Everybody has losses – it's unavoidable

in life. Sharing our pain is very healing.

Isabel Allende

Bordering Worlds

"Do you think the Colonel is okay?"

Alphonse made sure his whisper carried, though for a moment he wasn't sure his brother heard. After securing a corner of the library that morning, one without windows, time markers and other unnecessary distractions, the pair surrendered themselves to research, each lost in his private world. While the younger Elric remained mostly stationary, Edward flitted from shelf to shelf, pulling down several volumes at once, taking notes, and repeating the process again.

Evening found them seated side-by-side on the floor, surrounded by mountains of books, scrolls trickling down the spines like so many rivers. Unlike most people they knew, the brothers took an isolated approach to research, a sort of self-study: both would claim a space and set to work, devouring countless texts, searching out hidden meanings, only the scratching of pens and rustling pages interrupting the silence. When one finished with a source, he placed it in a pile for the other, though no words were exchanged until both were spent, minds swirling with hypotheses.

Then, and only then, did they speak.

"Ah, he's fine; don't worry about him. Mustang's harder to kill than a cockroach." Edward sighed, hips sliding until his shoulders rested against a sturdy stack. Sleep beckoned but he wouldn't entertain the thought, not yet. Squinting, he plucked at a red thread on his coat sleeve, nabbed on the way from his superior's office. The lantern between them lit his hair, danced in his eyes, somehow making Alphonse's body look soft and warm.

For a moment, he felt like he was home.

"Ed?"

Another sigh and he stretched, mindful of the tomes towering above and his brother's gaze. "Alright Al, lay it on me. What do you think?"

"Well," Shuffling papers, writing comically small for such a big hand. "I found one theory that could work. Do you remember Franz Schuller?"

"Who, the quack that thought alchemy was some kind of magic trick?" Edward snorted, waving away the name. They'd read his work as children and were mutually disgusted, tucking the volumes back in their father's library.

"Believe it or not, he might have been onto something here." A golden eye opened, glancing at the page as Alphonse continued. "Schuller was researching a text that said an ancient Xingese king found a new way to transport supplies to soldiers in battle: one that could be used if the enemy set up barricades or traps, so no unnecessary lives were lost." The sound of metal on metal as he traced the words with a finger, pitch falling to read. "'The court magicians cut themselves after their custom and drew the ring, the circles and connected them, thanking the gods for their wisdom. Supplies were placed within, each man going to his place. Then, a bright light. The sun ate the swords, lances and provisions. The magicians fell on their faces and thanked heaven, knowing the battle was won, though two did not raise their voices, for they were no more.'"

He fell silent and Edward pushed himself up, brow raised. "And you think all that has something to do with these guys showing up?"

"Maybe." Alphonse admitted, skimming back over his notes. "Schuller wasn't interested in theology but physics: the archaeological site from this text was excavated several years ago and scholars tested the soil, just to be sure." He glanced up, no longer caring to lower his voice. "Everything was there, Ed, all the elements; this wasn't a trick. Those supplies really disappeared."

Another snort. "How do we know they didn't just move them and leave that part out of the story?"

"We don't." The younger Elric admitted, retrieving a specific page before handing it over. "But we do have this."

Edward frowned at the paper, doubt deepening his frown. Two sketches glared back, drawn in his brother's careful hand: a half-terra with sweeping lines and a circle on one end, marking a single direction of flow, a symbol of destruction. The other ring was familiar, one used by experienced and novice alchemists alike. Twin circles bearing a triangle, discs marring each tip, nodes for ingredients. Unique arrays with nothing in common–

The same ones drawn in blood in the photographs.

"I think the supplies in the story were transported somewhere using alchemy; it's the only explanation. Maybe they formed another type of alchemy besides Alkahestry and didn't tell anyone, sort of like a secret weapon?" Alphonse glanced at the blonde, who'd yet to look away his notes. "They look exactly like the ones we saw in the Colonel's office."

"So what, a rebellion goes sideways and all of a sudden they use a forgotten art known only to Xing? I don't buy it." Edward wrinkled his nose, relinquishing the sketches. "Feels too easy, like a cop-out."

Alphonse tipped his head, leaning forward to better see his brother's face. "What do you think, then? Did you find something?"

"Only a fledgling theory, one more unbelievable than what you're talking about." He sighed, flipping open a blue leather-bound notebook. "Recently, some scientists began investigating phenomena that couldn't be explained, noticeable discrepancies in the world."

"Discrepancies?"

"The emergence of unknown species in well-explored areas, objects disappearing without being touched, things like that. If it tells you anything, the scientists didn't even give their own names for the project." Wetting his lips, Edward flipped through pages scrawled in a hurried hand, stopping on one showcasing bold letters. "They think unusual events can be explained through parallel universes."

Alphonse stilled, testing the words. "Parallel universes?"

"Yeah, as in their being more than one universe existing at the same time." Edward massaged his temples with one hand, index finger tapping his forehead. "Think about all of space and time being a bucket of water, our universe nothing more than a bubble in the bucket. If you pour more water in, other bubbles form, some floating on their own, some close together. Eventually, the bubbles run out of room and bump into one another. In that case, only two things can happen." He held up two fingers for emphasis, raising first one, then the other. "Either one bubble feeds and grows while the other shrinks, or both bubbles burst and bye bye worlds."

"That's–" Alphonse paused, rubbing the back of his head. "A lot to take in."

"Yeah and it gets better: the researchers believe when the bubbles – universes, worlds, whatever – come in contact, it's possible for things to pass from one to the other."

Clacking metal and he shifted, voice soft with wonder. "Like what?"

"Flowers, objects, even people. Hard to believe, though, especially since they don't have any proof. If this theory holds water and someone did try transferring things between worlds, the researchers admit the cost would be steep – just as impossible as human transmutation."

Alphonse bent low, reading the notes for himself. Edward allowed him all the time he needed, resting his head on a cool steel arm.

Finally, "Could it be both, a mixture of what happened in Xing and the bubble worlds?"

Another snort, though he didn't bother opening his eyes. "Don't tell me you believe that hullabaloo about the 'gods' helping them with alchemy?"

"Of course not." Alphonse shook his head, ribbon fluttering as he looked to first to one set of notes, then the other, never moving his left arm. "Though you have to admit, it's strange that the arrays are identical to the ones found in Xing. And didn't the report say the men who appeared wore strange clothes and spoke a different language? Maybe they're connected."

"Maybe." Edward smirked, a mischievous glint lighting his eye. "Or maybe it's all in your head!" With that, he rose on his haunches, snatching the helmet from Alphonse's shoulders.

"Ed!" He squawked, flailing before remembering the books around them just in time, After stabilizing a wavering stack, he turned his hull toward Edward, who grinned at the head in his hands. "Give it back!"

"Relax Al, it's just us here. Besides," His smile softened, lifting the helmet despite his brother's raised fist. "You won't be like this much longer. I'm going to get your body back, no matter what."

A hand on his shoulder, leather squeezing metal. "No brother, we're going to get our bodies back."

Edward hummed, thumb tracing the ridges at Alphonse's eyes before returning the steel bowl. "Alright, it's getting late and we've gotta report back tomorrow." He stood, stretching carefully as the other boy set his head upon his shoulders. "Let's clean this up."

"This is stealing."

"No, it's borrowing." Yusuke snorted, ignoring Kuwabara's sing-song whisper. "Look, it's either this or freeze to death."

He pried another crate open, stained swim trunks pressing against the wood, adding to the growing pile of resources. "If you want to be a herosicle, be my guest. I'm not keeping you warm again tonight."

"It just feels wrong, okay? I've never–" Kuwabara looked away, hands grasping arms marred with goose-flesh. "I've never stolen anything before."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Another shirt for the cause, a musty blanket; canned goods that had definitely seen better days. "Besides, you can't help anyone if you're dead."

Muttering to himself, Kuwabara picked a dark green jacket from the pile, running the material between his fingers. "Hey, this looks like something my old man bought once, military-grade stuff."

"Probably. This might be one of their storehouses."

Kuwabara nearly choked on his tongue, slipping into the garment. "How can you be so calm about all this, Urameshi? If the military finds us here–"

"If they find us, we're toast anyway. May as well use their crap while we can."

The taller man paused before sighing, leaning back against the pilfered crate. Crossing both arms, he glanced at Kurama, slumbering still under a borrowed blanket. "When do you think he'll wake up?"

"Dunno." Yusuke bent over, hips balanced on the crate's rim. "As long as those plants are running loose, I'm not touching him."

Indeed, vines of all sorts slithered from the red-head's sleeves, crawled up his neck, weaved intricate braids through his hair. Buds sprouted here and there though none had yet bloomed. Rather, they lay upon his skin, waiting, watching–

The two preferred to keep it that way.

A bloody hand-print on another box garnered Kuwabara's attention, a relic from the night before. After Hiei's declaration, he'd refused their questions, anything hinting at help or comfort. Rather, he staggered away to some forgotten corner, a savage animal wishing only to lick his wounds. Fire sprouted in his hand, lighting a placid, unmoving face, knowing what must be done.

Before either could stop him, Hiei thrust burning fingers where the Jagan once dwelt, sealing the hole.

"He had to do it." Yusuke broke through his thoughts, noting the red print, Kuwabara's trembling hands.

He knew that: if Hiei hadn't cauterized the wound, he would have died, bled out right in front of them. Knowing couldn't help him forget the screams, though, the stench of burning flesh as his friend fell. Kuwabara had been the one to go to him, not Yusuke. The demon felt weightless in his arms, head lolling as he laid him down next to Kurama. He slept so long – all night and most of the following day – that Kuwabara feared he'd never wake up. What if he'd burned his brain, the part that controlled waking and sleeping?

Hiei rose once twilight peeked through the windows, red and rose and gold playing off his skin. He said nothing of their concern, nose wrinkling at the concoction Yusuke prepared in a helmet beginning to rust. No, he simply looked first to them, then Kurama, muttering about keeping watch before disappearing through a hole in the ceiling.

If Kuwabara squinted hard enough, he could just see him, a tiny blur just a shade darker than the metal beams overhead. He wanted to ask about the burn, the angry skin peeking behind those bangs. He wanted to demand answers, to know what Hiei knew.

More than anything, he wanted Yukina to be safe.

"Well, that's the last of it."

Yusuke dumped an armload of clothes, tarps, and canned goods onto the ground, lighting from the crate to land beside his finds. With a buyer's eye, he sorted everything into two piles, food and mostly in-tact items on one side, moth-eaten bits and blankets on the other. Settling cross-legged in front of the worthy stack, he picked up first one article then another, holding each before the tiny fire, struggling to see in the dim light.

"You sure you don't remember anything?"

"Look man, we've been through this already." Yusuke threw a pair of trousers at him before taking a shirt, giving it a tentative before drawing back, grimacing. "Last thing I remember is grabbing onto you and Kurama at the beach and then, boom! We're here." He eyed the dusty thing that used to be white before sighing, pulling the shirt over his head. "I had a weird dream but other than that–"

"What kind of dream?" Kuwabara stepped forward as he stood, grabbing both shoulders. "You didn't say anything about a dream!"

"Because dreams are private, stupid!" Yusuke pushed him away, trying and failing to brush some of the filth from his chest. "There's not much to tell anyway: a white room, some guy that was there but really wasn't, kind of like an outline." Kuwabara's face blanched as he continued, flicking a dust bunny from his sleeve. "I wanted to go home and he laughed at me; we got into it. Told him I wanted to go home and he said that was impossible, there was one way out of that place and one way only–"

"Through the Gate."

They said the last in unison and only then did he look up. The psychic looked decidedly green, nearly the same color as the open jacket he wore. For some reason, Kuwabara wouldn't look at him, too busy staring at his open hands.

"Yeah. How did you know that?"

"Because I saw the same thing, the same place." He shuddered, fingers raking through his pitiful pompadour, releasing the hair still held in place by gel. "I saw the same guy."

Yusuke's eyes widened, watching those hands fall away, his friend tracing the lines of first one palm, then the other. "There was a door behind him – a big black one with these weird markings. I thought he took Yukina, told him to give her back. He said I could go to where she was but it would cost me something, something precious. I didn't care about that; I just wanted to be with her, make sure she was safe."

An unmanly sound bubbled in his throat only to die beneath a clenched jaw. "He smiled – he smiled at me, Urameshi – and opened the door, letting all these gross things out." Kuwabara wiggled his fingers rapidly, shaking his head. "Little black arms grabbed my hands, dug into my skin, dragged something out – it felt like they were tearing me apart!" Another shudder though true color returned to his face, a shade no one could be ashamed of. "After that, they pulled me through the door and I woke up here with you guys."

A moment's hesitation and he sighed, glancing at the raven-haired man. "You saw it, right? Tell me I'm not crazy."

Yusuke nodded slowly, pushing a fist against his mouth. "He told me the only way back was through that door; Gate, whatever. So, I opened it and those things came out, they grabbed me too." A scowl and he bit his knuckle, hand clenching a fistful of fabric. "They went for my chest, though – I couldn't fight 'em, nothing worked. Not sure what they took but it hurt like a–" He cut himself off, brows furrowing, debating. "This doesn't add up. How come Hiei lost the Jagan but you and I are fine?"

"We're not fine, Urameshi! We still don't know where we are or what's going on! If Yukina–" Here he stopped, eyes widening. "He said Yukina's here."

"Yeah, I heard you the first–"

"Will you shut up a minute and listen?!" Kuwabara snapped, something akin to horror trickling into his eyes, slackening his jaw. "If Yukina is here, what about the other girls? Sis, Keiko and Botan? What if they saw that thing too?"

Yusuke brushed off the concern with one final swipe of the shirt, rising. "There's no way. They weren't in the circle."

"How do you know?" He demanded, lighting to his feet as well. "Did you look back and see?"

"No, I was too busy watching your ugly mug." The former detective sighed, pushing wayward bangs from his face. "Look, we can't worry about that now – if they're here, they're stuck just like us." He stretched, closing his eyes, head falling back into his hands. "All we can do is keep a lookout for them."

"But . . . Keiko! Aren't you–" Kuwabara bit his inner cheek, rolling the flesh between his teeth. "Aren't you worried about her at all?"

"Duh, she's my fiance." A hazel eye peeked open, razor sharp; a hawk's glare. "But I also know we're a man down and sitting ducks until he wakes up. If we run out there without a plan and those guys find us, we're screwed."

They both glanced to Kurama, who slept still, brow pinched as vines continued shifting across his skin.

Kuwabara crossed his arms for lack of anything better to do, gaze drifting to the small blaze they'd taken turns tending. Crackling wood, the soft hum of heat and then 'pop': a few boards fell from the main pile, creating a smaller stack still connected by flame.

He studied the sight for a moment, scanning the sparse inches between the two before realization dawned. "I've got it!"

"You never had it." Yusuke didn't even bother looking over, standing with both hands on his hips, eyeing yet another crate. "Now come help me with–"

"I can get us home!"

At that he turned, fingers drumming florescent trunks. When Kuwabara didn't back down, he sighed, hands falling. "All right big guy, I'll bite. How can you get us out of here?"

Kuwabara grinned, carrot curls bouncing with glee. "With my dimensional sword!" He chuckled even as Yusuke stared, fingers grasping at empty air. "Think about it, Urameshi! My sword cut right through the barrier to Demon World, back when you got yourself knocked off by Sensui." The man laughed outright at his scowl, the brandished middle finger. "If it worked then, why wouldn't it work now?"

"You've got a point." Yusuke admitted, slowly retracting the offending digit. Suddenly, he grinned, clasping Kuwabara's shoulder. "And here I was wondering why we keep you around!"

"Shut up, Urameshi." He groused, though no anger tainted his voice.

"Hey, Hiei! Hiei!" The former detective tipped his head back toward the hole overhead, hands cupped around his mouth, all thoughts for stealth forgotten. "Get down here, already! Kuwabara–"

"What the heck–?!"

Yusuke stilled, glancing over his shoulder. Kuwabara stood with both legs spread wide, elbows bent, hands ready to receive the familiar burst of energy. Only nothing appeared: no glowing orange light, no static tickling the air; not even a spark. No, the space between his palms remained dull and dead, cloaked by the dimness of early morning.

"Hey, what gives?" He turned, irritation trailing his tongue. "Call out your stupid sword already so we can go home."

"I can't!"

Confusion quickly gave way to irritation, fire lighting mahogany eyes. "What do you mean, you can't? This was your idea!"

"It's not there, man!" Kuwabara deepened his stance, jaw clenching and fingers flexing. Still, nothing appeared, not even when his shoulders began to shake, teeth creaking beneath bared lips. "I can't . . . feel my spirit energy!"

"Whoa, whoa, time out." Yusuke cocked his head, nose wrinkling. "That can't be right. If your spirit energy runs out, you're dead; and last I checked, you're not a ghost."

"Of course not, idiot!" He straightened, indignation coloring his face. "What I'm saying is the channel to my energy is gone!"

Yusuke blinked, thumbs slipping into the waistband of his trunks. "Run that by me again?"

"Those guys taught me, when we were training for the Dark Tournament." Kuwabara's gaze shifted from his empty hands to Kurama, lost still to slumber. "Hiei kept putting me in life-or-death situations – that was the only way I could summon it at first; he called it 'a fool's will to live' – but Kurama found a better way, something I could understand."

He looked back to those hands, broad backs dotted with scars: childhood accidents, broken glass from desperate middle school fights, gentle reminders left by thorns. "He told me to imagine my body as a map, a map dotted with roads leading to different locations; your energy is the car, and the car has to follow the right road to get where it's going."

"Sounds about right. Wish Grandma had explained it to me like that, would've made things a lot easier."

"Kurama didn't hold back, not like shorty did, but he let me figure out how to do it on my own. Took a lot longer than I'd have liked, had to learn the ins and outs of my body, what my energy felt like." A pensive look, the hint of a smile. "That's what got me interested in being a doctor."

Yusuke's brow arched. "What does fox boy's training have to do with this?"

"It's got everything to do with it!" He growled, fingers digging into his palm. "The road my spirit energy uses is gone! I can't feel it!"

"Hold up, spirit energy doesn't just use one road, Kuwabara. If it did, we could only use one part of our bodies at a time."

"You don't get it!" Kuwabara sighed, running his hands up his face, burying them in his hair. "Kurama only taught me how to use one, Urameshi – one. He said trying to control more than one was too dangerous because most humans can't even see their roads, much less use them." Another sigh and he hung his head, gripping loose curls. "I can feel my energy but can't use it; I can't get us home."

Before he could respond, Hiei landed between them in a flurry of black, eyes shifting, studying the space.

"False alarm." Yusuke offered, scratching the back of his head even as the demon moved. "Kuwabara thought he could get us home, but–"

"Be quiet."

Kuwabara stiffened as Hiei darted to the wall beside the door, back pressing to aged wood.

"Hey, what gives?" Irritation coated Yusuke's tongue, humility forgotten. "All I said was–"

"No Urameshi, he's right." Kuwabara spoke then, voice adopting Hiei's hushed tone. Face pale, he raised his gaze to the door their friend crouched beside, eyes wide. "I can feel something coming this way; something bad."

He needed no further encouragement. Bending low, Yusuke ducked to the wall opposite Hiei, hand pressed to the only exit. "How many?"

"A platoon." The demon dared to peek through the filthy window, nearly rising to his full height to do so. "At least thirty, maybe more."

"One of them feels kind of like the guy with the gloves." Kuwabara shuddered, skin prickling at his chest.

Dark eyes found him in the gloom, silently cursing the glowing fire, limiting places to hide. "Is it him?"

"No." The psychic shook his head though Yusuke was no longer looking at him – that's all he needed to know.

He glanced at Hiei, who'd sank back down. "Can you fight?"

Red eyes flashed and he smirked, heedless of the burns lining his forehead, both temples, the eyebrows scorched by flame. "What do you think, detective?"

Yusuke grinned, popping his neck. "Just don't kill 'em, okay? Since Kurama's out, I guess I can–"

His smile slipped by degrees, arrogance replaced by bewilderment, a puzzled screwing of the brows.

Hiei noticed the change immediately, watched his chin dip toward his chest, gears grinding to a halt between his ears. "What's wrong?"

"The power the old man gave me – the thing that killed Sensui. I can't . . . feel it anymore!"

Yusuke grasped at the musty shirt, opening his hips, as though he would give birth any moment. Jaw clenching, he prodded where the reserve should have been, the sleeping demon Raizen and Hokushin taught him to control. Only, nothing was there – a cold, dead space taking refuge in his soul.

"It's getting closer!"

Shaking his head, Yusuke ignored Hiei's searching look, instead raising his right hand. Exhaling, he traced the channels he knew so well, delighted when he felt spirit energy rush through his arm. The glee was short-lived, however, for only two fingertips glowed blue, twin dots lighting his index and middle fingers. None of this made sense: the Mazouku decided to go on vacation and he was down to two shots a day?

What the heck was going on?

"You guys!"

"Watch out for Kurama." Yusuke rose to his haunches at Kuwabara's stage whisper, knowing blue disappearing. "If things go south, get him as far away from here as you can."

"What? You're telling me to run away?" Hollow cheeks darkened, fear forgotten. "What kind of man would I be if I left my friends to fight that?"

"Look, we don't know how bad off he is and you're the only one who can help him. Or is all that talk about studying to be a doctor just to impress girls?" A smirk creased his lips once more as he stretched, peering from his own window. "I've already died twice, remember? It's not going to kill Koenma to see me a third–"

Here he stopped, eyes level with the bottom-most panes of glass. Men and women in blue flooded the warehouse lot, prying at stacks of wood, rusted fencing, hollow oil drums. Each wore stone faces, brows furrowed, mouths thin lines painted on as an after-thought. Behind the trained exterior, anxiety tugged at their eyes, dyeing each their truest color: maple brown, sky blue, black glistening like bear fur. Every hand carried a firearm, a few pistols, though mostly rifles with gleaming bayonets. The numbers didn't bother him so much as the guns though Hiei could deal with that.

After all, they couldn't hit what they couldn't see.

"Finden sie!"

A booming voice filled the space, arresting his insides, preceding a monolith of a man. Besting Kuwabara by at least a head and a half and boasting twice his girth, he wore blue too but somehow the color looked different coiled across his chest, his arms, pressed beneath the metal pins at his breast. A bull's neck erupted from the starched collar, supporting a head whose bust would happily reside in any museum. A curling blonde mustache blanketed thick lips, tickled slated cheeks, bordered the strong nose the face centered upon. Blue eyes glared beneath thin brows, jewels cast atop ruddy cheekbones, bright as Easter skies, frigid as a glacier melt. The only flaws to that head were the smallish ears at either side, the single curl adorning the otherwise bald head.

Yusuke swallowed hard, watching him enter the yard. Meaty fists resting against both thighs, the sun caught the steel gauntlets adorning his knuckles, tools embossed with intricate circles–

Circles like the one they fell through.

"Der Oberst will, das sie leben!"

A hand at his shoulder and he jumped, realizing just in time Kuwabara crouched at his back. "That's the guy."

Yusuke nodded, glancing back through the window. Really, who else could it be? His knack for sensing phenomena was crap yet even he could tell something was wrong with this man. The last time he felt this strongly about someone was during the Dark Tournament but even then, he had an idea what they were up against – younger Toguro had no issues showing off.

The commander joined his men; there was no doubt in his mind what they were searching for. "They're looking for us."

Hiei glanced his way even as Kuwabara paled, pulling away. "But why?" He demanded, voice barely audible. We didn't do anything!"

"Yeah." Yusuke quipped, jutting his thumb at the door. "Try telling that to him."

The voice exploded once more, a cannonball of words and the soldiers stopped, jerking to attention. A 'click' as Hiei pressed the guard with a thumb, grip tightening on his sword hilt. The man stood before his men but his attention wasn't on them; no, he stared at the warehouse, jowls set, fists raised now to his ribs.

Yusuke cursed at the sight, jaw grinding as blue seemed to see through wood and metal, piercing him to the core. The strange energy rose with those fists, dark, choking, other:

He shuddered at the thought of the flesh slabs meeting. "Get back."

Already, a blue glow encased his right index finer and he gripped his wrist, shot aimed at the foe in the yard.

"Wait, you can't!" Kuwabara hissed through clenched teeth, hand closing over both of his. "He's human, Urameshi! If you hit him with that, he'll–"

"If we don't do something he's going to kill us!" Yusuke wrenched away, somehow managing to keep his voice down as his heart pounded in his ears. "I've seen that look. If we wait much longer, he's going to–"

"Look."

They stilled at Hiei's command. The man stared at the warehouse still though he'd stopped moving, gauntlets inches apart. Crow's feet crinkled around true blue, betraying the barest of questions, a small show of reluctance.

Then a fresh soldier appeared at the gate behind the platoon, yelling in their guttural tongue. The commander's fists remained raised even as he acknowledged the newcomer, exchanging a few words without looking away from the building once. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he allowed his arms to fall, studying their hiding place one final time before signaling to his troops.

The boys watched as they filed out of the lot one-by-one, not daring to breathe until that big bald man disappeared down the street.

A/N: Hello and welcome back! Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews, following and favoriting this story! Your support means so much, especially since we've only just begun.

Thank you WistfulSin, O-dragon and WhatWouldValeryDo for allowing me to bounce ideas off of you, as well as musicnutftw for the German help! This fic wouldn't have happened without you guys.

So the Elrics are on the case and the boys barely avoided a fight with Armstrong. Will their luck hold out? And when will Kurama wake up? Find out next time in Divergence, please leave a review!

Finden sie – Find them.

Der Oberst will, das sie leben – The Colonel wants them alive.