Ed was back.

He had come back, and he was dying.

Al dragged his useless, crying, bloody body toward Ed's unconscious form. If his body hadn't already been an ocean of pain, his sobs would have hurt.

Ed was here, and he was hurt. Bleeding out on Al's floor, while Al had done nothing to help him.

While Father had blasted his limbs away like they were dust.

Al had tried to use the remaining souls in him to staunch his bleeding, to keep himself alive, but Father had sapped nearly all the power from his body, absorbing it into his own.

And then he'd used it all, defending himself from Ed.

At least he was gone. Father was gone.

Ed's face was slack and pale. He lay in a growing circle of blood.

It was an ugly dark red, and sticky. Nothing like the vibrant being Ed was when he was awake, alive.

With a cry of pain, Al propped himself on his remaining elbow and lifted his head and shoulders.

He pressed his shaking, bloody hand to Ed's cheek.

It was cool.

There was no thrumming under his skin when they touched, not anymore.

Was he dead?

He couldn't be dead.

Al sobbed with abandon. He couldn't live in this strange, unfamiliar world alone. He couldn't, not without Ed.

A whisper tickled the inside of his ear.

Save him.

Al sniffled and started. Where before there might have been many whispers, many voices, there was now only one.

There was still a smidgen of power inside him. The souls weren't completely gone—Father hadn't taken them all.

Could he save Ed?

If he relinquished the souls, would his limbs begin to bleed freely? Would he die before he could get help?

There wouldn't be enough power to save both of them.

Ed.

If Ed were healed, he could get Al help.

Al had to trust him.

It wasn't even a choice.

He laid his hand on the skin around Ed's wound and willed it to heal.

Red flashed, burning the inside of his eyelids.

His strength began to drain. He slumped to the floor.

The voice whispered one last thing before fading away. Well done, sweetheart.

Above him, Ed gasped awake.

.

The hole in him was healed. The pain was still there, but it was barely above a dull ache.

Al was sprawled on the floor next to him. Hand on his stomach where the wound had been.

His two stumps leaked blood.

"Al?"

Al lifted his head, a woozy expression on his face. He smiled dully. "Hey."

His hair was loose and choppy, and streaked with blood.

Ed brushed his bangs back, taking in every glorious inch of his face. "You idiot."

"Mmm." Al leaned into his palm. "I had to. You would've died."

Ed took in his shredded shirt, the remnants of blood on his skin. Al's missing limbs. "We're really falling apart, huh?"

"But we're alive."

Ed smiled at the simple, plaintive statement. It was true. They were both still here. "Yeah. We're alive. Now let's get you some help."

His automail lay on the floor where Selim had dropped it after the armor shattered.

Where was Selim?

Had he died with his true master? Had he fled?

Questions for later. Right now, Al was his only concern.

Ed picked up his arm. Thankfully, it didn't seem broken beyond a few loose bolts and wires.

He gritted his teeth and shoved it back into his port, suppressing his cry of pain as his nerves lit up, reconnecting with the foreign circuits.

It wasn't perfect—his stomach twisted at the thought of going to get it repaired, although he had little choice now—but for the moment it would do. He could move, and pick things up, and most importantly, he could transmute again.

He grabbed a few articles of clothing from Al's wardrobe—wondering why the closet felt so familiar for some reason—and transmuted them into hasty bandages to tightly wrap Al's stumps. Then he lifted Al in his arms like a small child, one arm underneath his back, the other under his knees—or, knee.

Al slung his remaining arm over Ed's shoulder and clung to him as tightly as he could.

Ed pressed his lips to Al's pale, clammy forehead.

The kiss he'd hoped for earlier would have to wait.

He stopped at the window, resting Al on the sill so he could transmute the walls of the tower into a smooth, spiraling ramp down to the ground.

"Even easier than stairs, huh," he said with theatrical pride as he slid over the windowsill and lifted Al up once again.

"I should've thought of that," Al quipped weakly.

He seemed tired. This worried Ed, as he'd lost a lot of blood.

He hurried down the tower, trying not to jostle Al too much.

The horse ride back to civilization would be a different story, though.

Ed apologized for every jolt, every cry of pain that broke through Al's gritted teeth. The horse was fast, but the forest was hardly even terrain.

Al was half conscious by the time they emerged from the forest. His head sagged forward, swaying dangerously from side to side.

Ed clutched him to his chest.

He didn't believe in any higher power—never had. But still, he prayed for Al to reach safety.

Halfway back to the city, a lone figure on horseback approached them. Ed was ready to tear past, fully ignoring whoever it was, but then he heard a shout.

"Did you get the Stone, Fullmetal?"

Ed pulled up, as gently as he could. Al lurched forward, a sleepy noise of protest spilling from his pale lips.

Mustang.

He appeared unchanged, though his blue military jacket was gone. There were no wounds, no signs of a fight.

Ed might have asked him, scathingly, how the revolution had gone. But there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"I have to get him to a doctor. He's bleeding."

"For the love of god, Fullmetal, what happened to him?"

"Shut up. I'll explain later, just help him."

For once, Mustang actually shut up and listened. He turned his horse and urged it back the way he'd come—toward the royal city. "This way."

.

Al woke groggy and unwilling to leave his bed, or open his eyes. His dreams had been full of terrible things. Monsters and shadows, Father enacting vengeance Al had never thought him capable of. Ed bleeding out—

Ed.

Al shot up with a cry of alarm. It hadn't been a dream. It had been real, and Ed, Ed—

Was catching him as he fought free of his bedsheets. Pulling him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Al, his voice low and soothing. "It's okay. It's okay."

"Ed," he gasped. "You—he—I—I'm sorry! I couldn't—"

"Shh. It's okay. S'all okay, Al. He's gone. We're okay."

Al whimpered. He remembered now, Ed battering Father to a pulp, revealing his true form. Smashing him between two stones, as if swatting a fly.

He shuddered. He felt, in no uncertain terms, relieved that Father couldn't hurt him anymore. But he couldn't shake the look of barefaced terror on Father's face, before being pummeled into oblivion.

What was he? Where had he gone?

Why exactly had he wanted Al—and Ed too, at the end?

Al supposed he'd never get full answers to those questions.

For now he was content to let Ed hold him. Relax in his mismatched arms, and let his arms wrap around Ed in return—

Wait.

Not arms. Arm.

He only had one arm.

The memory came back, slicing knifelike through his nerves. Father taking his limbs one by one without so much as lifting a finger, or twitching an eyebrow.

His leg, his arm.

Gone.

Stiff, heavy bandages wrapped around his shoulder and, judging by the feeling underneath the covers, around what remained of his leg.

Father would've let him bleed out completely. Would've excised his soul, clean as a scalpel cut. Bound it to something without arms or legs, where he'd be forced to just…exist. Exist and watch time flow, erode everything he cared about.

He'd never have been free again.

As it was, his two missing limbs felt like a mercy.

With his face buried in Ed's chest, he let a few tears escape.

Ed's hold on him tightened. Cradling him. Rocking back and forth.

He didn't need to say anything else. Just his presence—his warmth, his scent, his lips gentle against Al's forehead—was enough.

They were together. Nothing would change that. There was no Father to stop them, no military chasing Ed, apparently.

Nothing was in their way.

Except…

Al gulped, remembering what he'd learned. The truth about him—about them.

How would he tell Ed?

Al loved him. Wanted to hold his hand, kiss his lips. He wanted to spend every day with him—in his arms, if possible.

Could they have that future, if…

Ed straightened up, his head turning toward something Al couldn't see.

"Yeah," he said shortly, in response to something Al hadn't heard. "Yeah, he's awake."

This time, Al heard a low, muffled voice in the distance.

"No, no change," Ed said. "He's fine for now. Just scared."

Al wanted to protest—no, he wasn't scared, he was better than that—but given his missing limbs and what Father had done to him, he was content to stay in the shelter of Ed's arms.

"Yeah, I'll tell you if anything changes," Ed was saying. "He just woke up."

A door closed in the distance, and Ed relaxed infinitesimally. His head dipped, and his nose buried itself in Al's hair.

The room quieted once more—quiet enough to hear the gentle pit-pat of rain tapping against the window.

"Who was that?" Al murmured.

"Mmm." Ed's breath warmed the top of Al's head, giving the impression of warm sunlight bearing down on him—though the day was overcast and rainy. "The doctor who took care of you. He's a friend of Mustang's."

"Mustang?" Al sat up a little straighter, shifting so he could look Ed in the face. "Did he bring me here?"

"He helped," Ed said tersely. "Do you remember the horse?"

Al wracked his memory; his head was fuzzy. He remembered the tower, Father, healing Ed, Ed's smile when he woke up again, healed…

But after that, nothing. "No."

"Oh. I guess that's good. You were in…pretty bad shape."

The rain grew louder outside. Like a distant crowd shouting. Shouting for…something.

Ed's arms tightened around Al.

"Mustang had his revolution," he continued. "Did it without either of us, can you believe it? The Fuhrer's removed from power. Things are in limbo right now, but people are asking for the king to be returned to his throne."

The mention of the king made Al's stomach coil. A dark pit yawned inside him, waiting to swallow him in despair. The king, his father—their father…

"That's good," he managed to say through numb lips.

"Yeah. I guess that bastard Colonel finally did something right. He even gave me the Stone back, before I came to get you. I gotta say, I did not see that coming."

"I remember," Al said faintly. Ed pulling the little stone from his pocket, staring at it in disbelief.

It had crumbled soon after, but it had given Ed the edge he'd needed.

"Without it, I don't know if I could've…" Ed trailed off. "Hate to say it, but I might actually owe him." He pressed his lips to Al's forehead, placing his hand over Al's and entwining their fingers.

Al's insides coiled. He felt like a snake was constricting around him. Squeezing him until his newfound knowledge popped out.

He couldn't keep it a secret. Ed deserved to know.

"Ed." He nudged Ed's shoulder with his head. "Ed, I have to tell you something."

"What?" Ed lifted his head to meet Al's eyes, his gaze gentle.

"I figured it out." Al drew in a shaky breath. He felt dizzy. "I…don't know how to say it."

"You can tell me." Ed's thumb rubbed soothing circles on the back of Al's hand. "You can tell me anything."

Al's chest tightened. "You might not like it."

It would change everything, except how Al felt.

"S'okay."

"The lost prince. Princes. There were two of them."

"Yeah."

"You are one of them. And the other one…" Al felt like bars of a prison cell were waiting to come crashing down between them, sealing them apart forever. "The other one is me."

Ed had gone still and silent, his slow breaths the only evidence of life.

His hand spasmed around Al's.

"How…how do you…"

He couldn't finish.

The raindrops outside pattered relentlessly.

"Father," Al said simply. "He's not my real father. He took my real father's form—the king's form."

Ed's breath was quickening, hitching. Like he was preparing to run away.

Or to cry.

"That's…" His voice was hoarse. "That's not…"

"I know it sounds crazy. But I know it's true. I feel it." Al braced himself, saying the words. "You're my brother. My brother."

He waited for Ed to pull away. To let go of his hand. To say, well, that's that and leave Al alone in this comfortable bed.

But Ed's head was shaking. "I don't…want that."

A large knob began to form, twisting in Al's throat. "I know."

"I…I…" Ed looked away and breathed deeply. "I told you to find a new dream. Remember?"

Al sniffled. "Yeah." He hadn't told Ed what he'd chosen. He'd been too shy at first—then everything had happened, driving them apart.

"Well, I had a new dream too. A real one this time."

Ed's eyes shone. He raised one shaking finger and touched it to Al's nose. "It was you. You were my new dream."

Al laughed. Warm tears spilled over his cheeks. He knew.

He'd known in his heart how Ed felt, but it was still wonderful to hear him say it. Even after such a life-altering revelation.

"You were mine, too." He needed to say it aloud, too. For Ed.

Ed blinked furiously to hold back his own tears, flicking them away hastily when that failed. "Well. This is…something."

He wasn't pulling away. He wasn't saying no or never mind.

The voices in his head were gone, but Al still felt calm. He didn't need anyone to tell him what to do next. He and Ed could figure it out on their own.

Together.

The rain quieted to a dull dripping.

Ed looked at him. A tear had escaped his efforts and edged down his cheek like a tiny blade. "I kissed you."

"I know." Al smiled tearfully. "I kissed you back."

He'd wanted to. And he wanted to do it again and again.

"I still want to kiss you." Ed's face twisted, anguished. "Is that…wrong?" He exhaled in a huff, a humorless laugh only a few steps shy of a sob. "I guess…I love you the wrong way."

Al's heart still leaped at the words. I love you.

Even in such a twisted sentence, they nudged his chest.

"What are you saying? That you shouldn't love me?"

Everything he'd been through with Edward—the danger, the casual, easy conversations, the heartfelt confessions and storytelling—spun through his mind again.

None of it had changed because of what he'd learned. Ed was still the same Ed, and Al still loved him.

Al still wanted to know more of him, all of him. Wanted to trace Ed's hand with his own. Wanted to taste Ed's skin with his lips.

Nothing could be wrong with how he felt.

That they were blood meant nothing in the face of all that.

The window above his head turned a dull, quiet golden.

The sun was peeking through the clouds.

"We're family." Ed's shoulders bent under the words. "I shouldn't…I should…"

Their fingers still intertwined, Al lifted their hands to his lips. "Look at you—the notorious Fullmetal Alchemist, worrying about doing the right thing," he teased. "So noble."

Ed let out a watery chuckle, making no effort now to hide his tears. "I don't want to hurt you by loving you."

"You wouldn't," Al murmured against his knuckles. "You aren't."

Ed's fingers tightened around his, squeezing. Clinging. "You're…you're too…"

Al cut him off. "Father had me convinced that I was a sinner. I thought I wasn't a good person. Nothing I did could make up for the horrible things I did. For killing the people inside me."

"You didn't—"

"I know. So who are you—who is anybody—to tell me I can't love you? That you can't love me? Ed, I didn't even know what love was until I met you."

Ed's expression contorted, melding into several emotions at once. Shock, horror, sadness, awe, adoration. Tears trickled from his eyes, decorating his freckled cheeks with little diamonds.

His nose ran a little. Al still wanted to kiss him.

He leaned in closer to Ed's warmth, speaking into the hollow beneath his collarbone. "It's not wrong. We'll figure this out. Together."

Ed breathed in deeply, trying to fortify himself.

"Whatever we decide," Al continued, "whatever happens, we'll be side by side. Right?"

"Yeah." Ed's voice was rough with tears. "Yeah, that sounds good."

He cast a glance down at their hands, still clinging to each other. His flesh hand, and Al's only hand. The tentative sunlight through the window turned their skin golden. "Hey. We match now."

It was Al's turn to laugh through his tears. "Yeah. Mirror images."

His right arm—the only one he had left—raised and moved in tandem with Ed's flesh arm, his left. And the stump of his right leg, with hardly anything left below his hip, rested on Ed's left automail leg.

The pain hadn't set in yet. Al wasn't sure why—maybe Mustang's doctor friend had given him some kind of medicine to dull his senses. (Although that wouldn't explain why Ed's touch still sent prisms of light and color through him.) Perhaps he'd simply been asleep long enough for his body to heal a little.

Perhaps there was still a sliver of a soul left inside him. Someone who loved him, watching over him. Taking away his pain.

Thank you, he thought quietly. If you're there. Whoever you are.

Ed brought their hands to his lips. The gentle kiss sent starbursts through his fingers.

When they touched, it was still magic.

"We'll have to get you some automail," Ed murmured. "I know a great mechanic."