Part three, heralding the utter destruction of what's left of Envy's identity. I write such cheerful stuff, really.

"The direction a man wants to walk in is the direction in which he is led."

Sometimes he found himself wondering bemusedly what he would do without Al. He hadn't told Al what had happened, not even the fragmented fabricated version he told the others. What he didn't understand was why Al never asked him. Al knew Edward better than anybody else; he probably saw right through the little charade from the first.

But from the beginning, Al had simply been unfailingly supportive. True, he worked on his act much harder when he was around 'his' little brother, but there was no way in hell Al hadn't noticed the difference. Al wasn't dumb. He tried asking i him /i about it, but he found the answer rather perplexing.

He knows me.

You mean he knows what happened to you? He knows you're inside of me?

No…he understands me.

That doesn't explain why he's not suspicious.

There was a silence while the other thought. It took some time; the lack of a mind of his own had slowed down his mental processes significantly.

You can't understand…how to speak without talking.

He could feel the effort the explanation had taken, and knew that for now that was all the answer he was going to get. He mulled over this insight into the Elric brothers' relationship. He felt a twinge of jealousy at that. He had never been that close to anybody in his entire existence.

On one hand, the thought of somebody knowing him so intimately was frightening, but it was also oddly attractive. After all, why should knowing that you have someone to back you up no matter what be a weakness?

He froze, aghast at this train of thought. It was wrong, it was weak to depend on others, he tried to convince himself feebly, but found it hard to believe. Because now that he had an inkling of what it meant to live like that, he knew it didn't work that way. Al's support meant that he could fight so much harder, since he knew that Al was there to back him up. He didn't have to worry about the aftermath, because Al was there to do that for him. How could that possibly be a weaker way to live?

He looked over at Al, who was sitting across the room from him reading a large alchemy book. Well, he supposed it was as good a way to pass evenings as any, even though he himself found it tedious. Ed, apparently, was used to spending every free waking moment (and some sleeping ones) in the library. The only problem was, he really didn't have that sort of patience –or obsession. More and more often he found himself trying to come up with excuses to be on missions, or anywhere but the library.

He yawned. Strange. Ever since he had acquired his parasite he found himself tired more often than before, and also more inclined to eat. A nap was starting to sound rather nice, really. He undid his black jacket and dropped it carelessly on a chair, and suddenly felt Al's glowing 'eyes' on him.

He realized with a chill that Al hadn't seen the ouroboros on his shoulder until now. Almost frightened, he jerked around and clapped his automail hand over the offending symbol, his back hunching protectively. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, sure that now he would be exposed for the fraud he was, sure that Al could never possibly accept a homunculus as his brother.

He flinched away but didn't resist when a surprisingly gentle gauntlet pried his hand away from his flesh shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he told Al, not even quite sure what he was apologizing for, but hoping vainly that the empty words could make up for what he had done.

Al abruptly let go of his arm and stepped away. He stared at Al in confusion, and for the first time noticed the distance between them. The physical meter suddenly seemed like a fathomless chasm, and he couldn't understand why.

He was being cast away, adrift, and he looked up at the suit of armor that held the soul of the brother that wasn't really his and said in confusion, "but…I still love you…!"

The words seemed weak and small, but it was as if the rift had never been.

"I know you do," Al said.

He couldn't for the life of him understand why sadness lurked behind the words.

He stormed away, unable to stand Al for a moment longer. He couldn't abide the patience, the acceptance, and the love. He was sick to the core of his being of smiling at people, following orders, acting nice. Their concern infuriated him. The only way out was to get as far away from them as he dared, wander around Central where he didn't know anybody and could drop the damned act.

Well, only parts of it; he wasn't allowed to change his form, after all, and definitely wasn't allowed to indulge in his darker amusements. He refused to admit he was whipped; this was only temporary, until he could get the bastard inside him to shut up.

The deep scowl on his face kept most passers-by at a distance. With the tell-tale red coat left behind at the barracks he could pretend nobody knew who he was, though people still recognized him. With every step he felt the hatred and frustration pound through his skull until he hardly knew where he was anymore. He wanted to kill someone, but knew that luxury was denied him.

Finally he paused, in the middle of the business district of Central. All around him were people shopping or selling. His blank gaze wandered over the display in the store next to him, which was full of blown glass imported from Xing.

Inside the store it was cool and quiet, the shelves glittering with delicate glass shapes. Against his will he found himself relaxing slightly and grudgingly admiring the artwork.

"Can I help you?"

Startled, he yelped and jerked around. His arm hit a shelf, sending vases and jugs flying to the floor, the glass shattering instantly into bright shards.

When the racket died down he stared at the mess on the floor in dismay, while the proprietor (who had been the one to startle him) glared at him furiously.

His first impulse was to kill the damn Xingan. It was his fault for startling him!

His second impulse was to just laugh and walk out, maybe break some more just out of spite.

But he did neither of those, because he wasn't himself anymore, he was Edward. And Edward would look at the man sheepishly, and apologize unhappily for the breakage.

Then Edward would clap his hands and --there he froze. He couldn't do alchemy to make everything right. Frustration coursed through him as he stared at the mess and realized there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, and no way he could fix it.

Finally he got a grip on himself, and meekly agreed to pay for what he had broken.

Equivalent Trade.

What a time for him to pipe up, he thought sourly. Stay out of this.

Homunculi…are like that. The thought was slow, contemplative. Elephant in glass shop. Or…maybe just…a kid.

After paying, he made as dignified a retreat as possible, ignoring the proprietor's muttered comments about uneducated brats.

Stop trying to educate me, he snarled. Not for the first time, he contemplated just handing himself in to Father. That would get rid of the Shrimp quick enough.

That would be failure, though, the thought niggled at the back of his mind. Do you really want them all to know that a human, especially that one, is inside of you, controlling you?

I'm not being controlled, he thought furiously. I don't want to die, that's all. I can deal with the Shrimp on my own. It's only temporary, until I can wear him down enough to ignore his stupid depression attacks. Besides, who wants to work for Father anyway? I might as well hang out with the alchemists.

Rather cheered up by how he had neatly rationalized himself out of the quandary, he walked with a lighter step than before, his earlier bad mood almost forgotten. He caught sight of a clock, and turned back to the barracks quickly. It's been hours, he thought guiltily. Al's going to be so worried.

"Gah!" he jerked awake from his snooze on a bench at the back of the library, to encounter a very familiar, very unwelcome face. "What are you doing here, freak? Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

Squinty-eyes didn't answer, just looked at him with a serious expression he hadn't seen for a while now.

"What do you want?" he frowned, sitting up on the bench and raking a hand through his bangs. He would probably have to fix his braid again now.

"Tell me how you did it," Squinty-eyes demanded quietly.

"Did what?"

"You gained immortality. You're one of them, but still yourself."

Still yourself… the words echoed jarringly through his mind. I'm not! he wanted to scream. I'm not him. I will never be him. I hate him.

"It won't work for you," he said bitterly. "I can't tell you how to do it, and you wouldn't be yourself. Nobody expected this to happen to me, either." Nobody expected I would be Edward Elric.

"I will judge that," Squinty-eyes said intensely. "Tell me the secret!"

"It's not something you can do for yourself," he said wearily. "It's something that has to be done to you, and I don't even understand how, or what exactly happened." He didn't care about playing mind-games right now. He was too tired of the charade.

Until now, being other people had been a way to express his constant jealousy, as well as a source of amusement. But now…suddenly he was bone-tired and sick inside. Sick with jealousy, when he thought how nobody would ever look at him the way they looked at Edward. He was cold inside, cold and terribly empty, because some part of him understood that the creature who had been Envy had no future at all, anywhere. "Why didn't you turn me in, if you knew what I was?" he asked dully.

Squinty-eyes looked away, apparently uncomfortable over what he saw in those golden eyes. "I wanted to see who you had turned into. I'm…sorry about what I said," he said grudgingly. "You're all tied up, aren't you? You can't let go anymore."

Why would I want to? I failed…I won't fail on my last chance.

Who was Squinty-eyes talking about? he wondered vaguely. Was it him, or the Shrimp? Or…both?

The restlessness was enough to drive him insane, he thought furiously as he stormed out of his room in the middle of the night. His passenger had been cooking up something in the past few weeks; he could feel the constant activity in the back of his mind. Whatever it was, it had to be something big, and that made him nervous. The alchemist's genius had been severely hampered by his sacrifice, since he no longer had a mind of his own with which to think. But the genius was still there, it just took longer to manifest itself.

No doubt whatever plan the Shrimp was cooking up was the cause of his restlessness. Any time he tried to stop somewhere, or sit down, or even watch the stars, the mental prodding kept him from receiving any enjoyment out of it, and he soon found himself moving on.

He wished whatever-it-was that was supposed to happen would get it over with, so he could get some sleep.

Damn, he really would like to stop and watch the stars a bit. It was stupid, and sappy and pointless and human, but they were pretty. If only-

DANGER!

The feeling tore through his mind, closely followed by anger and a rising panic. He couldn't help himself; he lashed out immediately against the source of the danger, a person who had been following him without him even noticing it. Without even considering, he extended his fingers into long claws which pierced his shadow's vital organs and pinned him to the wall, another finger growing to block his mouth and any sound he might make.

It only took him a split second to realize where he had unconsciously placed the claws, and who it was he had caught. Who was looking at him, despite the claws piercing his skull and heart and red ports, with a look of growing comprehension.

"Wrath," he breathed, his throat closing up in a very unfamiliar feeling which he assumed was fear. He had immobilized the other homunculus completely, utilizing the disabling ports with which he was so familiar and of which the Elric brat knew nothing.

You bastard! he roared inside the interior of his head. You fucking miserable piece of shit! What have you done!

Kill him.

It was ridiculous, impossible. This was definitely not part of the agreement. Despite everything, he would not rebel. When this was over, he would go back to Father, like a good little dog and go back to the way he had been. It wasn't that he cared for Wrath at all –but this was simply something he wouldn't do. He wouldn't kill his brother.

If you don't kill him, you're dead. He knows you're not me. He will kill you.

I'll tell him about you, you disgusting little fucker. How long did it take you to come up with this?

Will tell Father. Father will kill you. Kill him.

The voice was cold, inexorable. He had never heard the Fullmetal Shrimp talk that way.

This wasn't right. He was supposed to be the cruel one, the manipulative one. He was supposed to watch as others were left with no options, watch the despair in their eyes as they realized it was his way or no way. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Destroy him, if you want to live.

It was tempting to give in, just because his death would mean his parasite's death as well. But even for that revenge, he refused to kill himself. He was too damn selfish for that.

A strange desperation ate at him. You stupid bastard, I can't kill him. Didn't think of that, did you? How can I kill him, when I have to keep him pinned down this way? He hated how weak he sounded, but couldn't stop the torrent of thoughts. It didn't matter; the kid was inside his mind anyway, there was nowhere to hide. What was wrong with him? If I let him go, he's too fast for me. You're the genius, he snapped. Got a solution?

There was silence, and he stood immobile, his breathing coming short, while Wrath made occasional abortive attempts at escape.

Give me more space to think. Open up your mind.

Never! he screamed, now finally understanding the true scope of the plan. Once he let him into his mind, it was all over; it would be impossible to push him back out.

Then die.

This wasn't supposed to happen, he thought dimly as he let down his barriers, and felt the consciousness that had crept around the borders for so long seep into his mind.

Not supposed to happen, as alien thoughts began to run through his mind in ways that he had never thought, and his mind started speaking to him in his own voice.

Not supposed to… even as it comforted him, and presented the chemical solution for an organism-generated acid capable of destroying a homunculus.

We can restore Al! his mind told him, after efficiently running through the options, and he could muster up nothing but a fierce joy.

He tried to remember…he had had a different name once…a different identity. He had been called something…it started with an 'e' sound….

Edward, his mind supplied helpfully.