Winry. He'd dreamt once that he and his father were scientists in arms. He'd dreamt up what his whole family would have looked like in five or ten year's time. It was always family – the family he'd lost, like some unhealthy obsession with impossible things. Occasionally, after he woke up, he wondered how he'd manage to dream up such an amicable personality for his father, since all he had to go by were pictures, people's descriptions, and his brother's bitter hatred. All his dreams were impossible. He'd wake up, and they would be gone again. His dreams didn't leave him feeling particularly miserable, since he hardly remembered them the next morning, but he knew they'd happened.

Within this contrived dream, within a house that no longer stood, with a family that no longer existed around him, an additional voice fell down the stairwell. The voice made mention about good timing, and a pair of eyes looked over to him… to everyone. Powerful eyes on such a recognizable, familiar face cast over him.

At first, the feeling was warm, but like a raging matador, a shadow grew over him – thick and dark. It hid the light behind fear. What a terrifying sensation. Al shivered, and woke up with a start.

"Alphonse Elric…" heavy words drew out.

The boy's eyes shot wide, alarm bells raging in his ears, not having to turn over to know who spoke.

"What the hell do you think you are DOING?" Izumi's words thundered down over him in the middle of the night. Reaching down for a fist full of the front of the boy's shirt, she lurched him off the ground and slammed him against the trunk of the tree he'd rested beneath, "I'm going to break your kneecaps right here and now, and haul your ass back to Central."

Waking up had never been so easy. Alphonse stared back at her, and opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him.

"I don't want to hear it!" the raging teacher put a little more pressure into the hand she used to hold him where he hung, flipping her eyes to Wrath momentarily as the creature awoke, "you ran off with Wrath, to do who knows what, someplace that I'm pretty sure we know, without telling anyone. There's not a whole lot you can say right now that is going to justify this."

"But Dante said she'd hurt Winry!" Al squeaked in protest, "I can't let her do that!"

The woman's face boiled red, "WITHOUT ASKING FO—"

Alphonse was dropped to his feet as Izumi's hand snapped to her mouth. The violent lurch of her insides turned her away. Mentally pinned against the tree still, the young Elric watched his teacher bend over and try to recover herself. This always made him shiver, because of the red stain it left in her hand. When he'd been training with her, she hadn't told them why; but once the truth was lost in the memories of armoured Alphonse, she'd told him 'again' for the first time. He was almost certain it hurt her more to talk about it, than it hurt each time the blood came to her mouth. He actually hadn't seen her react in some time, but whether or not she was hiding it from him, or it had simply improved, wasn't something Al knew for certain.

As he waited, Alphonse couldn't explain why he wasn't sorry for taking off. He was sorry he hadn't been able to include her, but he wasn't sorry for what he'd done. Strangely, he felt guilty for being happy she'd found out and came after him. His mind seemed to be turning into a bundle of knots with his actions.

"Sensei…" he started, watching his teacher gather herself, "Dante said if I told anyone, she'd kill Winry," Al held himself firm where he stood, "and I might have also lost a way to help my brother too. I don't want that."

"And it didn't occur to you that you were being played?" the teacher cleared her throat, standing up tall.

"Yes," Al's shoulder remained a companion to the tree trunk, watching his teacher turn to him again, "it did."

Izumi shook her head, looking up through the canopy of tree branches as she folded her arms. The stars were not out tonight, just the clouds, "And you thought it was a good idea to run away with Wrath? Without anyone else at all?"

"It wasn't a good idea," Al protested, fight rising in his voice, "it was a really stupid idea, but Dante wanted to see me, and only me, or she'd hurt Winry and maybe make things worse for getting my brother if I didn't act, so I made a choice," the boy's words rose with each statement he continued to make, "Winry has nothing to do with any of this. She's a country girl who makes AutoMail. Dante has no right to involve her like this. My brother is beyond the Gate, so she can't physically hurt him, but she can hurt Winry. She can make her an example. That's not fair, Sensei. I don't want that to be my fault because I was scared."

The teacher's shoulders sagged with the release of air from her lungs. One of her hands began to run though her tied hair.

"If Dante wants to see me, for whatever reason, then I'd rather she hold her conversations directly with me, than use Winry as bait."

"Alphonse," Izumi's words had lost their sharpened edge. With a disgruntled sigh, she brushed her hands over her thighs before she crouched down in front of the youngest Elric, "if… if Dante even has Winry—"

"Who else would?" Al fought back insistently.

Izumi rolled her eyes at the interruption and grabbed Al by his wrists. Her words stiffened, "If Dante has Winry, one of two things is going to happen: she'll bait you and keep you both, or she'll bait you and kill Winry to show her power."

Al's fists clenched, "I'll find a way to make her let Winry go. I'll force her to, or I'll save Winry, or something," he stiffened his arms and shoulders when his teacher's grip tightened, "no one's helping her and someone has to. Then, I'll find a way beyond the Gate and help my brother too."

"No, you won't, Al. No matter how much you want it, how good your intentions are, and how much you think you can make it happen, it won't happen that way," The brash behaviour akin to his brother was causing Al to sacrifice his own grounded, solid strengths.

His experiences, his life lessons, all the things that had taught him how cruel the world was since he and his brother had attempted to transmute their mother had been taken from him. No matter how things had gone since they'd left Resembool, it no way made up for life experience lost. The understanding of harsh reality from the perspective of someone locked in the body of a hollow suit of armour no longer existed. Alphonse Elric's view of the world was still riddled with innocence and abundant childish hope – things that fade away only as time ages you and you begin see the world.

"It won't work that way. No matter how good your intentions are, a madman won't play by your rules no matter how you arrange it," Izumi sighed, not sure how else she could emphasize it without beating it into him, "You're a smart kid, but your brother acts without thinking, you don't. Don't make me break your legs to teach you that, because as much as you might deserve it, I don't want to do that to you right now."

"What else am I supposed to do, Sensei? You want me to go back?" the boy's protest pleaded with her while his eyes ran around in dismay, "I can't just risk this…"

Izumi looked down to the earth below her feet in thought. What a disgusting ultimatum Dante had trapped a child in. She ground her teeth together, solidifying her grip at Al's wrists, "You ask for my help, and we'll go see what Dante wants."

Al looked back at her, processing the answer, "What happens if… with Winry…"

"WRATH!" Izumi roared, her eyes suddenly narrow. She startled Al with her voice. Her gaze turned to the homunculus who'd sat quietly through the entire ordeal, "Did Dante tell you where to find us?"

"No…" the creature twisted his face, "she didn't know where you were. And you were hard to find!" Wrath chirped at the pair like the difficulties he'd had finding them was their fault, "she thought you might be dead, but sent me to look for you anyways."

A grumble managed its way through Izumi and she roughed a hand through Alphonse's hair, "Then she doesn't know where we are. She can't spy on us if she doesn't know where to look. You were a messenger sent out to lure evidence back if we were still kicking," her hand smoothed out the mess she'd made of Al's hair, "Does Dante have Winry?"

"I dunno," he tilted his head like a lost animal, "I haven't seen her."

That was an insufficient answer. Izumi frowned, "What has she said about Winry?"

The creature continued to seem slightly detached from the present, humming to himself as he thought over an answer, "Nothing, just that she had to talk to Alphonse about her," Wrath dug his toes into the softened dirt at his feet, "but, she didn't invite you. You're not welcome."

Izumi's eyebrows peaked, unimpressed by the homunculus' statement, "Well, that's too bad, isn't it? That woman's going to have to entertain me too."

"Sensei," a sudden jolt hit Alphonse at the mention of 'woman', and he drew out information passed along by Wrath earlier, "Dante is using Nina now."

The teacher's raised eyebrows fell at the statement, "Figures…" she curled her upper lip in disgust.

For a fleeting moment, Ed considered folding his arms and frowning, but he was painfully aware that the right arm he needed was laying on the tabletop before him. What a wreck this thing was to look at. Why hadn't he thrown it out? He'd been so proud of it when they'd finished it, and damn did it hurt when it had been attached. Hurt a hell of a lot more coming off. The points on his body where the screws had once held it on had left scars, and seemed a little tender to the touch sometimes – he wondered if he could even attach a second one. A passing thought told him that he could always just get along without it. He hadn't had a right arm at all in England when he'd lived there, and he'd pretty much figured out how to manage with only the one arm. Was it worth the headache, he asked himself, or were there better things to focus on?

A loss of focus struck to remind Ed of a reoccurring headache that reminded him how he'd wound up in the situation where he'd eventually lost that arm. He'd been able to detach himself from the memory because he'd gone to England so quickly afterwards. Now he'd returned, and here this thing was. He stared at the metallic remains resulting from a perplexing moment months ago, after he'd walked away from Hess, when a voice spoke his name, and a large hand took hold of his right shoulder. Before he could even turn around or make a sound, a strong, muscular second hand with a damp cloth took hold of his face making him unable to…

"Edward?" Hohenheim put a hand down over his unmoving son's right shoulder space.

The frozen place Ed had become lost in shattered when he jumped and lurched away from his father, crashing into the table that his arm rattled around on. He spun around sharply, eyes flown wide, only to catch himself and stop entirely as his father slowly pulled his hand back with a very concerned look to his eye.

"Hi," Edward spoke abruptly, frantically untangling himself from the moment.

"Hi…" Hohenheim replied cautiously, "is everything alright?"

"What the hell are you doing sneaking up to someone in their own room?" swiftly, Ed moved away from the table to the dresser and chair hidden beneath shirts and ties, "don't you ever knock?"

The father's expression wrinkled, knowing he had knocked on the open doorframe and Ed had been unresponsive. He chose to not make an issue out of it, "The shirt fits well?"

Ed blinked down to the red shirt he wore, "Yeah, its good. Thanks."

Hohenheim grinned, sliding his hands into his pockets, "Red is a good colour for you."

"Always has been," smirking, Ed looked into the mirror propped up atop the dresser, "Winry and I were talking about taking measurements of the Thule hall on Thursday after the meeting. Map the whole area; get the best measurements that we can of the room, the height of the ceiling, distances from the edge of the circle to the walls. There might be something important in the numbers that enclose the circle in the room. Maybe an adjustment to the layout of the structure will have an effect on how the circle behaves."

"Sounds like a good idea," Hohenheim nodded, sounding oddly detached from Edward's conversation. He walked over to the mess of shirts and ties laid out over the back of the wooden chair and began to finger through the pile.

"I was thinking that if the stone room was smaller, and you encase things a little tighter, you might be able to use some of the bounce-back energy that goes to the sigil when someone's at the Gate to force a weak connection – just enough to send something like a message in a bottle back home," Ed tilted his head at himself in the mirror, pulling his chin up to eye his jaw line as he spoke, "then they'd at least know we're here and trying."

Continually nodding his approval, Hohenheim took a few items from the back of the chair and draped them over his left arm. Looking ahead, he distantly addressed Ed's reflection in the mirror, "That's a good idea."

Watching his father stand behind him in the mirror with moderate interest imprinted on his face, Ed's thought-filled expression slowly clouded over, "… What?"

"What-what?" his father replied.

The bridge of Ed's nose wrinkled, "You've got that annoying face on."

"Oh," Hohenheim grinned, "you mean my father face?"

Ed's right eye twitched, "Yeah, take it off."

Hohenheim found himself unable to withhold the chuckle he gave to Ed. Standing behind his left shoulder, he placed a strong right hand down over the back of his son's neck as he motioned to the clothing strung over his arm, "Edward, did you really shrink the laundry?"

"Oh for the love of…" Ed's voice burst as he spun to face the old man, "can't you people just let that die! It's not like I shrank your clothes, and I didn't even shrink them that much! I had the hem let out on my pants and they're fine now! And I can roll up my shirt sleeve, it's not like anyone's noticing that when I'm missing one arm."

"Calm down," the father's words were bemused and jovial. Taking a black tie from the collection hung over his arm, Hohenheim slipped the loop over his sons head. He watched, amused, as Ed's eyes held him in contempt, but didn't stop him. Slipping the ring of the tie under the younger man's red collar, Hohenheim did up the top button on Edward's shirt and slipped the knot of the tie up tight to his neck. Standing a step back, Hohenheim looked his son over with an inquisitive stare, careful not to focus on how the harsh appearance was now filling with confusion. Taking a hand and putting it to Ed's shoulder, the father spun him around to face the mirror again.

Ed's expression floated in a flood of confusion, his mouth open a crack as he curiously examined his reflection in the mirror, "… What?"

"Your pants didn't shrink," Hohenheim's hand patted down firmly, high at the centre of Edward's back, "you grew."

Ed's jaw fell ajar, "WHAT?"

The father laughed at the reaction.

Spinning around, Ed's absolutely baffled reaction filled the bedroom, "You can't be serious? I'm going to be twenty-two in a couple of weeks. Men don't get growth spurts when they're nearly twenty-two."

"And boys don't get their first growth spurt when they're seventeen either," Hohenheim's amused reaction carried on, trailing along behind him like a talon drifting in the wind, "I'm assuming you didn't grow very much from the time you first encountered the Gate until you crossed it. Perhaps what you'd done locked you down for some reason, and now that you're here you have years of catching up to do."

Somewhat unsuccessful at his attempt to reset his gaping response, Ed turned back to his reflection in the mirror. He narrowed an eye at himself; there had been fleeting moments at home when he'd gotten a little taller, always wishing he'd grow further, but never noticing anything substantial for height change before crossing the Gate, "… that makes sense, you could be right."

Hohenheim's brow lifted like a weightless feather; he took his dangling amusement and turned to leave the room. And though he'd had every intention of leaving at that point, his attention became entirely enraptured by the sudden explosion that took over Edward.

"AW SHIT!" Ed's left hand slapped to his mouth, eyes cautiously growing wide as though he'd forgotten something dreadfully important. His hand slipped up into his hair, lifting the overgrown bangs from his face, "she was right, it is my fault."

"Pardon?" the father's expression fell blank.

Ed tapped the toes of his constructed left leg against the floor, "I kept asking Winry to fix it cause I was limping. I kept telling her she'd done something wrong and she kept saying it was my fault somehow."

"You've seemed to be walking alright recently," Hohenheim tried to recall if he'd seen Ed with a limp – clearly recalling how hard it was to keep him on two even legs when he had been seventeen and eighteen, "did you put a sock in the socket?"

The son's eyes cut across the room sharply and became buried in a corner. Ed's jaw tightened, "She's going to kill me."

With a hand to his forehead and a laugh in his voice, Hohenheim turned and left the room.

The morning sunlight vanished when Wrath, Izumi and Alphonse sank below the soil, and emerged at a vantage point high above the Empty City. Alphonse held his lower lip in his teeth as he looked over the crime lost in the earth. Roze had told them what she knew of this place and what its purpose had been. Dante had been so arrogant with Roze, and as she tried to destroy the life of the survivor from Lior, she had preened and gloated about so many of her life's accomplishments. She had outright told the young woman, still somewhat coherent at that point, what had happened to the city. It was one of the tactics Dante used to manipulate Roze into submission, and she had never lost a host candidate before. The ancient monster had no fear of the things she divulged, since they would be lost as Roze's existence crumbled.

But Roze still stood with Ed when all was said and done; Dante had ran.

It was Ed who was responsible for the two fine legs Roze had to tremble within the city, overpowered by the glow of a transmutation that exchanged one life for another. It had lit the entire city beneath the earth brighter than the sun could have on the best of days. Roze said Ed had sent her on ahead, but she ran back, her baby tucked in her arms, and pounded on the doors of the building that Ed had locked. When she finally managed to get in, it was Alphonse she'd found unconscious on the floor, and Ed was nowhere to be seen. Roze hadn't known that the boy who remained was Al until she'd woken him and he spoke.

From his perspective, Alphonse's existence transitioned smoothly between the terrifying feeling of a transmutation gone wrong, and the profound sense of 'wrong' he'd felt as he woke up on that floor. He was never quite able to shake that feeling.

As Al looked out into this cityscape once again, it was as though all the wrongs he'd felt for so long had become embodied in the Empty City.

"This whole city died for the first Philosopher's Stone," Alphonse Elric's words rolled out smoothly, "it was the first victim of our world's greatest sins." He began to chew on his lower lip.

"It's a graveyard without bones," Izumi's bitter words added, "without evidence, without life, without proof of anything having existed. It's an abomination."

"Dante liked the city," Wrath commented, "but it was Hohenheim who buried it."

Alphonse's lower lip slid from his teeth, he stepped away from the vantage point, and began the decent into the nameless graveyard without another word. Izumi followed. Her harsh eyes held Wrath, a golem of rage drained of its fuel, in contempt as he followed behind her. The decent was made silently.

Although she had gone to see, and then seal, the Empty City after Roze and Al had escaped, she had not ventured down to the 'street level'. Izumi did not want to be here. To her, this place represented everything that the Gate had terrified her with. Everything.

Walking silently down a cobblestone path that lay buried in nearly five hundred years of dust, the tracks that had been made by the few visitors in the last year had remained untouched. There was no wind to blow them away and no caretaker to smooth things over; they were imprints in history. There was a set of unmarred boot tracks that no one needed to be told belonged to Edward Elric.

"Where do we find Dante?" Izumi finally cut the silence, half expecting her voice to echo within the vacant city.

"In the ballroom," it was Al answered, "that's where I woke up."

"I don't see any children's footprints," the teacher's eyes carried along the path they walked, "there must be another entrance." Her attention shifted to Wrath; he'd gone silent since they'd descended, "Is there another entrance, Wrath?"

The young homunculus continued to walk as though he'd never been addressed.

Al looked to Wrath as well, glancing up to his teacher as a scowl began to set in, "Wrath, there's more than just that entrance to the city, right?"

"Uh-huh," he responded half heartedly, not looking at Al as he spoke.

"Do you know where they are?" Al pushed for an answer.

"Some of them."

Izumi and Al exchanged a concerned look, wordlessly acknowledging that the change in Wrath's disposition was due to this world that Dante coveted. They kept walking.

Al's eyes flickered up to the earth hanging above their heads, his gaze tracing the outline of the rooftops of the Empty City, creating a skyline in his mind. His pace slowed. Alphonse looked around the hollowed earth that entombed a heinous crime, eyes and ears searching a ghost town for signs of life beyond their own.

Quiet words moved through the young Elric's lips, "No one even knew if the stone was real back then. I can't imagine being so greedy and selfish that you'd sacrifice thousands of people's lives to obtain something that you couldn't even confirm existed. It goes against everything you're taught as an alchemist. I can't imagine being so…" he struggled to find the word he wanted, but nothing sufficed, and Alphonse settled on another, "… so inhuman."

"But your dad and Dante did create it here," Wrath emphasized.

Every link made between this atrocity and his father stabbed through Alphonse at his core. It enraged him. It was obvious that it had been his father who'd done these things; he knew it had been his father, but his mother wouldn't have loved someone like this. He'd changed. This person and that person had changed, and referring to them as the same person felt beyond wrong.

Al's free hand clenched, "What would they need it for in the first place? To prolong their lives? Is that what they wanted? Why would they want to do that?" he couldn't fathom the motivation, "There are other myths in alchemy better than the Philosopher's Stone that can be used to prolong your life."

"Enough Al," Izumi tried to stop the questions, and she took his hand.

"You tried to transmute your mom, didn't you?" Wrath asked in return, as though the question were no more important than asking what was for dinner.

The young Elric felt his hand squeezed by his teacher as he gave a confession of sin, "I did, yes."

Wrath's footsteps stopped, "And you tried to transmute me, right?"

Though she stopped, Izumi did not respond, her body stiff as she looked over the broken homunculus, feeling Alphonse squeeze her hand in return.

Wrath appeared to take her silence as a 'yes', and behaved indifferent to the entire concept, "Dante and Hohenheim tried to resurrect their son, that's why they needed the Philosopher's Stone."

"Their son?" Al repeated, looking up at Izumi, whose eyes could have killed the homunculus where he stood. Frantically, Al looked back to Wrath, before returning his attention to his teacher, "did you know this?"

"Yes," the look in the woman's eyes continued to be deadly. She wished she had the power to silence Wrath or make his words untrue. The more Al, or anyone, learnt about his father's history, the more Al's sense of his own family would rot away, and both brothers had a profound sense of family, "Roze told me. But, I didn't know if it was true or not." She wanted it not to be.

"It was just a son," spoken like it was just words. Wrath gave an affirmative nod to his own statement, looking up to the rooftops of the empty city around them, "some kind of illness killed him, I think."

Al spat out a morbid curious question that Izumi wished he had not asked, and did not want to know, "What was his name?"

Within the stale air of a forgotten point in time, there was a long, sufferable moment of pause before Wrath responded, "I don't know."

Al was far less hesitant to voice his words than Wrath or Izumi seemed to be. His tongue ran from him with reckless abandon, "If my dad and Dante mastered alchemy to bring back someone, and they had the Philosopher's Stone, then they succeeded?"

"No, Alphonse Elric, your information is incorrect."

The little voice with big words called out from down the dusty, abandoned street. With a quick flash of movement, Izumi had a hold of Al by his upper arm, forcefully positioning him behind her. Al peered out from around his teacher, unable to fight away from her hold. In the silence of their existence, the soft clap of dress shoes echoed in the thick layer of time that hid the true face of this forgotten world.

Dante narrowed her childish eyes at the people ahead of her, "Oh, you ignorant woman, calm down," she shook Nina's head as she walked, words dripping with apathy as her pigtails fanning out over her shoulder, "I didn't think Alphonse would be able to get here without you, so I'm quite prepared to see this. But, did you at least try, Al?"

He didn't answer. Al glanced to the hand at his arm that tightened the closer she moved. There was something unusually terrifying about how his teacher stood between him and this tiny girl; Izumi was fiercely defiant and uncharacteristically frightened.

Dante's approach stopped, her sweet smile falling to Wrath who seemed to shy away like a beaten child. Her attention returned to her guests once Wrath's response satisfied her.

"No," she again answered the prior question, "Alphonse Elric, Envy was born before the Philosopher's Stone was."

To Be Continued…

I'd like to think, that when left to his own devices, without the threat of public display, embarrassment, or humiliation, Ed is capable of being very sweet. And I keep making reference to Ed's birthday being soon… FMA1 always lead me to believe Ed was a January baby (based on dates they'd given and a huge amount of wasted time-er research I'd done, back when I had the time to do that 8D).

Al's taken a lot of what Wrath has had to say as truths. Wrath, minus red stones, is a lot more amicable, and he simply doesn't realize the impact of everything he says. Al's picked up on this. It's all just words and information to him. Like Wrath is now, he doesn't understand the effect his words have (or have had) on the world or people around him. Dante is aware that Wrath is talkative like this, and she doesn't care. Why? That's for next chapter.

Over the next bit, I'll be reincorporating some quirks I established that differentiated the feeling of Al's side of the Gate to the German side – things like the muted colours, how there was a noticeable absence of taste/smell/hunger, the complete lack of dreams during sleep (which was in this chapter), and the general dreary atmosphere that Ed, Winry and Hohenheim perceive. These things never stopped being there, I just stopped drawing much attention to it.