Disclaimer: I still don't own FMA or the words and their definitions.

A/N: I guess you don't need the warning since there has been a death in literally every chapter previous, but here's the warning: there is death in this chapter too. Be warned.

Truth: sincerity in action, character, and utterance

capitalized Christian Science : god

It was about time for a long overdue nap, and nothing contented Ed more than sleeping when he was supposed to be working.

He'd tried this some time ago, and Mustang had sent Armstrong to get Ed back on his feet, but Ed planned this out better than before. It might be hours before anyone found him, and even if they did, he'd fight them till death's doorstep before they could take him alive – and wasn't it funny that the thought of being killed didn't bother him anymore?

On the ground below, Al sat reading and comparing notes in his notebook. After a minute he glanced up uncertainly. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the dorm?"

Ed rolled over and patted the top of the shelf so Al could see. "I like it up here," he declared. There were perks to having a brother as tall as Al. Especially when he was, well, a little late on his growth spurt. Definitely not short; no, never that.

Al shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh.

Ed scrunched back up on the center of the shelf. Just lying here with his eyes closed, he felt more normal than he had in…huh, which repeat was he on? He'd lost count somewhere after the day he sneaked out Mustang's secret stash of alcohol and absconded to a storage closet to drink it all in petty revenge. Ah, that had been a good day; he barely remembered it.

Ed's shoulder blades dug groves into the shelf top. A soft groan of relief escaped him, and the tension holding his muscles taut slowly melted into the books below. He savored the moment, glad he could finally slow down and relax.

Thump-thump-thump

Ed's heart jumped, and his eyes popped open. Stiffly, he shifted to peer over the edge. Al turned a page in his book. No one else stood in sight.

Warily, he retreated back to his original position. The alchemist wouldn't come in the library. He couldn't be that stupid. Besides, unless he was certified, security wouldn't let him in anyway.

Not like that would stop Mustang, but Ed took some comfort in knowing there was a layer of protection before he had to get involved – if it came to that.

At intervals, his breathing evened and again he tipped toward unconsciousness. As the blackness swallowed him, a new color opened up. White blossomed in his vision, and the thickness of it choked him while black hands wrapped around his throat. A figure outlined only by its own blankness stood far back from Ed, the corners of its mouth beginning to tilt down.

"Again."

Ed jerked himself out of the trance between wakefulness and dreams. His hands hit solid wood on either side of him.

Still here.

He scrunched his eyes closed, and rolled onto his side, as though muffling the whispers with his arms. Ed tried forcing himself to settle back into a comfortable stance, and for a few moments, all was silent. Then–

Kuh-THUMP, Kuh-THUMP

He jerked himself upright, sure he heard the alchemist this time. Cautiously he leaned over the side and called down, "Hey Al, is anyone down there with you?"

Al looked around for him, but the search only confirmed their solitude.

That settled it. Ed was going crazy.

Abandoning the tantalizing idea of sleep, Ed jumped down beside Al and sulked against his side.

"I thought the shelf was comfortable," Al teased lightly.

"I got an idea, and now I can't sleep," Ed lied. In dichotomy, he rested more heavily into Al's armor. Maybe if he stayed close to someone he knew he could trust his mind would stop playing tricks on him.

Al turned another page.

"Hey," Ed sat straight, this time getting an actual idea. "Think they have any research about time travel?" He didn't wait for an answer before scrambling up and getting to work.

He could have slept all night for how awake he felt in that moment. A fresh approach to an old problem – his favorite kind of rush. He wasted no time in getting out every book and journal that addressed the topic of time.

Pen in hand, and Al by his side, Ed dug himself into the intoxicating zone of exclusive focus.

The first book only mentioned the possibility of time travel via mechanics – a theory more suitable for Winry's field of interest. Still, the part about divine forces allowing was interesting. Mustang or Ed alone had no power to cause the resets, but Truth…it had been primary on his mind since the beginning. It made sense too.

But then there was the theory that time only related to how fast you moved. So if Ed was somehow moving faster than everyone else but backwards…

"Hey, Brother?" Al shook Ed's shoulder gently.

"Mm?" Ed scribbled down a note.

"I asked you if you wanted to get something to eat. It's almost one, and you didn't eat anything when you got back."

"Uh-huh, sure."

Al hesitated. "How about I bring it to you?"

"Whatever you want, Al."

"Do you have any cenz on you? I left my pouch at the dorm."

"Huh?" Ed looked up. "Wha'didja say?"

Al sighed. "Can I have some money? I'm getting you lunch."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Ed searched his pockets, coming up empty. "Uh here," he pulled out his watch. "This should work fine as credit. You'll need it to get back in anyway."

"Okay." Al took the watch. "Anything you want in particular?"

"Mm…" Ed tapped his temple with his pen. "Yeah, bring me back some chocolate ice cream, will ya?"

Al stared. "…Brother, are you feeling alright?"

But Ed was already engrossed in his fifth book, translating the code like it was written by a child. He didn't pause again until he closed the cover of his sixth journal. The entire book was bogus, as were half of the other books. It seemed that he alone knew what a true time loop entailed. Most of the theories ran in circles while others indulged in pure fantasy.

This was getting him nowhere.

Ed stretched out, cracking his spine with a grunt. His stomach growled for attention. He frowned. Hadn't Al gone out for lunch? He should be back by now…

Ed wandered to the front desk. The librarian informed him that she hadn't seen him in some time. He had left at one. It was almost three.

… … … …

Ed checked HQ first. Call it a hunch, call it fear of the streets – whatever the reason, he was glad he went.

"Chief, what are you doing here?"

Ed stepped back in surprise as the remaining members of Mustang's team crowded him. "What do you mean?"

They ushered him inside, and that's when everything Ed had believed since the cycles began started to crumble.

"The front desk got a call a half hour ago," Havoc explained. "They transferred it up to the Colonel. It came from this alchemist that's been blowing apart half the city the past couple of days. He claimed to have you, and wanted to trade you for ransom. I mean, that's pretty bogus to begin with, and the Colonel called him on it. Nobody'd be stupid enough to think they could get away with something like that. But nobody's seen or heard from you since you left on your last assignment."

Falman took over, "The Colonel didn't want to risk it so he took Hawkeye and they left right after the call."

"So are you okay?" Fuery asked. "What happened?"

Ed shook his head. This was so wrong. The Colonel had dragged the entire team into the illusion that he was trying to save Ed.

…Unless it wasn't an illusion.

"I didn't get taken. I'm looking for Al. Has he been here?"

"Not since yesterday."

"He's been missing for hours. Are you sure you haven't seen him?"

Heads tilted back in concentration but came up with nil.

Anxiety and dread balled together in the pit of Ed's stomach. Determination settled hard on the surface. "Where were they going?"

"Who, boss?"

"Mustang and Hawkeye." Who else?

"I think I heard them say it was–"

… … … …

If Mustang hadn't hired someone to capture Ed, then the alchemist could have mistaken Al for the Fullmetal Alchemist. And if that had happened, then Al was the one suffering as hostage. If that was the case, and if Mustang had really intended to save Ed and not take advantage of the situation, then Mustang had never intended to kill him.

But that was only if.

Ed's mind whirled as he pounded pavement trying to get there in time. The destination came into sight. He skidded to a stop.

"…don't tell me, I can assure you that by the time anyone finds your smoking corpse, even your bones will be too charred to recognize."

Behind Mustang, Hawkeye attempted to alert him, "Sir."

"And that's just the start. So why don't you start talking and tell me where Fullmetal is."

"Sir, the rain," she tried to remind him.

Mustang brought his fingers together, ready to snap and show the alchemist's accomplice just how serious he was about setting him on fire.

Hawkeye just sighed.

Ed stepped into sight, defensive, and just a little bit perplexed. He didn't say anything, but the accomplice's eyes spotted him right off. With no small ounce of suspicion, Mustang followed the line of sight to see Ed standing in the lip of the street.

He almost dropped the guy's collar.

"You stole my kill," Ed strode forward, studying Mustang's eyes for duplicity; but the shock and relief emanating from the Colonel's stance seemed real. They weren't the eyes of a killer.

But then, Mustang had fooled him before, and not during this one day. Mustang had used him to accomplish his purposes before, and although he never accepted the blame, he never failed to remind Ed that he wasn't the one in charge if Ed ever put that to the test. But why interrogate the alchemist's accomplice? …Unless Mustang wasn't working with him.

"Edward," Hawkeye called out in equal relief and surprise.

And then there was Hawkeye. She couldn't be involved. Though she supported Mustang, she had her own set of values and stuck to them. But…she was also Mustang's right hand. Everything Mustang planned, she knew, or at least they worked in sync well enough that words were unnecessary to communicate.

But if they planned Ed's death together, then there would be no need to interrogate, and the fear on the accomplice's face was real enough.

Ed's insides revolted, and logic squirmed to repel the idea, but Ed didn't know where to find Al and…he was tired of giving in to his paranoia, no matter how real the threat.

He breathed deeply, straightened his sopping coat, and in the space of a stride, forced himself to trust.

"Don't stop on my account," Ed continued forward. "They've got Al, and when people mess with my brother, I get real unhappy." He raised an automail fist, ready to sucker punch this guy back for each time he had cheap shotted Ed before.

Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. "What Edward and the Colonel mean to say is that if you don't lead us to where you holding Alphonse," her gun clicked.

Edward flinched.

So did the accomplice.

"–there will be consequences."

It didn't take long after that to convince him to lead them.

Honestly, Ed expected questions, and he did get a few. Ones like, "Where were you this morning?" and "Why wasn't Al with you?". He answered honestly. There had come a point several repeats ago that Ed realized that it wasn't important to deceive or be honest. No one remembered anyway, and by this point he cared so little himself that he was indifferent about what anyone believed. It just so happened that telling the truth took the least effort between concocting something believable or not.

Aside from the questions, Mustang didn't say much save to complain about the dour weather. Walking to the side of the accomplice, Ed's jacket clung to his skin, and his braid thwaped his back with each bouncing step. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was with Mustang on this: he hated rain.

When they arrived on site, Ed was surprised to learn that the building he always woke up in was, in fact, a regular house. Well, a storage shed behind the house. That explained the chill that always settled on him during his moments of capture.

Hawkeye nodded at Ed, and Ed's lips curled upward with glee. One punch later she was able to chain the accomplice's limp hands to the backdoor stair rail. Satisfied, she retrieved her gun and came to stand beside Mustang as he poised to enter the shed.

Hawkeye glanced pointedly at his hands. "Sir."

Mustang looked at his hands as well. It took both him and Ed a moment to understand. Mustang's gloves were still soaked. With obvious distaste, he retrieved his pistol. Then, with a confirming glance at Hawkeye, Mustang burst through the door.

In a whirlwind, he assessed the situation. Al sat against the wall opposite them, patiently waiting for them to save the day. Ed felt his hackles rise at the sight of Al living this event in his place. He should be the one sitting there.

Mustang raised his gun and, without pausing to aim, shot at the alchemist just as he began to turn away from examining Al. The bullet ricocheted off Al's helmet, hitting the alchemist in the arm. "AAGHH!"

As he staggered away from Al's armor, Ed ran past Mustang and leaped onto his kidnapper with a flying tackle. "AAAHH!" He punched the man once, twice. This had been long in coming. Three, four, and once more with his flesh hand for good measure.

Hawkeye reached to pull him off before the alchemist could sustain any further face reconstruction.

Ed struggled in her grip, swinging his fist back, "Stay away from my brother!" he screamed. And he might have done more if Hawkeye hadn't gasped softly in his ear as she tugged him back.

Over on the other side of the room, Ed heard a clang. Mustang drew back his hand from Al's armless armor. His gaze connected with Hawkeye and a sort of understanding passed between them. About what, Ed didn't care. His focus derailed from the alchemist and set on Al. He dashed over and knelt beside his brother.

"Al, are you okay? They didn't hurt you, did they?" He couldn't believe he had made it through this hour without dying. Ed would never wish kidnapping and torture on Al, but maybe now he wouldn't face a repeat. Maybe this was what it would take to break the cycle, and now they would all be okay. "It's alright now," Ed reassured. He only hoped this hadn't scarred Al too much. Truth knew Ed would pulverize the alchemist for laying a finger on his brother to begin with. Mustang would have a hard time getting the guy into court in one piece.

Mustang placed a hand on Ed's shoulder. "Edward…" he spoke grimly.

Ed scowled at the contact and motioned to shrug off Mustang's hand, but then he saw it.

Al's soul fire eyes were dark.

"...Al?" He shook the armor gently, barely rocking it.

Nothing.

"Al!"

Ed grabbed the front of Al's breastplate and tore it off. The metal of Al's back was warped, fused to the wall. The blood seal lay stretched, deformed, and ruined at the center.

Alphonse…

He couldn't breathe.

This wasn't right. How could he let this happen? Ed knew what was coming; he of all people could have stopped this. Should have stopped this... He should be the one here in Al's place.

Ed's fist hit the ground, and he hunched over, curling into himself. He still couldn't breathe. His only reason for doing so was dead. His chest constricted painfully, and he reached out a hand to brush the seal, as if he could do something to save him. As if he could ever do anything right when it came to Al. Ed gasped suddenly, air rushing into his lungs in rebellion and pushing back outward in chest-wracking sobs.

"Edward," Mustang gently tugged him away the sight. Ed numbly allowed himself to be moved, too shocked to respond immediately. As Mustang reached the opposite side of the room, Ed startled to awareness in a panic. Desperate and hopeless, Ed lunged to close the distance, but Mustang was right there, wrapping his arms firmly around Ed, constraining him and letting him struggle pitifully. He heaved a sob and with that, shut down. He bent into Mustang's embrace. Mustang lowered them to the ground, and Ed limply followed his motions.

"This is my fault," he panted.

"No," Mustang quietly denied. "It wasn't."

"I couldn't save him," Ed argued, entirely exhausted of energy and will.

Mustang reassured, "There was nothing you could do." He was comforting rather than commanding. Helping instead of hurting. And wasn't that a change too? Rather than die on the ground with Mustang's hasty gun in his face, Ed was folded in the man's arms crying about something that didn't have to happen.

...didn't have to happen.

None of this had to happen.

He was so tired...the tears kept trickling down even as his hiccuped sighs abated.

There was nothing you could do.

No, he could fix this. He was the only one who could fix this. And this was his mess to fix.

Ed drew in a deep breath and lunged for Mustang's gun. The sudden motion had Mustang releasing him in surprise, but as Ed backed himself into a corner, dragging the loaded weapon with him, both officers stooped in to stop him. Trembling, Ed pressed the barrel to his temple and pleaded, "I'm done. I'm done. No more. Just, please, no more."

Mustang crouched not two feet from Ed, carefully positioning himself to cover Al's mangled armor from sight. Ed's eyes rested on Mustang, but the image of Al stained his vision.

Maybe this was what true madness was: believing his own demise could fix a problem. But, well, couldn't it? He'd always known that if he sacrificed himself he could restore Al's body. Now he was doing something similar, restoring Al's life and ignorance. Al shouldn't have gotten caught in the crosshairs of Ed's screwed up life.

…Why hadn't he pulled the trigger yet? He didn't really care about living. Ed lived for others, for Al. Al was dead, so why hesitate?

He didn't want to do this. Ed's breath trembled as cold reality shocked him with the prospect of dying once more. No matter what anyone said, death wasn't a painless release. Even if only for a second, he could feel the burn of a bullet drilling through bone. He didn't want to do this again. And maybe part of it was that inkling of a lasting conviction never to take a life, even if to save someone else. But could he do it if that someone else was Al?

Ed scrunched his eyes shut. He was too tired to think logic through anymore. He just had to go with what he knew. And he knew he couldn't live without Al. Ed would have inhaled deeply if his hysteria hadn't swallowed his ability to do so. His finger twitched tighter on the trigger.

For Al–

"STOP!" Mustang bellowed, startling Ed's eyes open. "Edward, please. I'll help you; I promise. Just please let me have the gun back."

As though detached from his own body, Ed stared in frozen shock.

Mustang wanted to help him? Mustang? The man who, intentionally or not, killed Ed at the end of every day? Sure, Ed knew the truth now, but, it didn't change the fact:

"You can't help me."

Mustang reached forward and pleaded, "I can, and I will." Noting Ed's razor focused attention, he added, "I promise."

In shifting, Ed could now see Al's empty armor. Still wading through shock and grief, Ed whispered, "I can't do this again."

"You don't have to," Mustang reassured.

Ed almost laughed.

Against everything he had built against Mustang in past repeats, Ed forced himself to trust.

"Promise?"

"I promise," Mustang confirmed.

He had no idea what he was committing to.

Ed gripped the gun hard.

To stop this timeline from ever existing–

To Truth more than to himself, he begged, "Again," and pulled the trigger.

-Dante