Lights Out

He woke to the silence.

Alphonse had become so accustomed to hearing Ed snoring throughout the night or yell at him when he awoke in vigour to seize the day, and now that he could not hear such simple sounds, his world had become isolated.

He imagined that he was standing on a hilltop with everyone he loved and cared for. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the ground beneath his feet began to tremble ferociously and as a result he had leapt back in shock. The crack was just below his feet. The chasm would widen inch by inch like the gaping jaws of a wild beast. Everyone else was on the other side of the gap, and they were reaching out desperately to reach for him. As soon as Al attempted to grasp out for help (please help me. I can't live like this…please) the rift would tear further apart, the sound similar to ripping cloth. By the time he was prepared to leap, he would be jerked backward by the tectonic power of the ground beneath his feet (a power that alchemists boasted to control when they had the barest concept on the current that roared through the earth like a pulse). He would be forced to scrabble on his side to stay alive. Even if he cried out for help or used alchemy, a force in his mind would prevent him from moving.

It was as if the world planned him to be alone and an unknown force was executing its malicious plan. He could hear laughter as sinister as whispers of ice.

In his dreams sounds gained a new clarity, but the sounds were beginning to become jumbled and muffled, as if he was listening to the outside world from within a deep ocean. He knew intuitively that he was going to forget a life of not being deaf. Already he was beginning to forget how beautiful his mother's lullabies sounded; he was forgetting the sound of frying, crackling bacon in the pan; the whoosh and whistle of a train pulling away from a platform. And he was forgetting Brother. His voice. His personality. His antics.

The three were rolled into one. A tone and voice was something special. When you spoke every day and took that gift for granted, you could push aside the importance it is at defining you as an individual. There were other ways to communicate, he knew, but since he did not know sign language, Alphonse was temporarily lost.

The mind worked quickly against its opponent. And it would strive to do its best to win.

He had been in a semi-conscious state between being asleep and awake. Even so, he didn't have control over his mind or dreams. Otherwise he would have raced across the chasm and grasped Brother and Winry with all the strength he had in his feeble body. He wouldn't let them go.

He didn't want to be left alone with Kimblee on the other side.

Suddenly, he flinched. Somebody was shaking his shoulder and he was thrown back into a flashback-

He had become accustomed to the rhythmic drip drip drip from the ceiling that fell into the puddles that were littered throughout their filthy cell. Alphonse could not have been sure how much time had passed, although he suspected less than three days.

When one was trapped in the darkness (and sleep was a scare – he avoided it until it was impossible to resist falling into its clutches) the passage of time ceased to exist. He lost count of the thrumming beat of his heart and staggered breathing.

Alphonse had been separated from his big brother for the first time since they had ended up trapped in the gloom. NoName had been muttering something about 'phases' and despite the jolly persona the man possessed, he was a madman. He reminded Al of Shou Tucker in parts; the smiling face he saw hid an assassin's greed and lust for power.

If he retaliated or acted, they would have hurt Ed. Even if he had only seen Kimblee in person and a few of his guards, Al could hear whispers from the shadowy corners of his cell, and from the room he was currently being held in. They would snicker and laugh and judge him, as though he was a young child on the stage for the first time, watching as the parents talked quietly amongst themselves. Al couldn't discern what these whispers were saying, but he kept his back straight and guard wary. The bags beneath his eyes carried a weight of their own and the clarity was seeping out of his mind like a crack in a wall, but he had to keep going. He had to keep trying his best to stay awake and lucid. He feared that if he became too complacent, Ed would suffer.

But if he retaliated then the same fate was set for his big brother. Al had been placed in a delicate situation and one wrong mistake could shake the balance between life and death, between the gloom and freedom. He desperately wanted to feel the light again.

A door creaked. Teeth gleamed. A whistle of delight followed. The bastard had returned. NoName must have been bored muttering to himself about his plans.

"Alphonse, thank you so much for agreeing to help me! Your support will be invaluable for this experiment," the man shrilled in glee as he pulled a loose strand of hair back behind his ears. His wrist clicked as he closed the door behind him. And then he turned back to face the younger Elric brother, his eyes unusually bright. They shone with inquisitiveness and optimism, but there was so much more sinister emotions brooding underneath like a storm surge.

With NoName, one could expect a conversation with a jolly, friendly man or they could be receiving what Al was about to. It was like expecting gentle snow and instead receiving sharp hail that could pierce through ice.

How could someone so evil appear so harmless?

"As long as you don't harm my brother," Al threatened, but his voice was lost as NoName dimmed the already-flickering artificial light that this room possessed (their cell certainly did not).

"Do not worry, my friend. This shall be quick," NoName paused and the lights went out and Al was thrown into a nightmare.

He was completely thrown off-guard when he heard the screaming of his childhood friend, Winry, piercing through the darkness like a mortal blade to his heart. Alphonse threw his arms out protectively, seeking and searching for the source of the cries in the hope to avail her suffering. She didn't scream distinctive words, but her tone was one of lancing pain throughout her soul. And then added to the cacophony came the cries of people he knew…people he loved…They were wailing for his help but he couldn't save one of them, let alone the dozens of voices that had collected. He thought that his brain was going to burst.

It was when he listened and Ed and his mother's voice joined the chorus that he started to scream. He had told himself that he had to be the strong one, and even though out of the Elric brother duo, he was the softer-spoken one, Al did the best he could to remain strong. For Brother. For Granny, Teacher and Winry. For himself.

For Mother.

Al could hear her bitter sonorous cries that rang as if Trisha was trapped within his suit of armour when he did not possess his real body. She was in agony. She cried to him. She asked him questions and he could give her no answer.

Why did you bring me back to life, Alphonse?

My sweet boy…do you know how much death hurts once?

Alphonse…please…save me…

It hurts. It HURTS!

And Al couldn't. He fell to the floor and stumbled and choked. He groped loosely on the ground for Ed's hand. His mother's hand. A hand to hold that he could comfort.

He felt as if he was back in that basement when they had performed the human transmutation. The malformed resurrection of his mother cried out blindly for her sons and then she had died. The thing that was his mother had died. And it was in agony because of him.

He had been responsible for turning his mother into a monster, so that she was no longer a human.

Alphonse screamed, and NoName collected the results he had desperately been searching for. The doctor had finally required a means to accessing the harnessed alchemist's power in the most effective form: a combination of mental and physical torment. But majorly the former.

He never woke up…

…

"Ahhh!" he screamed hoarsely, his throat dry and sore from the effort. He could feel his vocal cords tingle in dismay, but the process of not being able to hear his voice was chilling to witness. He was panting and tried to protect his chest from an attack by curling into a ball. Al had to protect his big brother from Kimblee. Out on their journeys there were people to help them, and whenever they returned home. However, they were trapped in the tunnels together. It was just the two of them. And they couldn't depend upon anyone to save them…that was the reason why he had to protect his big brother.

Why couldn't he stop their screaming?

Was he too weak to do anything?

He raised his head in alarm and he could see that somebody was tapping the ground softly in front of him with a hand. Al could feel its vibrations. When he lifted his gaze, his squinty eyes struggled to adjust to the bright light of the morning.

Oh. They weren't in the tunnels. They were safe. They were safe at his cloud refuge!

The owner of the hand moved closer to him and Al could feel his heart break inside of his chest. He didn't flinch as a pair of gentle arms wrapped around his back, caressing him close, holding him tightly but not enough so that it would hurt him. The menacing thoughts that swirled around in his head as vicious as a storm melted into the nothing (the darkness where they came from). Tears rolled down his face, tumbling, and he made no move to wipe them away because he had been strong for so long and now he was safe.

Winry held onto him all the tighter.

The scribbling of his sketchbook was all that could be heard on the train. Despite the warm summer's day that was promised ahead, the compartment that he was on remained in an obligatory silence, since this was the military personnel's carriage. These were the carriages that took men off to war (and their final resting places).

Alex Louis Armstrong coughed at the worrying thought and gripped onto the pencil in his beefy hands a little tighter. He squinted at the musty piece of paper that he was basing his sketch off. Yes, the details were perfectly accurate.

The skill of tracing was one that had been passed down the Armstrong family for generations.

Major Armstrong knew that the train would be arriving at its destination soon; he had little time left to wait. Even he, an Armstrong raised by his family to be a model of patience and stature, the offspring of noble blood, found his own brew welding thin. He detested the churning of the wheels on the train. He wished that he could leap of the train and sprint the remaining leagues before the train rolled up to Turinene. However, the blond busied himself by pulling out a comb and mirror from his hand luggage and working at ensuring his curl and moustache were impeccable.

How could he dare present himself to the other members of the team looking any less pristine?

In a crisis, he would be the one to remind others on the importance of presentation. He paused for a moment; for he swore he could hear the twinkling of sparkles ringing around his head, next to his ears. His imagination must have been running wild. That was no surprise- his great-uncle Edmund Laurence Armstrong had been a famous novelist with an imagination as creative as a chef's palette (Alex had dabbled both into these creative arts, although he found that art and sketches was his particular forte).

He inspected his handwork in the portable mirror which was his firm companion. He nodded in contentment. His uniform was ironed and prepared for battle on the front lines. His attire was that of a major of the Amestrian military. However, it was not him who was the most important thing here.

During his grooming session, he had kept a firm grip on that piece of paper. He had been strolling to the canteen for lunch when he had bumped into Sheska. The Major had heard of her from previous encounters that the Elric brothers and some members of Mustang's team had had with her. He had mentioned the word Turinene to her quietly to see if that would elicit a response from the private. She had blinked and informed Alex that she had 'read a little' on the mappings and history of Turinene.

The woman was a genius- she had reproduced a flawless copy of the maps of Turinene and also of a secret, expansive network of tunnels that rested beneath the town. That map had been found in the restricted section, according to her sources. And Armstrong trusted her photographic memory. Intuition was a knack that his bloodline had mastered, dating back to the days when his great-great grandfather, a certain Norman Henry Armstrong had been out hunting in the woods stranded-

However, as he snapped out of his respectful reverie, the Major found that they had rolled up into the station of Turinene. He quickly grabbed his suitcase and leaped off the train with bouncing muscles prepared for the swift movement. As a burst of fresh air swept through his lungs, the desire to rip off his shirt was overwhelming, but alas, he had packed insufficient spares for that to be feasible.

"Hello, good Sir!" he called out cheerfully to a train conductor. His form should have been instantly recognisable- there was an Armstrong in this town.

"Oh, hello there, Major," the train conductor standing on the platform hopped on the spot nervously; his hands were twitching and his hair was poorly kept. His brown eyes flitted nervously between Alex and the carriage door, as if expecting to see someone else emerge. "Is it just you who they are sending out?"

"What has happened, my good friend?" the blond asked gently, but with a probing enough tone. He needed to deliver the importance of this matter in his voice otherwise he could be delayed longer than was necessary. His heart began thumping slightly. As he glanced around the station behind the nervous man, he could see that the train station was oddly quiet; the patrons didn't shove or bustle as they usually did, but they mulled around each other, avoiding eye contact and held their heads low. This was a town on edge- this was a town gripped by fear of the unknown.

"There was an unexpected attack not too long ago…" the man paused, but Alex nodded encouragingly, helping the young man to continue with his recollection. "I was asleep when me Ma let out a shriek. I hurried to her side, of course, and I was half-asleep, but Mister I know what I heard and saw through the window. There was fighting! Outside that old hospital where the scary doctor-lady lives. We've been waiting for the military to get here. We've been scared out of our socks…"

And the man started to laugh quietly to himself. He quickly caught his breath and looked up at the Major.

"I see. You were expecting more than me to arrive here today then, hmm?" Alex asked, but the question was posed more to himself, "have you seen other soldiers here recently?"

"Yessir, they were in the Plaza, but I don't know what they were here for. There were too few of them to be involved in the fighting…" the man stumbled uneasily.

An attack! Good heavens! What have the team got themselves into? If Viola Cadence Armstrong was under siege, she would know what to do. She must have summoned the troops that have pledged their alliance to the Armstrong family. Their entrance into Turinene could easily be kept a secret with her strategic planning. The Major was proud of his relative in the way that an Armstrong was proud about their legacy.

"But you have not received support from the Eastern Command, have you?" Armstrong asked. The man shook his head. "Why were the military not involved? I did not know about this until now," the blond confessed. The conductor's eyes widened in hasty surprise.

"What does that mean, Sir?" the brown-eyed man who had barely grown out of boyhood asked.

"There is someone hiding something…this, my friend, is a conspiracy," the Major announced dramatically. He thanked the train conductor for his help and the man hurried off determinedly towards the Armstrong mansion on the outskirts of town. He pressed against his pocket and felt the paper and his sketchbook securely bound by thread. His mind pondered through the baffling scenarios that directly involved this town.

There was a map of Turinene's tunnels being hidden from the population, hidden in the restricted section of the library…

Young Edward and Alphonse Elric being captured in a quiet eastern town…

An attack on a hospital…

Something definitely was happening, and as his pride as an Armstrong, Alex Louis swore that he would uncover the secrets lurking in this place, sooner rather than later.

Hawkeye was relieved to say the least.

This latest piece of information of a complete network of the tunnels of Turinene was a godsend at this troubling hour. There was little time left. She yearned to dive back into the vast catacomb-like network that expanded below the town and find the missing members of the team and be done with this place. She would return to her apartment with Black Hayate, and with the limited culinary skills she had collected over the years, she would host a dinner party for the team. Thinking logistically about the size of her kitchen, she shook her head; it would be best if they just had a meal out.

Her mind was wandering. However, this tangent was for a positive reason and therefore she did not try to prevent her brain from treading down such paths of thought. If she wanted to do that, then she would. She had learnt that life was too short to carry on through with hesitations and doubt – she had to take the initiative and live.

Riza stared at the map once again. She had poured over its contents and deduced several key points of entry into the lair of that madman. The mission could be over in a couple of hours-

Fuck, it wasn't going to be as easy as that. What the hell was she thinking?

How could she have been so pathetically weak against a ridiculous alchemist, when it was her job to babysit one? Said superior officer finally had a bloody cast on his leg, and he had been given crutches which allowed him to move with a freakishly deadly speed. He had even experimented with using a single crutch and somehow the man hadn't toppled over headfirst (Hawkeye could make a considerable amount of money by having that on display). But he was Roy Mustang, who frequently did the impossible.

By this point, Riza had learnt to accept the antics of her colonel.

She turned around to hear two voices in very deep conversation. Edward had clearly become a lot more vocal with the presence of his mechanic nearby. That boy's mood was as variable as the weather on a springtime's day- one moment, the sky could be silent and sullen, but the next it could be bright and vibrant and full of wonderful hues. The Lieutenant couldn't pinpoint the boy's personality with words anymore. Ever since his capture, the boy had become far more complex, withdrawn and enigmatic than the fiery hothead that had been replaced with this young man. But as she watched him bicker with Winry, she felt more at ease. Their Edward hadn't disappeared- he could become lost sometimes.

But they would be there to guide him back.

"I told you, I am not going!" the alchemist shouted, his unseeing eyes clamped tightly shut, as if to exude his stubbornness.

"You're completely wrecked, just like Al was when you thought it would be a good idea to give his armoured limbs a more 'cool' appearance!" Winry retorted back.

"I'm not going," the blond snorted and folded his good arm, wincing quietly under his breath.

"I don't have the equipment with me here that would be able to fix your ports. You need to come back to Resembool. You know Granny and I are trained to help treating concerning the infections of automail-related injuries…I cannot let you tarnish the Rockbell name!" she cried adamantly.

Edward then opened his hazy straw-like eyes and gazed out into the distance. Even if he was blind, he could clearly see something nobody else could. "I'm sorry, Win. I cannot go."

"Why, Ed?" she asked softly. She lowered the wrench in her hand and sank onto the floor beside her childhood friend.

"Lift up my shirt," he commanded.

"Ew, no. You can do that."

He repeated the order. It was not a request.

Sighing, she did as the boy had said. She had only seen the extent of damage to his leg port. Ed had said that his arm was in the same condition, but had refused to let Winry see it until now. The mechanic unbuttoned the shirt that Edward had slipped on and the boy suddenly let out a shrill scream as if the lights had suddenly been extinguished.

"NOOOO!" Ed howled. His body writhed and contorted. He curled in on himself. But he raised his head, bit his lip, blood flowing freely.

"Ed?!"

"Keep going…sorry…happens a lot…please, Win," he choked and begged. Winry was then able to finish what she started, careful not to hurt the elder Elric brother. But Riza could see from his expression that the simple act of taking off a shirt was the definition of agony for the young man. She had perfected her disguise as well. The more people that saw you, the more vulnerable you would become. Life was about looking the image of a predator, but knowing and hating the vulnerability to clutched at your heart, which made you prey.

She gasped. While the infection had been stabilised, it was not healing. The boy's entire right side and torso was riddled with bruising, wires, pus and scabbing skin that looked like an insect-infested corpse. It was a feat that the boy was still alive. But that was their Edward. Stubborn, short-tempered and wonderfully, beautifully brave.

"I cannot go to Resembool with you, Win," he was silent for a moment before he continued, "I can't think of anything worse than staying here. I want to get away from this shithole. I want to fucking hobble on one leg and sprint out of here. I want to see Granny and eat apple pie at home. But I can't.

"They hurt Al. They've hurt so many people…Kimblee…NoName…no don't Fuery come on Ed fucking do something you pathetic lump of shit NO NOT YOU TOO GET OUT OF MY HEAD PLEASE…"

A nurse had to rush forward to tranquilise the boy. The girl was left shivering.

Riza had paused on her work to watch the couple bicker. She wouldn't leave Winry now.

She wandered over, and Winry glanced up at her with tears in her eyes. Riza found herself speaking: "it may not seem like it, but Ed is making excellent progress. He has more than an infection to fight right now. And it will be hard, but he will get better. He will."

Riza wondered if she was reassuring herself or Miss Rockbell.

She held out her clean handkerchief that the younger blonde accepted gratefully, dabbing her eyes.

"I'll clean this for you and give it back as soon as I can," Winry began but she was interrupted when Riza shook her head and gestured at the handkerchief and Winry. The mechanic nodded in thanks and went to sit between the sleeping Elric brothers, guarding them with all her strength and might.

A tap on her shoulder diverted Riza's attention again. She was prepared to snap but she kept her composure when one of the maids bowed her head low.

"Miss Hawkeye, my mistress requires your attention immediately," she said.

"Do you know what the matter is…"

"Heidi, Miss Hawkeye. My mistress informed me to tell you that there is a Mr Solf J. Kimblee waiting to see you…he has a proposition to make with you."

Plot twist! A lot is happening, and a lot more is going to happen. Those Kimblee brothers cannot stay out of mischief... now before I go blurting spoilers, I'll thank you for your patience and for reading. Hope you enjoyed!