"That's a really stupid hill to die on."

"I don't care. I hate it and that's that."

"It's good for you."

"It's cow juice. It tastes nasty."

Alphonse shoved a hand in front of his mouth, a futile attempt to hide his giggles. He seemed to find Ed's hostility toward milk incredibly funny.

Well, it wasn't funny. It was a lifelong feud, and Ed intended to fight it until the day he died.

He had to admit, Alphonse wasn't too bad. Excitable, for sure—he'd detoured several times on their journey for food to smell flowers, examine bugs, or to just soak in the sunlight.

He'd been scared out of his skin by small animals not once, not twice, but three times.

The first time had been a squirrel. Understandable, since its crashing through the underbrush fed the illusion of a much larger animal. The second time, a deer. It was hard to tell who had been more frightened—Al, who had grabbed Ed's automail arm so tightly he swore he could feel it, or the deer, who'd fled at his high-pitched squeak, white tail turned upward.

The third time, Alphonse had insisted this was an approaching danger. "Not like the last one," he argued, brows drawn downward determinedly despite his wide, frightened eyes. "This one is something bad."

It was a rabbit.

Ed had broken down and laughed. Laughed until Al had hesitantly joined in. Then he'd elbowed the kid with his non-metal arm. "Idiot."

The more they talked, the more Ed was convinced Alphonse had never before left the tower without his armor. His wonder and marvel at the smallest things left Ed dumbfounded.

He'd let a honeybee land on his finger, face radiant with awe. "Oh. It tickles. That's why they buzz."

He'd scrambled up a tree to get a better look at a bird's nest, and scraped his knee climbing back down. "Never knew tree bark was so rough." At least he hadn't freaked out seeing his blood.

They'd started talking about food—he had never seen wild honeysuckle, and he'd plucked a few stamen to taste. "I could use this to season my apples! If I had enough. Or I could put it in tea."

Somehow milk had appeared in the conversation, and Alphonse had seized upon Ed's clear hatred of it with an almost malicious eagerness.

While Ed maintained his sullen demeanor, disavowing the despised beverage at every turn, he wasn't angry.

Banter with Alphonse didn't infuriate him—he never had the urge to scream or throw a punch, as he did nearly constantly with Ling and Envy.

This felt easy. Fun.

…natural.

Ed didn't do friends. He'd sworn off them after too many tries had gone south.

Normally it wasn't a problem, but with Alphonse he had to actively resist thinking of him that way. A friend.

His smile, for example, was infectious. When he grinned gleefully at Ed (there was less than an inch difference in their heights, and Ed would die before he admitted Alphonse looked down on him), it was all Ed could do not to grin back at him.

Instead he scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Laugh all you want. I'm not changing my mind."

"I don't want to change your mind," Alphonse insisted, giggles still bursting through his lips. "I just think it's funny."

Ed was saved from thinking up another clever retort by a sign in the distance. "Hey, is that a tavern?"

They'd found a path in the forest and followed it, to the best of Ed's knowledge, in the direction of the royal city.

Ed had never been this deep into the forest, though, so his knowledge of the specifics was shaky.

Reaching the sign confirmed that it was, in fact, advertising a small establishment.

"The…" Alphonse hesitated, reading the sign. "The Devil's Nest?" He gripped his pan more tightly.

"It's just a name," Ed said offhandedly. "Your little demon friend'll feel right at home here."

Selim whipped a black tendril out from Al's shoulder, where he'd been riding hidden under Al's hair. (Ed had hoped he'd stay there the entire journey. Out of sight, out of mind.) He settled on the surface of the wooden sign, blinking a disapproving red eye from the inside of the large D.

"See? He fits right in. You will, too."

Alphonse gave him a tentative smile.

Ed put on his best scowl. It wasn't as intimidating as he'd like to be, but it never was. (If he had his way, one look from him would have everyone averting their eyes—he simply didn't have that kind of presence.)

Truth be told, he'd never been to this particular establishment—so he was as surprised as Alphonse at the motley collection of patrons inside the Devil's Nest.

.

Al froze at the sight inside. The Devil's Nest was small, dark, and cramped. In the dim lamplight, the tables were full of large, hulking figures. Their faces were obscured by shadows, but their eyes gleamed menacingly down at him—and at Edward, standing in the doorway.

Al suddenly felt very small.

"Oh." Edward looked down at him. His voice was softer than it had been outside.

A hand settled lightly on Al's shoulder.

Al never would've asked Edward to do such a thing—only babies needed physical touch. But it did calm some of the anxiety roiling inside him.

He'd never been in a room with this many people.

And they looked to be the exact type of people Father had warned him of. Their shifty, darting eyes, their unwelcoming glares. The way their gazes lingered just a little too long on Al's hands.

As if they knew. What those hands could do. Their power. Their value.

Al gripped the pan handle tightly and raised it to his shoulder. Trying to seem casual, but preparing to strike if anyone leapt at him.

The man at the counter, tall and thin with a mop of dark hair and a pair of small, round, dark glasses, looked up from his glass lazily as they approached. "What?"

Edward cleared his throat. His brow was set at a resolute angle, and his hand still rested on Al's shoulder. "We're hungry."

The man blinked slowly. He made no other move. "And?"

"And you serve food here." Edward's voice was growing tighter. Tenser. "We'd like some."

The bartender took a sip of the amber liquid in his glass. "Nah. We're closed."

Al turned, puzzled, to survey the fully occupied tables behind them. "No, you're not." He was a little surprised by his own nerve. No one had made a grab for him yet, and he didn't want to give them an excuse. But the man was clearly lying.

"Oh, sorry." He didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "What I meant to say was, we're closed for you. This is a tavern, half-pints. For adults. You two don't look a day over thirteen."

Edward's hand clenched on Al's shoulder, but Al didn't think his sudden anger had anything to do with him.

"We're paying customers," Edward said through gritted teeth, although it occurred to Al that he didn't have any money. He hadn't thought to bring any. Why would he? He never handled it—there was no use for it in the tower. Father took care of such things.

"Mmm." The bartender looked them over again. "Don't think so. Not getting in trouble with the military for serving a couple of teenage brats. That's the last thing I need—soldiers barging in here."

"We won't tell anyone," Al offered.

The bartender looked down his long, pointed nose right at Al.

Al shrank back, shoulders curling inward. He wasn't used to such scrutiny, those prying eyes able to see everything. Not even Father could see so much of him, not through the armor. He felt naked.

"Not a very reassuring incentive. I don't like promises. I can't hold them. Can't count them. Can't…spend them." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "Suppose you pay me double. I might consider that."

Edward gave a short, sardonic laugh. "You want…extra money? Uh-huh. Sure thing. Thanks for the laugh, I needed that."

His laugh, along with the hand still resting on Al's shoulder, sent a wave of calm through Al. If Ed could laugh, then they weren't in any danger. Yet.

Edward turned back to the door, steering Al along with him. "Come on, Alphonse. We'll find somewhere else to eat."

"Hey, G," said a deep voice from behind them. Al whirled to face a truly mountainous man with wild tufts of graying hair all over his head. Prominent veins ran up his hands and arms. Al shrank back as he raised one arm, but he merely tossed something over their heads to the bartender.

The tall thin man, G, caught it and smoothed it out—a crumpled piece of paper. He scanned its contents, his eyes darting back and forth behind the tinted lenses. "Oh. Oh, that's interesting."

He turned the paper to face them. "Isn't this you?"

Al's stomach plummeted. It was Edward's wanted poster. In this version, he glowered menacingly out of the paper with dark, ominous circles under his eyes.

Behind them, the tavern door slammed shut. One of the burly thugs crossed his arms, blocking the exit.

Edward bristled. He barely looked at the poster before turning away. "Nope, not me. I'm not that short."

Al's heart began to pound. He breathed in deep, trying to control the panic bubbling inside him.

Instead of him, these thugs wanted Edward.

"It's definitely him," said a short, squat man in a high, shrill voice. He rubbed his bony, wizened hands together gleefully. "He always wears that hideous red coat."

The hand that had been on Al's shoulder slid down in front of him. Edward backed up, shielding Al behind him with one arm.

The thugs seemed to take this as confirmation and rose from their seats in a move so uniform it seemed rehearsed.

"Well, well." A woman shouldered her way to the front. Surprisingly, she fit right in with the larger, muscled men around her. She crossed her wiry arms in front of her. "Never would've expected such a fearsome thief to be just a little kid." Amusement danced in her lilting tone.

Edward's hands clenched into fists. "Say that again."

"Look at that. He is sensitive about his height." G watched the scene unfold coolly from behind the counter, still sipping his drink. "That's him. Someone go get some soldiers."

Al went numb. It was over. Edward had been caught before they'd even set foot in the city.

"I thought you didn't want the military in here," Edward hissed.

"Get his hands," G called to his customers, ignoring Ed. "If he does that clapping thing, we could all be dead."

"No," Al heard himself whimper. He hated that. He hated hearing that whiny, cracking sound come from his lips. Father hated it too. It was unbecoming.

Edward looked down at him, brow knit in concentration. "Get out of here."

He wanted Al…to run? But where would he go?

To the royal city? He didn't know the way.

Back to the tower? No. No, not without seeing the lights. And he wasn't sure he knew the way in that direction, either.

One thing was certain: He couldn't leave without Edward.

Al shrugged off his companion's protecting hand. "No."

One of the muscled men grabbed Edward's arm. He threw it off.

"Leave him alone." Al cringed inwardly at his weak-voiced demand.

The thugs ignored him, pressing closer to grab at Edward.

Edward grunted in frustration. "Just leave it, Al. You don't want to be a part of this."

The huge gray-haired man and a shorter but solidly-built man took Edward's arms, one on either side. They held them apart, so he couldn't clap.

Part of Al wanted to run and hide. To find his way back to his tower. Hide under his bedcovers while he baked—and burned—another pie.

But he couldn't abandon Edward. He couldn't give up. Not after all he'd been through. Not after coming this far.

He met Edward's eyes. They shone golden, just a shade lighter than Al's own. They narrowed in concentration, and Al knew he was preparing to fight.

You don't want to be a part of this, he'd snapped at Al.

Al gave him a small smile. "Too late."

He was already a part of it. In too deep to back out now.

"I get the reward money, just so everyone's clear," the bartender called to the increasingly rowdy and eager crowd. "This place is still mine."

Al took a deep breath, and then spoke louder than he could ever remember. "Stop!"

His voice echoed through the tavern, high and sharp and demanding. It startled him more than he thought it would.

Still, he only drew the attention of a few patrons. Three or four stopped trying to secure Edward and looked at Al instead.

It wasn't enough.

He raised his frying pan in both hands and swung it at the hands of the men grabbing Edward's arms. Left, then right.

A dull, metallic clunk sounded on impact, reverberating up Al's arms and sending Ed's assailants jumping back in surprise.

Al put on his most determined expression. "I said stop. Please."

The bartender, G, who still hadn't moved from his position behind the counter, let out a lazy laugh that might have contained a hint of astonishment. "Well, this just got interesting."

For a moment, everyone was silent. The men Al had hit seemed unsure whether or not to strike him back—which he was glad of. G's laugh seemed to confuse them.

The crowd of muscled thugs seemed to hold their breath, waiting for…someone to do…something.

Al seized the moment of quiet. "Don't take him, please. He's my only chance to see the floating lanterns. It's my first time here, and I don't know how to get there. I don't even really know where we are right now. I need him. Please don't turn him in."

The two men on either side of Edward blinked at Al. Edward's eyes were wide, his mouth open with what could either be surprise or fear. Or both.

Al's heart pounded so loudly he was certain everyone in the room could hear it. His eyes felt like they would spill over with tears at any minute—another thing Father detested.

But he had to keep going.

"I've been dreaming about these lanterns for years. This might be my only chance to see them."

A snicker sounded from somewhere in the crowd, but the smaller of the two men flanking Edward cocked his head curiously. "You've never seen the lanterns up close?"

Al shook his head. "No. I've dreamed of seeing them my whole life. It's childish, I know," he amended hastily. "But haven't you all had a dream?"

A murmur ran through the would-be mob. A few exchanged rueful glances.

Then the larger man—whom Al had hit on the hand to free Edward—spoke up in his deep, rumbling voice. "Tell you the truth, kid, none of us have much time for dreams. Not since the earthquake."

Ed gave a small nod of understanding while Al tilted his head in confusion. "Earthquake?"

"Yeah, the earthquake." Ed shot him a quizzical look. "You've never heard about it?"

Al shook his head. Father had never brought it up.

"It was a long time ago," rumbled the big man. "You two might not have even been born yet."

The other, smaller man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Had to be…fourteen, fifteen years ago?"

More voices began to chime in, swelling like a sea of memory.

"It was an ordinary day."

"We were going about our business."

"Then the sky went dark. The ground started shaking. Black smoke came up from the floors. Buildings crumbled."

"It was like a nightmare."

"And then," G interjected, "half the people in the kingdom dropped dead."

Al felt his jaw drop. "Dead?" But then that meant…

"They just…fell. Holding their throats like something was sucking the life out of them."

"Couldn't even scream for help."

"And then they were…gone."

"Then it was over. The sun came out. The ground stopped shaking. The smoke went away. It was like nothing had happened."

"Except for all the people lying dead." G tipped his head back, emptying his glass at last.

"Those of us who were left had to carry on. Bury our friends."

"Living life like normal after half the kingdom died—it's pretty impossible. We lost our homes, our businesses, our friends. Not to mention the king stopped being a king. It didn't take long for everything to fall apart."

"Then the military took over, and instead of getting better, things got even worse. They seized property that wasn't ruined by the earthquake and refused to help people who lost everything."

"They drafted people into their ranks, and discharged them just as quickly."

"Now they spend their time going after rogue alchemists like this idiot here instead of the real criminals living off the kingdom's wealth."

Al was stunned. "I'm sorry. I had no idea." So that day, that long-ago day he couldn't remember, everyone had suffered.

"You've never heard about any of this?" Ed made a fist with his right hand, the prosthetic one. "Why do you think I've got a metal arm? And leg?"

Al stammered. "I…didn't think too much about it." Truthfully, he'd never known how that day had impacted everyone. The breadth of his sin spread farther than he'd ever known.

Did Father know? Had he kept the knowledge from Al, some means of protection?

He breathed in shakily, eager to move past the uncomfortable topic. "Listen, I…don't get out much. My father's very protective of me. Sometimes I get caught up in how unfair it is. But…today I got to come here on this journey. I've seen and felt things I've never felt before. It's…amazing. And tomorrow I'll get to see the lanterns up close for the first time. Don't you all have things you've dreamed about doing?"

Ed made a motion like he was about to roll his eyes, but he stopped when the large, gray-haired man spoke up again.

"I do. I would love to get back to my farm and see my wife again. But ever since the Earthquake happened and the king stepped down, the military tossed me aside like trash—just for speaking out against their policies. I had to resort to thieving and fighting just to survive. I haven't seen my wife in years now." He sighed heavily.

"I used to be a musician," mused the shorter man on Edward's other side. "Now when people look at me, they just see a disgraced ex-soldier."

"I didn't know that," someone said quietly from the back of the room.

"I want to find love someday," the squat man said, a dreamy expression on his pale, mottled face.

Many of the patrons returned to their seats, grumbling and glaring, but their hunger for blood receding. The two on either side of Edward stepped away from him. Ed stared at Al with what could only be described as incredulity.

"My dream is to punch Fuhrer Bradley in the face," the lean woman said in an offhand tone. She flexed her lithe, tattooed arm, making a fist. "For everything he's done to us, and to the kingdom."

Al winced. It wasn't quite the dream he'd had in mind. Though, to be fair, he'd used his frying pan quite often today—to great effect.

Ripples of chatter spread through the tavern. Everyone seemed to have something they wanted, wished for. Hoped for.

"I don't know how you did this," Ed muttered to Al out of the corner of his mouth. "But keep doing it."

Al bit back a proud smile. Warm triumph flooded his belly. He'd done something right.

"Fullmetal boy." G, the bartender, raised his eyebrows. "Want to share?"

All eyes locked on Edward.

"Yeah, what about you, shorty?"

"You got a dream?"

Ed's face turned redder than his coat, the hint of relaxation disappearing. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I want to leave this kingdom and find a new home, where I have plenty to eat every night, and a place to sleep. And where everyone is shorter than me. One day, I get to find my father and punch him in the face. Oh, and I'd like my arm and leg back."

The tavern blinked at him collectively.

G let out a tittering laugh disguised as a cough. "That…seems a tad unrealistic."

"What? I thought we were all saying dumb things that wouldn't happen."

"Ed." The reprimand was out of Al's mouth before he could stop it.

They'd been doing so well, making peace with everyone in the tavern. They didn't need Ed's mouth ruining it for everyone.

G gave Al a sympathetic grimace. "Kid, are you sure you need him to take you into the city?"

The question should have given Al pause. If he had another offer—someone else willing to escort him to see the lanterns—then why would he need Edward, a wanted thief and apparent loose cannon?

He couldn't explain it. It went beyond words, beyond reason. He felt safe with this boy. Being with him felt right in a way that the tower and the armor…didn't.

G raised a brow.

"We have a deal" was all Al said in reply, glancing at Edward, pressed against the tavern wall like he still expected to be rushed.

But he met Al's eyes. And winked at him.

Al's cheeks flushed.

Was he imagining it, or was Edward enjoying his company, too?

Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was just that, moments ago, everyone in this tavern except Al had been ready to sell him for a reward.

It still felt nice. To be wanted. Appreciated.

G snorted. "My condolences."

Laughs rippled through the room. Ed's face turned red.

Al winked at him—or at least, he tried to. He wasn't very good at winking.

"Beggars, choosers, I guess," G continued. "Me, my dream is to rule the world."

Ed scoffed. "What's that you were saying about unrealistic?"

"Hey, right now I'll settle for ruling this bar. And my friends." He spread a hand, indicating the patrons filling the tavern. Many raised their glasses to him in turn.

"Friends," Al repeated. He liked the sound of the word.

It wasn't like he'd never had a friend—he had Selim, who at the moment was curled safely around his arm.

But Selim wasn't a person. He wasn't like G's rowdy companions, toasting to him with smiles, in spite of their hardships. He wasn't…Edward.

Ed, who smiled at him despite his clear discomfort. "Friends, huh?" His eyes gleamed with what could be happiness.

"Friends are nice," Al said softly, hardly daring to believe. The dangerous thief he'd been so frightened of earlier in the day—was now his friend.

"You need better friends than this half-pint, half-pint," G remarked—but he was smiling. He gestured to the bar, where two adjacent seats sat empty.

Al found himself smiling too, as he approached the bar once more, this time with Edward trailing cautiously behind him.

Selim unwound from Al's arm, blinking a tentative, furtive eye at his surroundings.

"It's okay," Al murmured to him. "You can come out. We're among friends."

It still thrilled him to say so.

Selim spread slowly, carefully, onto the wood table where Al rested his elbows.

Ed laughed, not unpleasantly, at G's perplexed reaction to the dark mass spilling off of Al's arm.

"Not even gonna ask," G said after a surprisingly short moment. He turned back to his duties—which seemed to consist of filling another glass for himself.

"Thank you," Al said sincerely to G. "Sometimes you find friends in unexpected places."

"I'll say. I never would've met these sorry chaps if the military hadn't kicked 'em out of the royal capital."

"And I never would've met him if he hadn't climbed through my window." Al gestured to Ed with his head, unable to keep his amusement sealed behind his lips.

"Oh." G's sharp eyes roved between them. "How…fanciful."

"Yeah, it was real cute," Ed grumbled. "You permanently altered my skull structure."

But he wasn't angry. His eyes twinkled playfully.

Al ducked his head, resting his chin on his elbow to smile up at Edward.

"Greed!" The call came from one of the far tables, enshrouded in shadow. "Let's have another round back here."

The bartender—Greed, apparently—filled glasses from the tap with lightning speed. "Duty calls, half-pints."

He shuffled out from behind the bar to deliver the drinks.

"So." Edward cleared his throat. "Devil's Nest. Not so devilish after all? Not as scary as you thought?"

Al buried his reddening face in his elbow. His fears did seem silly now. "Hey, they would've thrown you in a sack if it hadn't been for me."

It was Ed's turn to flush. Al bit back a giggle, mesmerized by the way his freckles shone against his reddened skin.

"What else do you expect from a guy named Greed," said Ed in a stage-whisper, jerking his head toward the back of the tavern.

"He wants to rule the world," Al whispered back, snickering at the thought of the skinny man on a throne with a drink in his hand, surveying his domain through his round, dark glasses.

Ed pulled a ridiculous face. "All hail King Greed!" He kept his voice hushed but put on a pompous, exaggerated tone.

Al hid under his bangs to cover the unattractive, squeaky giggles escaping his lips.

"Hey, Fullmetal boy," called Greed, prancing back toward them with a now empty tray. "Don't you do favors for people?"

Al looked up curiously. "Favors?" This was new information to him—although maybe it shouldn't have been. Wasn't Edward doing a favor for him, right now?

"Only for people who haven't tried to hogtie me and turn me in for reward money," Ed shot back.

Greed waved a hand good-naturedly, as if the event were inconsequential, or as if it had happened too long ago to matter. "I've got a project I've been meaning to finish. You'd be perfect for it."

"Ask me another time." Ed's eyes were on Al. "My schedule's full today. Now can we please get some food?"

Greed heaved a very put-upon sigh. "Fine."

"Do you have any money?" Al murmured to Ed, struck again by the thought. "I don't."

Ed groaned. "Dammit. I might have to do that stupid favor after all."

"You do favors for people?" Al rested his chin in his hands, leaning forward intently to hear more.

"Yeah. Help them out. Usually something alchemy-related. If they can do something for me, too."

"Equivalent exchange," Al said softly.

"Yep."

Al grinned at him. "And you keep telling me you're not a do-gooder."

Ed elbowed him.

The simple touch washed over Al like warm water. Casual, friendly, affectionate. It excited and soothed him at the same time.

Greed plonked a tray of sandwiches in front of them, and they both dug in.

Things seemed to finally be going right, Al thought, watching Edward tear apart his food with the ferocity of a wild predator.

And at that moment, the door was flung open again. "Found some guards, boss."