Ed decided he didn't like prison. He'd been dragged here and there, chained up and pulled down, been sneered and jeered at by various royal officers, and smacked around more than he'd like.

His mind was a blur. Alarm bells clanged in his skull, all chiming the same tone: Al. Al. Al.

He had to get back to him.

He'd demanded to speak to Roy Mustang many times, to anyone who would or wouldn't listen—after all, didn't his wanted poster say Deliver into the custody of Colonel Roy Mustang?

No one granted his request. The bastard Colonel was nowhere to be found. None of his soldiers were around, either.

The Fuhrer was too busy to see him personally, apparently, and so as the new day dawned, he was led to a remote cell in the castle's prison.

Al. Have to find Al.

Ed was so caught up in his own turmoil, he almost missed them.

Being shut up in their own cell—

Ling and Envy.

Questions bloomed in Ed's mind like weeds. How were they here? Why? Who had turned them in?

If they were here…where was Al?

Ling caught Ed's eye as he passed. His expression was…strangely regretful.

Ed made a split-second decision.

There were two guards on either side of him, holding his arms and guiding him down the corridor. As he was, for the moment, a willing prisoner, their grips were fairly light.

Ed surged backward out of their hands and rushed them. He slammed one into the wall with the full force of his body. The other came at him, fists ready for a fight, but Ed ducked and evaded them, slithering up from a crouch to catch him square in the jaw with the metal bar between his hands.

Both slid down the wall, groaning dazedly.

For the moment, he was free.

The lone guard at Ling and Envy's cell was silenced with a throbbing fist to the face, then Ed fumbled with his keys until the cell was open, and he was inside.

It shouldn't have been so easy—there were two of them against one of him, Ed's alchemy was still off the table, and neither Ling nor Envy were bound.

But they seemed to have no fight left in them. Both appeared too dejected to do more than stare at him morosely.

Serves them right, Ed thought viciously.

He crossed the cell and shoved Envy's shoulders against the bars of the cell.

"How did you know about him? Where is he?"

"Your—boyfriend?" Envy panted. "I—told you. The old man. His father."

"He called himself his father," Ling chimed in. His usual carefree tone was duller than usual. Defeated. "But he wasn't human, that was for sure."

"He looked like the king," Envy continued. "But he opened up his forehead and made one of those red stones out of nothing."

Opened up his—

"What?" Ed gasped.

Al's father—opened up his forehead—looked like the king—

"Then he knocked us out when we had the little bastard." Their tone turned to a snarl. "He's probably doing who-knows-what to him by now. Didn't seem very happy to have his pet run away."

Al was back in the tower. His father—whatever he was—would have brought him home.

Ed knew where to go. But he had to go fast.

"We're sorry, Edward," Ling said dejectedly. "We made a bad deal."

"Shouldn't have," Envy muttered, their face turned downward. Not meeting Ed's eyes.

Ed would have felt a rush of near-emotion for their remorse, but he had other worries now.

"I have to go get him. Al. I can't lose him."

Shouts echoed from the corridor. More guards were on their way.

Envy seized the back of Ed's coat. Ed flinched, unprepared to fight on two fronts.

They yanked the coat off Ed's arms, pulling him out of it. A ripping sound tore through the air, and the sleeves came out of the chains.

"Hey—!"

"Promise you'll come back for us this time," they hissed, getting to their feet.

Ed could only stare as Envy pulled on his red coat and secured the hood over their head. "When the coast is clear, get out of here."

They then leapt from the cell, into the hallway. The approaching shouts from the soldiers grew louder.

Envy shot a grimace over their shoulder that could have been a smile before dashing around a corner, shouting, "Come get the Fullmetal pipsqueak, idiots!"

Guards dashed past in pursuit. Ed ducked his head between his legs, hiding his distinctive hair, but not one of the soldiers even glanced into the cell.

"Won't take them long to catch up," Ling said quietly. "Better go while you can."

It took Ed a moment to unfreeze. Shock had rooted him to the floor.

Only the impetus to save Al propelled him out of the cell.

He paused to look back through the bars at Ling, alone and desolate in the tiny space. Ling gave him a parting smile.

Ed nodded at him—a promise. He wouldn't forget this.

Now…how to get out of here?

He ran through corridor after corridor, searching for an exit. But the prison was built like a labyrinth—perhaps for this very purpose, to keep prisoners from escaping.

A lone guard far down the corridor caught sight of him and shouted to raise the alarm. He leveled his spear at Ed in preparation.

Ed hardly broke pace. He ducked under the spear's pointy end and seized the shaft with his manacled hands.

The armored guard grabbed frantically at Ed, scrabbling for purchase on his clothes. But with no long, flowing coat to latch onto, Ed slipped through his fingers.

Ed whirled to face the now unarmed guard, whose expression was now distinctly nervous.

Dozens of taunts ran through Ed's mind—insults he could throw out, or devilish threats he could make to further fluster his opponent.

But there wasn't time for that—Al needed him.

Ed rushed the guard, propelling him to the floor and knocking his helmet askew with the iron bar between his wrists.

The guard slumped against the ground, barely conscious.

Ed twisted to his feet and kept running. The whole encounter had taken less than half a minute.

He encountered another soldier, alone in the labyrinth, and with a swift blow knocked him out as well.

He'd just found a staircase to a lower level—from the windows he'd glimpsed, he was certainly not on the prison's ground floor—but he went rigid at the sound of footsteps hammering up the stairs.

Guards were coming. Certainly more than one this time. Three, at least. Maybe more.

Ed began to back away from the staircase—he could find another way down—but the group of soldiers rounded the stair corridor and barraged him with shouts of Halt! and Stop!

Ed prepared for a less-evenly-matched fight than the ones before.

But before the trio reached him, someone else rounded the corner and intercepted them.

The large, graying man almost filled the stair corridor entirely. His blue uniform was tight, ill-fitting. He barreled into the advancing guards, slamming all three of them into a wall.

Ed stared. He knew this man. How? Where?

"Oh, there you are, Fullmetal," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Hey, G! I found him!"

"Finally," a familiar voice drawled. A tall, thin man strode from the shadows. His casual vest and darkened glasses seemed out of place in this militaristic setting.

"Greed?"

Ed thought for sure he was hallucinating.

"How did you—?"

"A very irate Colonel paid me a visit this morning. Woke me up, in fact, from a lovely sleep. Said his revolutionary key had been arrested and he needed help breaking him out."

More shouts echoed down the prison halls, cries of "Sound the alarm!" and "Intruders!"

It couldn't be.

Ed craned his neck. "You brought your whole crew?"

Greed rolled his eyes. "Dunno why they said yes. Boredom, maybe?"

A wild grin spread across Ed's face. That bastard Colonel. "No. Not boredom. He mentioned someone, didn't he? He mentioned Al."

The one who'd inspired them to be better. The one who'd broken Ed out of his monotonous, endless thieving routine. The boy who smashed cynicism with his bare hands and built friendships with nothing more than his angelic voice.

"He might have mentioned a child being in danger," Greed mused, placing a thoughtful, theatrical finger to his chin. "But I seem to recall said child being fairly skilled with a frying pan."

Ed felt a rush of affection. Al could move mountains—here he was, breaking Ed out of jail without lifting a finger of his own. "He lost his. I'll bring him a new one when I find him, how's that?"

Greed cast a rueful glance down at Ed's chained hands. "If he has to rely on you to be saved, I'm not sure he'll make it."

"Trust me," Ed said through gritted teeth. "I'll make damn sure no one hurts him ever again."

"Good to hear." Greed turned and yelled further down the hall. "Martel! He's headed your way—get him outside."

Ed ran for it. He followed the corridor, and two lefts and a right later he bumped into the lean muscled woman and the stocky man from the bar. Both wielded blades they hadn't before.

"This way, kiddo," the woman hissed. Together they led Ed through the maze and down two flights of stairs. Three times they were accosted by more incoming soldiers. By their combined efforts, none of them were left conscious. (Some, Ed wasn't sure his companions left alive, but he had no choice but to leave them and hope for the best.)

Then Ed was being shoved through a door into the dawning light of a new day.

He blinked in the sudden brightness, squinting to orient himself.

He was at the base of the hill the royal city stood on, in a courtyard that overlooked green-grassed sprawling fields. The lake was nowhere in sight.

Across the cobbled courtyard, another door opened to yield the largest group of soldiers yet.

Ed counted at least ten before they spotted him and charged, leveling their spears.

The chains separating his hands were still in place. No matter how he strained, Ed couldn't reach them to draw a transmutation circle and dissolve them into something. A weapon, anything.

He could make something from the stone streets, he supposed. He had to hope it was soft enough to scratch a circle with his automail…

Before he could test his theory, before the horde of guards reached him, a massive wall of fire appeared to cut them off.

Ed looked around wildly. There was only one person who could make those flames.

Roy Mustang had appeared at his side, slinking in from who-knows-where and holding one gloved hand at the ready.

"You," Ed growled, voice rough with relief. "You're doing this?"

Mustang snorted, keeping his eyes on the conflagration he'd created. "This isn't quite how I imagined starting the revolution, but thankfully I'm good at improvising."

He flicked his gloved fingers, lighting one finger up like a grotesque, oversized match. He directed the flame to Ed's manacles, concentrating it until its intensity broke through the metal, and his chains fell away, freeing his hands.

"What with our dear prince locked up and all."

"Bastard," Ed hissed. Was politics all he could think about? "Al's in danger. I'm not gonna forget him to help you."

The colonel glanced down at him, a hint of a smile over his concentrated expression. "I know."

"You—" Ed faltered, his retort neutered. "You know?"

Mustang put a hand on Ed's arm in an uncharacteristic gesture of solidarity. "Go find him. I'll deal with the Fuhrer."

He snapped his fingers once more, and the guards on the other side of the flames shouted in alarm.

Ed couldn't believe it. Had the universe conspired to give him a good day for once?

"There's a stable through that gate over there," Mustang yelled over the roaring fire. "Take a horse. Everything is yours, after all."

Ed rolled his eyes.

He didn't argue further, though, and ran in the direction Mustang pointed.

He'd ridden a horse once or twice before. It was easy enough—as long as the beast in question trusted you. He quieted his nervous energy as much as he could before mounting and trotting away.

The city was mostly quiet. The occasional shout drifted from the castle or a street, but Mustang's revolution, if it was indeed happening, seemed fairly contained.

Ed urged his horse into a gallop as he left the city behind.

His mind raced with everything he'd say to Al—everything he'd thought of saying, wanted to say before, but hadn't.

I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I never want to leave you. You're wonderful. Beautiful. Please stay with me.

I love you.

He navigated the woods past the royal city with relative ease. No one chased him today, and no one tried to turn him in for money.

The journey to Al's tower seemed to take no time at all, although by the time he managed to locate the hidden tunnel, the sun had fully risen on a new day.

The windows were dark, the tower quiet. Ed hoped Al was there.

He clapped his hands and touched them to the tower wall, forming the same series of divots and protrusions as before to climb up.

Ed wanted to call out, to let Al know he was coming—but something stopped him.

What if Al's father, whoever—whatever—he was, heard him and tried to prevent him from coming in? Ed was in a precarious position, climbing a tall tower with no safety measures. He didn't even have a coat to transmute into a parachute this time.

No. If Al was up there, he'd know soon enough Ed was coming for him.

Just a bit more time.

Ed hoisted himself through the open window. The light in the tower was low. No candles or lamps burned this time, and all the shutters in the roof were closed.

It looked much more like a prison than Ed's last visit.

There was no sign of Al. Or his father.

"Al," he called, his voice echoing in the empty space. "Al!"

"Edward?"

He whirled at the voice, Al's plaintive, questioning voice. Its high pitch wavered, as if he were on the verge of tears.

There in a darkened corner, completely clad in his suit of armor again, was Al. He sat on a bench, his slumped posture and lifeless limbs giving off a very defeated air.

Ed rushed to him. "Al."

Al raised his helmeted head. "You're here."

"I'm here. I'm here." Ed knelt in front of the low bench, putting himself on the floor. Even if he hadn't left Al voluntarily last night, Al still deserved an apology.

"I'm so sorry. My friends, they tricked me—they were tricked."

It seemed an inadequate explanation for what Ling and Envy had done—for all they knew, the Fuhrer could have ordered Ed's execution upon his capture—but it would have to wait. They would have to wait.

All that mattered now was Al.

"I was afraid I'd never—" Ed found himself reaching for Al's hands, even clad in thick leather gloves. "I never want to leave you again."

"Really?" Al sounded barely less despondent than before.

He hadn't moved to take his helmet off. Perhaps he wanted to hide his face from Ed—punish Ed for abandoning him.

Maybe he'd been crying under there, and he didn't want Ed to see.

"Really." Ed stood, still holding Al's gloved hands. "I want to take you away from here. Somewhere we can be together."

"Edward…" Al's tone was disbelieving. At least, that was how it sounded to Ed.

"Hey." Ed put his hands on Al's helmet, overwhelmed with the urge to kiss those pale lips once more. "C'mere. Let me see that face."

He lifted the helmet off the shoulders of the armor—

And found no head underneath.

Ed jumped violently, the warmth leaving his body with remarkable speed. "Al?"

But Al wasn't there. There was no one in the suit of armor, only darkness.

Dark…

The shadows inside swirled sickeningly, and several red eyes appeared out of nothing.

Ed stumbled backward, adrenaline flooding him. Demon, he thought first.

Then, remembering: Selim.

The room spun.

"Al? Al!"

Why was Selim here, filling the armor like—Ed's heart stuttered—like a decoy?

If Al wasn't in the armor—where was he?

He whirled, but before he could search the rest of the tower, there was a clank, and two powerful hands, clad in leather, grabbed his wrists from behind.

Selim, in the armor, had gotten to his feet and taken hold of Ed. His grip was like iron, holding Ed's hands apart so alchemy was impossible.

Ed wrenched against the armor fruitlessly. "Let me go," he snarled. "You double-crossing little demon snitch—"

"Technically, his loyalties always lay with me," broke in a new voice. Deep and calm.

A large hand appeared and pushed aside the curtain to Al's bedroom, revealing a tall man clad in white.

Al's father.

Envy had been right; he did look like the king. Same long hair, same beard. But more…colorless somehow, as if the gold had been leached from his hair, his eyes.

Ed had only caught glimpses of the king, in images and brief balcony appearances. He already knew he didn't like the man.

But this…whoever this was, it wasn't the same person.

And Ed hated him.

"You bastard," he hissed. "Where's Al?"

"He's…" Al's father stroked his beard. "Let's say he's in a time-out. After all, he disobeyed my wishes in a terrible way."

"Let him go," Ed snarled. "Call off your pet and let him go."

"And what would you do in return? Stay in his place?"

"If—" Ed's stomach dropped. Was that an option? Was it the only option for Al to go free? "If that's what has to happen."

"Curious. You hardly know him, and yet you would give your life, your freedom, so he could be free. Humans never cease to amaze me."

"Where. Is he?"

Father waved a hand, and red energy sparked from his fingertips. Beside him, the wall bordering the bedroom crackled with alchemy—the same red alchemy that Al had used to heal Ed.

Souls, a part of him whispered. Those are souls.

He's a…Philosopher's Stone.

The realization dawned on him, but before he could act on it, or even process it fully, he heard a muffled scream.

Part of the tower wall adjacent to the bedroom gave way, the stones folding in on themselves like putty, to reveal a figure, apparently sucked through the wall by alchemy.

Al.

He was all but encased in stone, his arms and legs disappearing into the wall. It was as though he'd been lifted up, nearly to the ceiling, and the wall had swallowed him. He appeared completely helpless, unable to move or transmute—even his special brand of transmutation.

His eyes were huge with terror, and that didn't change when he saw Ed.

"Al!" He strained to break free, to run to Al, to reach him, hold him, comfort him.

"Ed," he breathed, looking down. There were tears in his eyes.

There would be no miraculous save this time. Ed's luck had run out. No one would be appearing to save them now—it was up to Ed. "Are you okay?"

"You—" Al panted. "I guess you were—right. About Selim."

"Don't worry. We're gonna get out of here. And show that little demon freak what's what."

"He's more powerful than you realize," Al's not-father broke in. "My pride and joy. It was truly a stroke of genius, sending my creation to watch over Alphonse. Guard him. Keep me informed of any naughtiness he got up to. He had no idea. Treated it like a friend."

The derision in his tone, the mockery of Al's sweet, trusting nature, sent molten fury burning like lava through Ed's veins.

"Now he'll pay for what he's done. He nearly had me in a panic."

Al shook his head fearfully, watching his father with terror plain on his face.

"Let him go," Ed snarled. "I said I'd stay. You can keep me, I don't care. If you want somebody for your sick fantasies—"

"I'm afraid that won't be sufficient," the bastard interrupted smoothly. "To be truthful, my 'fantasy' needs you both. Alphonse revealed it to me earlier. You have seen the truth as well. I need you both.

"Now I have two sacrifices. Two humans who have seen the power of God, whom I intend to overcome. I had intended—" he inclined his head toward Ed, "to allow the Fuhrer to keep you in his custody, safe and sound, until I was ready. But Alphonse insisted you would come for him, and here you are."

Ed tried again to shake off the Selim's grip, but the leather gloves held him like steel. Like the manacles the king's guard had slapped on him earlier this morning.

"Let him go!" Al screamed. "He's nothing to you. You have me; isn't that enough?"

"Silence," Al's father said without looking at him. "Your punishment is next."

Al whimpered.

He turned his head slowly toward Al, pinned to the wall like a bug in a scrapbook.

"You won't be so inclined to stay in one place anymore, I suppose. What to do to keep you here?" He lifted his hand to his beard once more, thoughtful.

His cool, disinterested expression in the face of Al's terror seemed so callous. So cruel.

"I'll stay, I promise." Al's pleading voice cracked. "Let him go, and I'll do whatever you want."

His father ignored him. "I believe I'll send you back to the gate. I don't need your body for the sacrifice, only your soul."

Ed's stomach twisted.

"Yes. If I send your body away, you cannot escape."

"No," Al pleaded. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. "No. Please."

"I could bind your soul to anything in this room and keep you here, waiting, until the day comes when I have all five."

The room faded away, and all Ed could see was Al, the boy he loved, scared for his life.

All he could hear was his monster of a father's voice, calmly describing the torment he was about to enact. "Can you imagine that existence? Inanimate. Less than human. A disembodied conscience, floating helpless. Unable to move. That ought to give you enough time to think about what you've done."

"Please, no. Don't—"

"Stop your sniveling," he said suddenly. With a wave of his alchemy-charged hand, a piece of stone from the wall lodged itself in Al's teeth like a gag. "That lowlife had one thing right."

"Don't you—dare—hurt him," Ed managed to gasp out.

Father waved his hand, bringing Al's body out of the brickwork. Nearly all of him was visible.

Al whimpered as his caretaker ran a hand up his thigh.

And then—

With a flash of red energy, Al's leg disappeared.

One second it was there. The next, gone.

Al screamed.

Blood began to drip from the stump where his leg used to be, just below his hip.

Ed was paralyzed, frozen in horror.

Al's leg had vanished, and there was nothing he could do.

"No more running away," Father said, his voice too calm for someone who had just blasted away a human limb. "And no more of that pesky alchemy."

With another flash, Al's arm was gone too.

His scream around the rock in his mouth was nearly inhuman.

"Stop!" Ed heard himself scream. All he could see were the tears pouring down Al's sheet-white face.

The pain he had to be in…

Ed had to get to him.

He strained against Selim's armored hold. "Let me go, you demon freak!"

With one massive yank, he pulled his automail arm free and stumbled to the floor.

His nerves screamed and lit up.

Ed looked down and realized he hadn't pulled his arm free of Selim; he'd pulled his body free of his arm.

His automail arm was left in Selim's gloved hand, its end sparking with surprise at the sudden separation from its port.

All Ed had left was a live port on his empty shoulder.

He was free, but he couldn't perform alchemy.

At least, not like he normally could. He had no circles, nothing to draw with. Even his automail hand, which could scratch markings on stone or metal in a pinch, was lost to him.

And Al was bleeding from two missing limbs. Soon to be more.

Short of rushing Al's father and physically fighting him, Ed was practically helpless.

Something plinked out of his pocket.

Ed rolled over to find something small and red lying on the floor.

The Philosopher's Stone.

It had been here. In Ed's pocket.

Ed didn't stop to think how it had gotten there. He grabbed it in his remaining hand, gritted his teeth against the screams of pain that seemed to erupt from it, and aimed it at Father.

I'm sorry.

He had never used a Stone before, and had no idea how.

Red sparked from the Stone, from his fingers, and a wave of energy blasted at Father.

He stumbled back, his attention turned from Al for a brief moment.

Keep going.

Ed aimed the Stone again, envisioning a larger blast—

And the Stone crumbled in his fingers.

Ed stared at his empty hand in disbelief.

No. No, that couldn't be it. Philosopher's Stones were indestructible. How could this one…

Envy's words came back to him. That thing's almost useless. Its power's going to fade soon.

Could he really have just used up all the power it had?

Al's father surveyed him coolly. Not threatened in the slightest.

A heavy weight fell on top of his sprawled form with a clank.

The armor. Selim.

Ed was pinned to the ground.

"Interesting," Al's father rumbled. "A fine attempt. Better than Alphonse made."

Ed wanted to cry in frustration. He couldn't save Al. He couldn't even save himself. This bearded bastard was going to win.

It was hopeless.

A faint whisper sounded in his head. Stop him.

I can't, he was about to reply despondently, but something stopped him. A question. A curiosity.

Who was that?

Why could he hear voices inside his head, separate from himself?

Why, in times of crisis, did pieces of advice spring into his mind? He'd always assumed they were strokes of genius, but—

Al's shy, uncertain face swam in his memory. They've been a part of me for as long as I can remember. It feels like they know me, and they look out for me. Sometimes I think I hear them, whispering to me. Encouraging me. Giving me advice.

Souls.

There were souls inside Al. Put there because he'd passed through the gate. Because he was a sinner who could perform alchemy without a circle.

Like Ed.

Ed remembered every time he'd stayed calm because a small, quiet voice had told him to. Every time he'd escaped a dangerous situation because of a random idea whispered into his mind. Every time he'd felt safer, or watched over, or just not alone.

Not alone. You're not alone.

Ed had never known them for what they were. They hadn't minded. He'd been too young, too small to remember or take blame. They'd been content to watch him, care for him, help him in whatever small way they could—from the inside.

Now, they were almost eager.

The souls inside him clamored, jostling inside him, whispering their offer. Use us. Save him. Stop the homunculus.

(Ed didn't stop to wonder what a homunculus was. He already knew Al's father wasn't human.)

The armor pinning him to the ground shattered.

Ed got to his feet.

Selim, a mass of formless shadows once more, disappeared into the floor.

Al's father looked over at him again, something like surprise on his face.

"Let him go," Ed growled. "You're never going to touch him again."

Red energy crackled around a brick in the floor. Then it broke away from its fellow stones and hurled itself at Father.

A field of red energy appeared around him, deflecting the brick.

Dammit.

He has souls too, they whispered to Ed. Make him use them all.

More bricks tore themselves from the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Tiles from the roof hardened into pointed projectiles. All heading straight for the bastard who had the nerve to call himself someone's father.

Again and again the blows were deflected. Ed picked up the shattered debris with his newfound power and threw it again. Over and over, until—

Father threw out a hand and batted a brick away.

Ed blinked. He hadn't used his power. Could that mean…

Red sparked in a circle around the floor at Father's feet. The stone tiles became spear points, quivering for blood.

They all flew at Father at once.

He couldn't stop them all.

Ed expected a spray of blood. Instead, the figure in front of him was riddled with holes. Dark, empty holes.

As he watched, the skin slid off of him like a coat, leaving a mess of white robes and pale golden hair on the floor.

In Father's place was a small, dark mass that could have been a puff of smoke.

Ed breathed a sigh of relief, and swayed a little.

A muffled groan alerted him to Al.

Al was still pinned to the wall.

Ed envisioned the stones that held him loosening, lowering him gently to the ground.

Sliding out from between his teeth.

Al gasped upon being released, crumpling to the floor. His face streaked with tears. "Ed…"

Ed started to run to him, but another voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You…you…"

Ed recoiled at the small voice echoing from the little black mass.

"Father," Al whimpered.

Ed squinted. Was this really the bearded bastard who'd blasted Al's limbs off?

So small and helpless. It seemed hardly more corporeal than Selim.

Ed made two blocks of stone rise from the floor, on either side of what had been Father.

The little ball tried to protest. "Wait—"

Ed smashed the stones together.

Squashing the little smoke puff between them.

Debris flew in all directions—remnants of the projectiles he'd thrown at Father, the pieces of stone that had held Al in place, bits of wall and floor and ceiling knocked loose in the fight.

The dust settled, and the blocks of stone separated.

The puff of smoke was gone.

Father was gone.

Ed breathed a painful sigh of relief—painful?

From where he lay on the floor, Al gasped. It was a choked, horrified sound.

Ed followed the surging pain with his eyes, down his torso.

Where a spike protruded from his stomach.

Blood dripped from the wound, creating a pool on the floor.

"Ed," Al whispered. He reached his remaining arm out.

Ed tried to smile at him, but his muscles weren't responding. His vision blurred. He stumbled.

Where were the voices? The souls? His protectors?

There was only silence.

He fell to the floor.

"No! Ed!"

His only coherent thought as he blacked out was that at least he'd die at Al's side.