Warning: gory details in this chapter. Read with caution!

Inertia

A long time ago, there were two boys. Anybody in the town could tell that they were brothers from a distance, even if they each had distinct personalities. Both of them would run and play in the fields from sunrise until sunset, in those yellow fields full of buttercups in the early summer. They kept on playing the same games day in, day out, as if it was clear that there was never one winner. Those brothers could have been twins.

They were close in age gap, possibly one or a couple of years between them. They had grown up together and would have been inseparable…

…Or so the world would have thought.

The older of the brothers was a talented alchemist, one of the most talented that the townspeople had ever seen before; he could repair buildings with a quick sketch of a transmutation circle. He was adored and his parents promised that he could become a State Alchemist when he was grown up.

The younger brother was confused by this.

Einar chased after Solf day after day across the fields full of buttercups. He copied exactly what his older brother did. He learnt to sketch the arrays to possibly a higher degree of accuracy than Solf could. Einar was precious and dexterous and he understood the scientific equations. He was as good as his big brother, if not better. No, he wanted to be the best alchemist that the world had seen!

"You are not an alchemist," his brother sneered at him. They had made it home for supper. Their mother ushered them into the house and quickly hurried them to the dining room table where their father was waiting for his family.

"I will be a better alchemist than you!" the boy snarled back. He gulped; he realized his mistake as soon as he had shouted at his brother.

His father stood up, unimpressed by the rash behaviour of his younger son.

"Einar," he said.

"Yes, father?" Einar's ashen face stared at the floor, ashamed to look up.

"You will not insult Solf that way," James Kimblee announced harshly and he sat down abruptly. "Will you pass me the ham?"

Solf silently passed the ham to their father and he subtly kicked his brother under the table.

"I hate you!" Einar screamed and his blue eyes shone darkly as he leaped down from the table. He had the chalk in his hand before anyone could react. He sketched a transmutation circle, focusing his energy into ensuring his grip on the chalk was not shaky. He sniffled and refused to cry. With a heavy breath he slapped his palms onto the array, envisaging the molecules moving…transmuting… rearranging themselves into a structure that could punch his older brother. Not with much force to hurt him. But enough to get his message across.

Nothing happened.

His mother sighed and lifted Einar off the ground. He wriggled in protest. He wasn't a young boy anymore! In a couple of years he would be taller than her and if he really grew in that time period, then he could end up being the same height as his father. He wanted to be someone that they respected. Somebody that they didn't ignore.

He didn't spend his nights reading scientific textbooks (mainly about alchemy) and gently crying himself to sleep for no reason.

"You are not an alchemist, Einar," his mother said simply. And like that, the young boy's world came crashing down. He knew that his parents had been delighted by the fact that their older son was an alchemist. That their older son had been born with the potential to be brilliant.

Couldn't he too…if he worked for it?

-Imagine that.- A voice in the younger Kimblee brother's head muttered acidly.

"You know your future is going to belong in the medical profession. You are a talented scientist, Einar, and you will use that strength to treat people and become a doctor," his father stated, his entire future handed to him on a plate, much like the untouched dinner that rested in front of him.

He tried to stifle back tears, feeling his heart threaten to choke and suffocate him. It was a useless throbbing mesh in his throat.

-You will never be who you dream of becoming.-

-Give it up. Your older brother is your superior. He is the one that your parents love.-

Please, he begged silently, please let me be who I want to be.

"Mother…" the boy's voice trailed off as his mother blatantly ignored him. He shivered profusely and poked a fork into his mash potato, but he couldn't find the strength to swallow the lump. The meal had gone cold too. He should have tried harder. He should have pushed with more of his mind and spirit to activate that array.

He should have been the one born to be an alchemist!

Einar turned to face his brother, finding that throughout the course of this predicament, his older brother had been eating his dinner quietly. He folded his cutlery and let them rest on the table.

"You are nobody to me," Solf muttered, and from that day, it was like the younger Kimblee brother did not exist.

Roy refused to be put under.

He couldn't be out of action while his team fought his battles. With a broken body or not, he would fight until Fuery and Hughes were safe where they belonged.

He could imagine the crying of Hughes' little daughter Elicia at the news that her daddy was missing, but Gracia would bravely smile and then Elicia would giggle and smile, lost in a childhood fantasy. How Roy wished that life could be that simple for adults too.

But life was complicated or a bastard. Usually a combination of both.

Roy knew something else that was being a bastard at that moment. His leg was throbbing horribly. The unnecessary (he kept telling the doctors that it was fucking necessary) actions he had taken had not helped the injury. Anybody else with a wound of this severity would have been bound for weeks to a hospital bed.

How could he possibly rest?

He had reluctantly taken the painkillers, but not the mild anaesthetic that would provide him with a rhythmic and uninterrupted sleep. Roy hadn't really been given a choice, but he had shoved the medication under his tongue and spat it out while the doctors were not looking. Hawkeye was more than competent to handle the workload, but he was their commander. Therefore, he saw it as his responsibility to remain goddamn conscious while his best friend was missing in the expansive tunnels crawling beneath their feet like a string of graves-

Don't think. Move forward. No more.

Inhaling a deep breath and feeling his chest rise painfully, Roy let the breath and the tension that had hitherto been crawling through his skin subside a little. A little. The adrenaline would help keep him alert and awake. He had gone days without sleep before (IshvalIshvalIshval HELL) and so he could do the same thing again.

He was stubborn and willing to admit it.

The medical environment had never suited him. He didn't have the patience to complete paperwork goddammit.

Shaking his head, he focused his mind on the present task at hand. The good thing about being bedbound (ha no he fucking wouldn't be) was that the Armstrong staff that bustled by fed him something far more fulfilling than bloody analgesics they were attempting to flood him with: gossip. An alchemist's mind never rested. It was like having an itch inside that he couldn't reach no matter how hard he tried to dispel the feeling. The best way to overcome that inch was to distract himself with information-seeking. And wasn't gossip just a form of that?

Mustang smirked. And people assumed that he went on dates just to escape the office.

The Flame Alchemist was a proud and arrogant arsehole, there was no doubt about that even when his own body was betraying his ambitions to rise up.

He was not going to let the lieutenant fight all of his battles for him. No, they were the team's battles. Since they had sworn to follow him, they had moved as one unit. One united front, even if they were separated. As long as they did not forget that fundamental law, then they would survive.

There was a conveniently placed wheelchair beside his bed. Mustang had stared at the object when he had first taken his painkillers and huffed in displeasure about the thought of being vulnerable. For a random (but very attractive) nurse to wheel him around the hospital while he was on a high dose of painkillers would have been his ideal heaven. But he was alive.

He would have to wait a long time for his farfetched dreams to come to play.

Imagine that.

However, Roy's plan was to take advantage of the distracted staff. The commotion of the Crimson Alchemist's appearance at Armstrong's hospital had not gone unnoticed. The staff had been told to keep quiet, but the hubbub suggested otherwise. They were not all soldiers and lacked the discipline to know when to keep their mouths shut.

When a couple of orderlies had walked by gossiping quietly and the words 'Mustang' and 'Kimblee' had been used, his interest piqued.

He struggled to shift his torso around so his legs were hanging over the bed. His injured leg, now bound by a cast, writhed like a tortured snake from beneath the cast. It was as if his blood vessels were coiling in disgust at the thought of having to vacate the hospital bed. And the next twenty seconds felt like twenty years of being flayed alive as he hoisted his body over the side of the bed.

Almost there…

Roy slumped back in the wheelchair, panting and chastising himself at becoming exhausted by such a simple effort. Back at the academy, he had been forced to carry out target practice and a run across the military's training ground before he had eaten breakfast. A soldier always had to be prepared for the worse.

Some years had passed since he had qualified as a State Alchemist, but not too many to lose count.

Mustang was not old.

Allowing himself a moment to recover, Roy pushed forwards and the wheelchair almost came to life and shot past the orderlies before his absence would be noticed. He could have been more tactical, but he had a conversation to snoop on.

He currently knew as much as the orderlies did: the Crimson Alchemist had come 'in peace' and requested to speak to Viola Cadence, and possibly the Flame Alchemist as well. But Hawkeye had taken his place. Roy must have been incoherent and coming into and out of consciousness. He was surprised that Hawkeye had gone through with the plan, but she knew how they operated. All he heard, she heard too. And now the opposite was true too.

Viola had an office on the ground floor (luckily) which is where she held her meetings. There was no exception to this one. As he gazed sharply from the left to the right, he quickly wheeled across the last corridor before he pulled himself into the adjacent room to where he could hear quiet conversation. He shut the door behind him and carefully positioned himself next to the wall, his ear pressing lightly against the white paint.

He didn't have to wait long.

"I would never have thought an Armstrong would have taken the role of a doctor in a shabby town in the East Area," Kimblee mused sourly, his bored tone evidently trying to disguise his interest.

"The skills and choices of the Armstrongs are features known to our family. I am sure as one acquainted with our family, you would be familiar with that. One favourite family motto is 'mould that which will be shaped' and I took those words to heart," Armstrong declared proudly.

"Of course, doctor," Kimblee said calmly. He spoke a little louder and the direction of his voice changed, "I wonder what you're thinking over there, Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

There was no reply. And then a sigh.

"Oh, are you worried about the cherished Flame Alchemist?" Kimblee sounded far too interest. Roy had an affinity of hate towards the man anyway, and the desire to transmute a hole in the wall and restrain him was overwhelming. But he could not do that.

Instead, Hawkeye chose to address Viola, "Has Ingrid checked on him this past hour?"

"She is one of our best, Hawkeye. Now, we should all skip any additional pleasantries and discuss business."

"Davids was sent out to scout and has returned to say that all of the troops had evacuated just as the Major informed us," Hawkeye stated reluctantly.

"I came here peacefully, and I hope this proves my claim," the man said smugly. Damn Roy wanted to burn him-

"We'll see about that. And I would like to hear Mustang's opinion when this meeting had adjourned," Armstrong sourly muttered. Like Olivier, she was not a conversationalist. Her outburst about the pride of the Armstrong family was unusual for her.

"I will speak to Ingrid afterwards, to ensure that the colonel is in a position to hear your negotiation," the lieutenant said flatly. She was trying to lace the concern out of her voice. It worked perfectly; she had had years to master that neutral tone that many were terrified of.

Kimblee did not sound fazed.

"The trouble is, we have problems to attend to now," he said abruptly.

There was a long silence. It appeared that everyone was thinking and weighing out their options carefully before they voiced their thoughts.

"I wonder if that was a motive for the senior staff to release you from your sentence, Crimson," Viola retorted, "however, that is not my concern. The fact that your troops attacked a hospital is unforgiveable. Would you be so kind as to explain?"

"Well, you see, I had reason to believe that you were sheltering a hostile individual beneath your walls," the alchemist did not disguise the languidness in his voice. "However, when the retaliation we expected did not come, it would have been pointless to continue the fight."

"This hostile individual…have they been situated in Turinene-"

"For a long time? Yes. And I saw the Elric brothers. It was clear from the moment I met them that they were the objects of his methods," Kimblee pondered. He must have thought that the Elric brothers looked pathetic; however, if he had been introduced to them under different circumstances he could have truly seen them both.

They shouldn't be stared at with the eyes of mourners for all that had been robbed from the young boys, like fucking mourners.

Edward and Alphonse needed to move forward. Somehow.

Roy had to return his attention to the conversation. He could become distracted so easily…especially when he was in constant pain (stretch bend rip crackle his leg had been shredded to pieces would he ever walk correctly again).

"Who is he?" the doctor questioned.

Roy could imagine Kimblee shrugging his shoulders. "Officially, he is a doctor, just like you. He renounced that title however. He now obsesses in becoming an artificial alchemist. Instead of learning the craft, he wants to manipulate the ability alchemists possess and harness that for himself.

"That bastard was my brother once."

A second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The internal gasps never made their way to the surface.

"Is the power he receives relative to the skill of the alchemist?" Hawkeye asked. She was competent enough in the field without having the ability to wield alchemy herself. She had grown with the art long before children held their first pen.

"Possibly. There is little more I know than you," Kimblee replied.

Roy found that his jaw was tightened and he made an effort to relax his body. Years of training had enabled him to maintain his composure. However, when his youngest subordinate had been tortured all in the aim of granting a fanatic the ability to perform alchemy, he was struggling immensely to bury the anger rising throughout his soul.

"We must find and eliminate this alchemist," Viola announced. Her tone was hard and it reminded Roy of somebody-

"Major General Olivier is a relative of yours," Hawkeye answered Roy's questioning thoughts. That was who she reminded her of. The witch that ruled from her domain at Briggs, subduing her soldiers with her poisonous magic…

"That would be easier said than done. First however, we will need to have all of the alchemists restored to full strength. Luckily for me, I brought my own guest. Tim Marcoh

"The Tim Marcoh is here?" Hawkeye could not fully hide her desperation. She coughed.

Roy recognised that signal. It was the end of a code. He backtracked through the meeting and pieced together the code quickly, considering it was short. He took the first letters of the names she had said:

I-D-I-O-T-M.

Idiot Mustang.

Damn Hawkeye for being so subtle. But he smirked. She had planned that he was listening. Good.

And with Tim Marcoh present, things were going to get interesting.

Roy knew him well. He was an alchemic doctor from the Civil War. It was claimed that he could treat wounds that would take months to heal in a matter of minutes. He could finally get off his ass and hurry down those tunnels and hunt down that bastard Kimblee and find Hughes and Fuery and make the world pay for crossing paths with the Flame Alchemist, Colonel Roy Mustang.

He was fed up with being so useless.

What time was it?

He wasn't sure.

Hell, he wasn't sure about anything anymore.

Who was going to say that Elicia and Gracia and Roy and Hawkeye and Havoc and everyone were all dead too?

He was tired.

He wanted to rest and forget.

Why on fucking earth did it have to be him?

Maes Hughes was sobbing. He had curled himself into an uncomfortable ball and of course it was fucking awkward and his legs were aching because of the goddamn pins and needles. He was hungry and dehydrated and the room was spinning but he didn't care. He remained crouched in that position and he would for a long time yet while he carried out his silent vigil.

He didn't want to be interrupted by anyone.

But he didn't want to be alone with a corpse. It made Maes frightened that he was living a lie…and that he too was already dead.

What was Elicia going to do? She was three years old and loved her father to pieces. But she would forget him and he was selfish to want her to have him occupy her thoughts. He loved her so much…that was why…he wanted her to remember him.

Was he alive?

A part of his mind was screaming. Yes he was! He had to run and escape out of here and find Roy and inform the colonel about what was happening (even though he knew nothing because he was worthless). He had a beating heart and breathing lungs and a brain that could think and legs that could move.

He was desperate to get away from this room. He knew that it would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. But there was no escaping from the truth. It had run him down and swallowed Maes into its depths, like sinking sand. He had hoped and silently prayed that Kain would be alright. However, the truth thought otherwise.

Every higher power was mocking him now.

He couldn't give a shit.

"Sergeant, why did it have to be you?" Maes choked and clasped the cold hand a little tighter. He waited for the reaffirming grip, but nothing came. He sat there is silence for a few moments more before the door opened to the room.

"Are you keeping our guest company?" the man spoke joyfully. But Maes could feel his skull throbbing and before he knew it he was standing on his feet protectively, hiding Fuery from this bastard's view.

"Don't you dare…talk to him," Maes spat. His fingers curled, as if becoming claws. And then he slumped to his knees again. "We took so long, so long. I can't make it up to you, Kain."

The doctor came up behind Mae's left side and squeezed Hughes firmly on the shoulder. "His death was not in vain. He has unlocked something brilliant."

Maes grabbed the man's hand with his own weak grip and he was prepared to break some bones. He stopped himself. In the distance, he could see the outline of Fuery. It was clearer than his eyesight when he tried on new glasses. Thinking about it, he wasn't wearing any glasses. How was the image of Fuery so clear?

The younger man walked up to him and lifted his hand and brought it back down to his side. Of course. Fuery hated unnecessary violence. And Maes would not waste energy on a pathetic piece of shit that was mocking mocking MOCKING him-

His hands were shaking. Through his streaming tears, Maes watched Fuery smile. Hughes sniffled.

He had to respect Fuery's wish. He couldn't attack the madman.

"I've seen enough. But I'm sure there's more to see, isn't there?" Maes kept his hand firmly by his side. No matter how much he might be angered, he wouldn't. He would have to be the bigger person.

Even if he desperately wanted to break this man's jaw. At the moment, nothing could quash his grief apart from Fuery's ghostly appearance.

Hughes would never be able to justify why the pacifist Sergeant Kain Fuery had to die.

"Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, you are ever the detective," NoName madmen doctor killer Kimblee muttered. "Unfortunately, I cannot spoil the surprise before Phase III is ready.

"However, I can show you what your dear colleague contributed to the cause."

The man grabbed a piece of chalk from his pocket and sketched a transmutation circle onto the wall. Transmutation sparks flared. The room was lit for a moment and the surface of the wall shifted and moved until there was a hole. Within there was a strange apparatus with knobs and dials that Maes did not recognise. The main piece of equipment looked familiar…

He gasped. Fuery's radio.

"You bastard, Kimblee," Maes said falsely, the pleasant tone laced with poisonous spite.

"But I will tell you what happened to Einar Kimblee," the man smiled and transmuted the hole closed.

Hughes did not reply, but swallowed the bile rising in his throat and glared at the man with artificial light beaming around him, like a sickly halo.

"There was a boy. He wanted to make people smile. But his future was designed for him the day he was born. He was going to be a doctor. His older brother ignored him and his family despised him," Kimblee began.

"Roy never knew his parents," Maes interjected.

"There's always more to a story though," and the man's smile widened into a horrifically twisted grin. He looked dead, more dead than (oh god don't think about it).

"He was sold to the whores and beggars on the street when he refused to enrol to medical school. He lived in the sewers and his friends were vermin. Rats, piss and shit.

"There was a fire at the house where he grew up. The town went up in flames. He ran home, despite being dumped on Hell's doorstep. Parents were dead. Neighbours. The older Kimblee brother heroically helped to quash the flames, and the younger was convicted for arson and murder."

The man stared into Maes' eyes. There were no lies hidden here: "I returned home before. I thought I could apologise and show her my enrolment form for medical school… I saw Solf stab Mother's guts through the window and chuck her innards onto the fire for fuel, where Father's were rotting already. And I was convicted.

"But I ran and learnt from the shadows and studied biology and alchemy. I had the answers. I confronted the bastard of my blood and do you know what he said to me? 'You had some guts to come here, Roy Mustang'.

"To him, I had no name."

Maes was shaking as suddenly, the lights dimmed. Lazily, they flickered on and off before all went black.

Pinako Rockbell shrugged her aching shoulders and attempted to adjust her position on the uncomfortable seat she had to endure for the train ride to Turinene. Winry had been the one to contact her. She had never received a phone call from Winry asking her to travel with her to aid with automail repairs; she was always fiercely independent, just like her parents. That was why it was unusual that Winry had begged for her grandmother to come to Turinene.

She had had to say but one word to convince the older woman to come: "Ed".

The fool made his own sorry way back to Resembool if he needed repairs. Alphonse was usually in a state as well. It made Pinako want to whack them both in the head with a wrench, but Winry saw to that.

Pinako could barely remember the times that Winry had to travel to Central or goodness-knows-where for Ed and their other customers. This was only if Ed was incapacitated in hospital or physically unable to make it on the train. She was just very confused about being called away from her business…

She had closed up the shop for a week and had a specialist coming from Rush Valley to run the business for her while she was away. He was an old drinking friend and she knew him well. With those matters attended to, she had boarded the first train to depart to East City, where she had caught the exchange to take her to Turinene.

It was a quaint place, she had heard. The town was famous for its markets and fountain. But apart from that, it was a quiet farming town in the East Area. There was nothing unusual about it. And therefore, there was no reason why Ed should have broken his automail and needed maintenance.

Why had Winry called her? She had refused to elaborate on the phone.

And that meant that there was something seriously wrong with Ed and likely Alphonse too. There was no choice to be made. She would be by their sides by the evening.

Trisha, make sure your boys can hold out until I get there, she silently asked the boy's mother, who had loved them so much. Pinako had been there when both of them had been born. She thought the world of them, but she would never be Trisha. She hoped her strength would be enough.

Her thoughts rolled back to a strange encounter she had experienced that morning. After a short time on the train from Resembool, the train had stopped outside of one of the many towns along the route. There were too many for her to remember. She had been dozing when an ageing man had rushed past the train platform. He had had greying hair and carried a suitcase. Around his neck had been a stethoscope. But he had dropped something that was red, looking around warily to see if anyone had noticed. He had been in too much of a rush to delay and had stuffed the crystal-like object into his pocket and hurried on his way.

For some reason Pinako recognised the object. Those brothers wittered on about so much alchemy that she lost track about what they said. However, she knew instinctively that that stone was important.

Sorry for the brief hiatus. I've just finished my exams and they had to be a priority. I've got lots planned for this story after this break, so thank you for sticking with me on this (very bumpy) ride!

Hope you enjoy this update!