It was weird, not needing to sleep.

There had been one point in time, before he fully understood what it entailed, where Ed had envied his little brother on that particular front. While Ed had to tend to his own physical needs, Al could keep researching all through the night, accomplishing twice as much as Ed could in a day.

Now, though, being completely unable to interact with anyone or anything while most other occupants of the house drifted in slumber, Ed was unequivocally, devastatingly bored.

The only plus in this silent misery was that Alphonse was there with him.

And it was a really sad sort of plus, because Al couldn't see or hear him.

Alphonse sat on the floor, looking out the window. Lamplight pooled in from the deserted street outside, casting a sharp, jagged shadow behind the suit of armor. If Ed didn't know any better, he'd think the armor was inert, the only sign of life two gently burning pinpricks in cold eye sockets.

Ed sighed and crouched down to see the view beside him, looking past the rooftops across the street at a handful of stars glittering from the heavens. He'd admit, the world was peaceful while it slept.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Ed jumped, because Al couldn't see him. "How did you do that?!" he demanded.

Al still didn't move. A clock ticked somewhere in the kitchen and Al kept his silent watch.

"Really, this feels kind of stupid," Al admitted softly, after a long pause. "I don't know if you're here in this same room, or really, if you're even here at all. Maybe you're asleep, if ghosts sleep."

Another pause, and all Ed could do was listen.

Al kept his soulfire eyes glued to the sky. "I'd like to think you're here, though."

"I'm right here, Al," Ed promised, unsure why he said it aloud.

"Did you know that when Breda told me you were gone, I punched him in the face?"

Ed blanched. "Alphonse!" Punching people in the face was Ed's method of operation, not Al's. Maybe he'd been a bad influence . . .

The armor sighed. "I don't know why I did it, really. I thought he was lying, but he kept insisting . . . they all did. He said that the report said Colonel attacked you and you were dead." Al made a sound like a shuddering breath. "I know that the night we tried to bring Mom back was the worst night of our lives, but that was the worst night of mine." He took a steadying breath. "I ran all the way to Isparta, but couldn't find you, the Colonel or the Lieutenant. I just . . . I didn't know what to do when you weren't there, Brother."

Ed's nonexistent heart squeezed tightly. "I never meant to leave you alone, Al."

"I spent three weeks looking down the river, to see if I could find you. I was so scared that I was just going to find your body." He paused, like he was picturing Ed's lifeless body twisted on the rocks somewhere. Ed could picture it himself. "When I didn't find you, I spread out to the surrounding towns and villages. I thought maybe you hit your head, like in that old adventure book we read when we were little. Maybe you'd forgotten everything and were staying in some village, or maybe you were hurt really bad and stuck in a hospital somewhere.

"At some point, I realized that I hated the Colonel." There was a rawness there that was unusual for Ed's little brother, like his own fury both surprised and scared him. "I hated him so much for taking you away from me. I didn't think that he'd intentionally hurt you, but I knew you wouldn't have been in that situation if he hadn't of taken you without me. I don't know if I still hate him or not . . . I don't know what I feel."

He made a sound like a sigh, then resituated his legs. "I know it always freaks you out when I don't move for a while," he said with a sad smile in his voice. "I wish I could hear you, or see you."

"Me, too," Ed responded quietly, letting his legs fold under him to sit on the floor next to his little brother. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I still can hardly believe it," Al whispered. "You always said ghosts weren't real, and a part of me wonders if this is all some sort of crazy plan to lure me back. I don't know why they'd do that, and I don't know of anyone else that could perform clap alchemy, except for Teacher. Mister Hughes can't even perform alchemy, so that would be hard to fake."

He shook his head. "This goes down as the craziest situation you've ever gotten us in, Brother."

Us. Not yourself, but us.

Still us.

Ed smiled. "And I'll get us out of it, Al. I promise."

"I miss you so much," Al said suddenly, fiercely, voice cracking over with emotion. Ed wanted to reach out a hand to touch him, to hug him, but he was powerless to do anything that Al would feel, and despite touching his hand earlier in the evening, he was still worried about an interaction with his blood seal. He was a soul bound to a suit of armor, and Ed was a soul free to roam—if one could call being tethered to Mustang as his only form of communication freedom. Ed knew that he couldn't exactly just push Al's soul out; the blood seal would prevent that, but he wasn't sure that he couldn't compromise the connection in some way.

"I'm scared," he whispered. "I'm scared you're not really there, or that I'm losing my mind, or that you are there and somehow, we don't figure it out in time, and you're just like this the whole time. I'm scared."

Ed swallowed, feeling just as hollow as his little brother.

"I'm scared too, Al."

Silence stretched between them.

"I trust you, though," Al said finally. "I trust that you're there, and I trust that we can figure this out, even if I can't see you, I trust you, Brother."

Ed smiled, the tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying in his shoulders slipping away. "That's more than I could have asked for, Brother."

Side by side, they watched the soft glow of sunrise bleed over the night sky.

XxXxX

If Ed were honest with himself, he might admit he was a little bit grumpy, but that it wasn't necessarily Mustang's fault.

But Ed was rarely honest with himself in any way that painted Mustang in even a semi-positive light, so he decided to be annoyed with Mustang anyway.

They had decided that, due to the time constraints of Ed condition, it would be best to take the train. The roads between Central and East City were largely unpaved, and without a military vehicle, would have taken anywhere between two and three days to traverse. Ed just didn't have that kind of time. The train would take about a day, even with stops, and that just seemed a lot more appealing.

Unfortunately, certain aspects of their group stuck out in a crowd.

Mustang's crutch cracked loudly against the bench as he tried to slide into their seats, drawing the eyes of a couple sitting a few rows down.

"Could you maybe try to blend in a little bit?" Ed griped.

Ed might have sounded a little less annoyed if he'd taken the time to note the older man's sweat-drenched face and the pain around his eyes before he opened his mouth, but Ed wasn't in a generous mood. "Says the brat in the red coat," he hissed back, sitting heavily on the hard-wooden bench.

The reason Ed was possibly a little bit grumpy was that Mustang had demanded that he sit with him and Hughes, not with Havoc, Hawkeye, Breda, and his little brother two train compartments down.

Mustang had explained that Al drew attention, and that anyone looking for them would be looking for Mustang first, then him and Hawkeye together second. And since Mustang was the only one that could see or hear Ed, it was a good idea to stay together for the sake of communication.

Ed was bound and determined to make him regret that decision.

"Also, your hair looks ridiculous," Ed said, slouching on the hard bench across from Mustang and next to Hughes. It was uncomfortable, like sitting on steel wool.

Mustang glared out from underneath a swath of hair that had been alchemically transmuted into a dark brown color. "I would thank you to kindly shut up."

It had been Hawkeye's suggestion that they do something to alter their appearance. They already didn't quite look themselves in Ed's opinion, between the hollowed cheekbones in their too-lean faces, haunted eyes, and hair that was already shaggy from lack of upkeep. Mustang even had a bit of stubble around his chin, making him look more like a homeless drifter than any sort of officer in the military.

Hawkeye had opted for a light auburn color that Alphonse had transmuted for her. He'd helped Mustang with a bit more hesitation, but Ed couldn't deny that both of them looked very different.

Or, in Mustang's case, just really weird.

"Roy," Hughes began, placing his suitcase on the rack above their heads as the train started moving. "I hate to be that guy, but it's really weird when you start talking out loud to someone nobody else can see."

"He is unbearably annoying," Mustang said by way of defense.

"Come on, now, I'm just a kid," Ed said with an innocent smile, except the smile felt a bit too sharp on his face to be wholly classified as 'innocent.' "Surely you're not being bested by a teenager?"

Hughes gave the seat next to Mustang a questionable look. "I know you—"

"He's over there," Mustang pointed to the seat by Hughes.

Hughes shifted his gaze, but it was still too far to the right. "Uh, I know that you two haven't always been the best of friends-"

Ed snorted. "To say the least."

"—but," he continued right over Ed, "you two could take this opportunity to try to get along. After all," he said with a thumb jerked in Mustang's direction. "That guy's your only line of communication with the outside world."

"I'm so screwed."

"He's even more annoying in death," Mustang sighed.

"Oh, yeah?" Ed sneered. "Who's haunting who?"

"Whom."

Ed blinked. "What?"

"The correct grammar would be who is haunting whom."

"Are you . . . are you serious right now?!"

"If you're going to try to insult me, at least be grammatically correct."

Mustang started and looked up. Ed followed his eyeline to see another man standing over them, his eyes locked on Mustang. A quick look at his green-and-white uniform told Ed he was the conductor; an older, round gentleman with a tuft of white hair sticking out from under his cap and a pair of glasses perched on the nose of his round face. He held his ticket punch out in front of him like he'd forgotten what he came here to do.

"Don't worry about him!" Hughes exclaimed with his too-wide smile, brandishing two tickets from his front pocket. "He's just, uh, practicing for a play!"

"Oh," the older man said, clearly relieved to not have a madman onboard. He accepted the tickets in his chubby hands and punched them. "What play are you in?"

Mustang pasted one of his politician smiles on his face, all smooth and ominous, and Ed immediately tensed. "It's a modern retelling of Hamlet, except instead of the King sending his nephew to avenge his death, dear Prince Hamlet is sent by the ghost of diminutive, excessively violent garden gnome with a height complex and no grasp of Amestrian grammar."

Ed dug his fingers into the bench so hard, his fingertips bypassed the physical world entirely, meeting in a blaze of hot static.

"That sounds like . . . a unique interpretation," the conductor said uncertainly, handing the tickets back. "Break a leg in your production, sir!"

"Thank you."

The conductor walked away to the next row, and Mustang regarded Ed with the smuggest expression Ed had ever seen on his already-unbearably smug face.

Ed's lip curled, and, was that static sparking through the air?

"The second I get my body back," Ed hissed, "The very second I sit up, I am going to punch you in your face so hard you won't remember who you are. I will tear out your ribcage and wear it as a hat. I will climb the wall of Briggs and throw your body off the watch tower. I will—"

"I take it Ed's not happy?" Hughes ventured.

"His threats are starting to get creative."

"I'm going to throw your body off of this train," Ed snarled. "How did I get stuck with you in this? Why is this happening to me? Why you of all people?!"

"I've asked myself that," Mustang agreed somberly. "I believe I've been cursed."

"I will show you a curse, you incompetent, self-important, egotistical, lousy excuse for a human being!"

"Roy," Hughes began. "As much fun as this half of the conversation is, I really think you two should go on radio silence." His sharp hazel eyes scanned the near-vacant train car, lighting the couple across the way that glanced away when Hughes met their gaze.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ignore you," Mustang said to the window. "For safety, you see." He sounded entirely too self-satisfied about the whole thing.

If Ed wasn't so completely enraged, he would have noted that it was probably a good idea. "Yeah, you go ahead and stop talking. Meanwhile, I think I know a little song that you might enjoy."

Mustang's narcissistic smile dimmed noticeably. "Don't."

With great deliberateness, Ed put his lips together and whistled out the first bar of The Fuhrer's March.

Mustang sank low in his seat, dragging a pale hand down his face. "Could you . . . Hughes, could you just shoot me?"

Ed didn't stop, though it was hard to whistle as much as he wanted to grin.

"Just ignore him," Hughes said to Mustang with false sympathy in his smile.

"Unbearably annoying," Mustang repeated, glaring out the window at the scenery flying past.

Ed could safely say he won this round.

XxXxX

Four stops and the whole day later, they rolled into Central Station. As planned, Ed stepped straight through the train wall—with no small amount of physical discomfort and a strangled, possibly unmanly yelp—and scouted out the station. He found nothing of note, which was not uncommon for this time of night. Their train was probably one of the last few that would be in that day, and Ed decided the young couple rocking their baby on the platform probably didn't pose too much of a threat. A lone military grunt leaned against the wall, supposedly providing security for the station as he tried hard not to doze off but failed miserably. Even as Ed walked by, the man's eyelids slipped shut and his head sank forward.

Taxpayer cenz at work.

He met Mustang and Hughes at the train's exit. "Nothing," he reported to Mustang. "I think we're good to go to the next step."

Mustang nodded, leaning hard on the crutch and maybe a little bit on Hughes. Ed noted with begrudging sympathy that his leg probably hurt a lot after sitting all day long. It seemed to take hours for Ed to stretch out the knots long train rides usually left in his automail leg. At least he didn't have to contend with that himself this time.

Another dead perk.

Alphonse, Hawkeye, Hughes, and Breda ambled toward them after exiting their own car, eyes scanning the near-empty station as the approached. Havoc and Hawkeye were playing a couple just so the blond man would have an excuse to keep an arm around Hawkeye and steady her.

When they were within earshot, Mustang said, "We're clear to proceed."

"Right," Breda said. The portly man rapped a hand against Al's breastplate. "Know what to do?" Ed was a little pleased to see that the man didn't seem to be holding a grudge after his little brother punched him in the face.

Alphonse nodded. "I'll see you later. And don't worry Ed," he added in no direction in particular. "I'll be fine." And with that, he turned and headed to the train station's front entrance.

Ed watched him go, his heart shriveling in his dead chest.

"He'll be fine," Mustang assured.

"You don't know that." Ed's answer sounded a bit more vulnerable than he would have liked.

"You're right," Mustang agreed. "But I trust him."

Ed's jaw tightened.

Mustang looked around him. "Let's go," he said, moving toward the back exit with his people in tow. Ed lingered for just a moment longer, watching his brother exit the front gates and turn left, then disappear toward the warehouse district.

Subtlety was still a priority. If the military interfered with them before they could draw out the homunculi, Mustang and his team would be arrested, Hughes included. The colonel would probably be either imprisoned for life or executed, and the others wouldn't escape unscathed. There was a lot riding on this beyond just Ed getting his body back. It was also proving Mustang's innocence and bringing Ed that much closer to getting Al's body back. Failure would doom Ed to a bodyless existence, whatever that entailed, but it might also just doom his little brother to essentially the same, and that was unacceptable.

He took a deep breath. "I trust you too, Al."

He turned and followed Mustang's team out the back.

Operation Do-Something-Stupid-to-Lure-Out-the-Homunculi is kicking off xD

At least Al is trying to not hate Mustang's guts, and that's something.

The thing about updating two fics at once on two different websites is that I live in constant fear of uploading the wrong chapter to the wrong fic. This haunts me.

Life update: I've accepted a new job to go with my fancy new degree. I'm officially out of the choir gig after this year. I'm really . . . sadder about that than I thought I would be, but I understand that I probably couldn't be in the classroom long-term. I love my students, but as a serious introvert that does not enjoy confrontation, being in "extrovert mode" all day long for hours was just too much for me. I'll also be making substantially more, so now maybe I won't have to cry every time I go to the grocery store xD It's going to be a change, but hopefully for the better. I'm just really bummed I don't get to tell my kiddos bye in person :'C I guess that's probably what I hate more than anything. I've had some of these guys for three years, and their siblings before them, and still interact with them at the hs level. It's gonna be rough, but again, hopefully for the better!

It's ten billion degrees here. I'm going to go find a cool place to melt in.

Thanks so much for reading! C: If you have the time, drop a review, and I'll see you next chapter!

God Bless,

-RainFlame