VII
Memento Mori
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rewind
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Trisha can't breathe; she can't move; she can only sit and stare numbly at the wall, in the near-exact position Sara left her, her mind overloaded with such horror that it feels like she's simply shut down.
Ed. Her Edward.
Her little toddler who had been so offended at Al's birth that he wouldn't even look at his brother for days, and continued to mistrust him until Van talked sense into him—
Her strong little boy she thought she brought up right, because for at least three years now Ed has been alarmingly attached to his brother and violently protective of everyone he loves—
She thought she knew her baby boy, thought for sure that whatever he grew up to be, he'd be a good person, protective and capable and caring…
But she must have done something wrong; she must have messed up somewhere, because what else could possess him to join the ranks of the State Alchemists at the age of fifteen?
(Visions of her little boy fighting a war, bleeding and killing and dying...Even if it's absurd, and surely he has only joined recently, that is all she can see, and she can't stand it.)
She's sure he's qualified for the position; that isn't at all the issue. If he's half as good at alchemy as his father… But even Van had refused to join the military, had not wanted to tether himself to such a violent establishment…
So why? Why would he ever apply? Why would they ever accept him? And, most importantly,
Why did she ever allow it?
Her mind has shut down and yet it's running at full speed, because she doesn't know whether to be horrified with herself or with her son and everything is wrong, because the thought of her Edward (flashes of a toddler laughing, building block towers, concentrating so hard on his transmutations) becoming a State Alchemist is just so absurd…
But she held the watch in her hands; she heard the admission from his own mouth. There's no way to excuse this…
She needs answers…
And suddenly, another, new, thought enters her mind…but instead of reassuring her, distracting her, it only horrifies her further.
What about Alphonse?
She doesn't think she can believe the armor is for "alchemy training," not anymore; it's far too bulky, far too empty whenever it moves…he can't possibly be big enough to fill it.
(And the more urgent thought—if Edward is in the military and Alphonse is not, where does that leave her boys?)
She's moving, she realizes; she's on her feet and walking slowly toward her boys' room as if being controlled by some sadistic puppeteer. She can't, but she needs to; she can't betray her sons' trust like this, but she can't live in ignorance any longer.
This is it, and there's no going back.
Standing in the doorway as the dim hall light does its best to illuminate their room, she can only stare at her boys for a moment. Edward is curled into a ball under his covers, his face contorted and tearstained…but the nightmares, at least, seem to have spared him tonight.
(But were those a lie as well?)
The cot they set up for Alphonse is empty, with sheets tucked neatly back; instead, her younger son is folded into himself against the wall nearest Ed. The eye sockets are dark; he is clearly asleep…
A surge of huge, irrational terror floods her, because the armor is just so wrong, and as hard as she might try, she cannot reconcile it with the image of her baby boy. Her Al is sweet and kind, gentle to a fault; he once came running inside, crying because he had stepped on a butterfly…
But this armor…it's enormous and dangerous and wrong and she can't take this anymore. She needs to see her son's face, needs to know that this, at least, is all right…
(Because if even Alphonse is ruined, has been destroyed by her parenting or his brother's influence or his own choices, she's not sure she could stand it.)
So instead of stepping toward Edward she approaches Alphonse, her breath short and the world spinning because she'll surely be damned for this but maybe it doesn't matter anymore. (She's already been condemned for all she has done to her sons, after all.) And she knows that this is the catalyst that will change everything, change her world, so she simply reaches forward and carefully pulls the helmet from his head.
She isn't entirely sure what she's expecting to see. Perhaps he has been terribly deformed, forever scarred by some horrific accident; perhaps, whispers that last, desperate corner of her mind, he really is just going through training…
But whatever she's expecting, whatever her crumbling mind is prepared to see, this is not it…
Because the armor is empty.
This isn't right—can't be right! Hasn't he said he can't remove it? Haven't they both insisted that he leave the helmet on because Teacher will kill us if he takes it off and she's scary when she's mad so we don't want to risk it and that's okay, isn't it Mom?
(The pain on Edward's face as he said the last one is fresh and clear in her mind.)
But wasn't she thinking mere seconds ago that maybe they aren't being tutored, that maybe this Teacher doesn't really exist? That maybe there is a more sinister reason for Al to hide his face…
She is ready to carefully replace the helmet and hunt down her son—wherever he is—and demand answers… But then she feels a gentle pressure on her arm, and hears a rattling she's come to associate with the armor, and Al's terrified, quiet voice fills the room—
"Mom…"
The helmet crashes to the floor; her gaze flashes around the room, searcing for her son, searching for his voice, searching (begging) for an explanation—
But the only movement other than the steady rise and fall of Edward's blankets is her own heaving chest, so she turns back to the armor (she's terrified of it)—
And it's moving, now, reaching slowly for the helmet at its feet and fixing it back upon its head. And then it stands up, and Trisha screams.
It freezes mid-crouch, the eye sockets (they're empty they've always been empty where is her baby boy) glowing in the darkness like twin pits of Hell. She wants to run, to grab Edward and just run because there is a disembodied suit of armor in his bedroom and God knows what it will do to them—
Whatever this is, it isn't isn't ISN'T Alphonse, and she needs to get as far away from it as she can—
"Mom…?"
There's that voice again, and it does sound so much like Al's should (it wavers and dips and sobs and she would feel guilty except this isn't her son). But it isn't him - can't be him! Whatever this is—some freak accident of alchemy, some monster that only wants to bring pain by pretending to be her little boy…
"What are you?" Her voice is biting and accusatory, and she's standing protectively in front of Edward now. He is mercifully still asleep—won't realize just yet that this isn't his brother—but he's defenseless against whatever kind of monster this is.
It recoils, stumbling into the wall as its hands spring forward, palms out pleadingly as the head shakes in denial. "Mom, it's—it's me, it's Al—"
"No, you're not!" Whatever this is, it is not her son—can't possibly be her baby boy, because her instincts over the past two days were right. Al can't be this big and the armor is too wrong and something is off about her sons and she knows what it is now. But instead of feeling relieved, instead of feeling inspired to fix it, she only feels rage and terror and emptiness, because this is worse than she has ever imagined and Alphonse is missing and this armor has taken his place and how will Edward take the news?
"Mom, please—"
The hands fall; the armor leans forward; the voice is desperate and imploring. Trisha only deepens her scowl (she's not strong and she knows this, but she'll do anything to protect her remaining son) and snarls,
"Get out. Don't you even think about hurting my son, or I'll tear you apart."
(She means every word.)
The armor is silent and unmoving for several seconds, but she doesn't back down, doesn't avert her gaze, until it slumps and dashes out of the room. (She pretends not to hear the hopeless sob that sounds too much like Alphonse.) The footsteps recede down the stairs, and she hears the front door slam open and then shut.
And then, finally, blessed silence.
A sob escapes her own lips, now, loud and hysterical, because if that isn't Alphonse then where is her son? Edward clearly believes that the armor is his brother, but she cannot fathom why—has he been tricked or driven mad or is he in on it, does he know the truth behind the lies?
She finds that she's fallen to the ground, now, barely realizing what is happening as she gently, absentmindedly, runs her fingers through Edward's hair. Ed. Her little boy. Her son who is definitely who he says he is, has no mask or helmet to shield his face…
(he's a dog of the military)
One son is a soldier and the other is missing. One is being impersonated by a living suit of armor and the other has fallen for the trick…
She needs to make this better, but she doesn't know where to start. The exhaustion and the horror have caught up with her, now, and she's drowning with no rescue in sight…
How can she possibly fix this?
She doesn't realize she's crying until Edward sits up sleepily, rubbing something off his face. (His own tears from the night before or hers? She supposes it doesn't matter.) "Mom…? What's wrong?"
His voice catches and his face falls, because surely he thinks all that has happened in the past several hours is his fault. (She hasn't known her fifteen-year-old Ed for very long, but she's seen enough to know he's inherited both hers and his father's guilt complexes…and it kills her to see it on his face.) But he can't be further from the truth; in no way is any of this his fault. They just need to get this resolved so he can have his brother back.
"Where's Al?" he tries again after several seconds of silence. He sounds more curious than worried as he apparently notices the absence of the armor, though he glances at her with apprehension in his eyes as he continues, "He getting you water or something?"
She flinches harshly, and Ed doesn't miss it; his eyes focus on her again, and his left hand grasps her arm tightly. "Mom, really, are you okay?"
She's not, and they both know it, so there's no point in lying when it's such an important issue. (This will tear him apart.) "The—the armor, Edward." She grasps both his shoulders in her hands (she notices that the right seems off, but now is not the time) and looks him straight in the eye. "That's not your brother…"
The blank surprise on his face is not at all what she is expecting. "'Course it's Al, Mom! What're you talking about—"
"It's not," she insists, gripping his arms tighter (why is his right so much stiffer than his left) and willing him to understand. "I—I saw, inside the armor. There's nothing there, it's empty. Whoever—whatever—that is, it's not Al."
His mouth falls open and all the color drains from his face at once; his eyes only search her face for a moment, as if begging her to say she's lying, it isn't true, because it has to be his brother—
But his response, a croak barely audible from his trembling lips, surprises her again. "You—you took his helmet off?"
"Yes," she says quickly, because that really isn't the important part of the conversation, is it? "And it was empty but it moved and—"
She realizes that she is shaking, and Edward is shaking, and that strange clicking noise that is usually drowned out by the armor is filling her mind until she can barely think. "What is that noise?" she demands of him, and more tears fall down her cheeks as her grip on Edward tightens. "Enough of this. What is going on?"
Edward's face is the color of the sheets: a sickly white that offsets the horror in his eyes. She can't ignore his right arm anymore; she can't stand the clicking; she releases her son, wrapping her arms around her head and curling into himself.
(She wants to scream out all her anguish and frustration, but her voice seems to have failed her at last.)
"Mom…Mom, listen to me." Edward's voice shakes terribly, and as he tilts her head up (with his left hand, she notices), tears are falling from his own eyes. She can't stand to see her son in such distress, but she can't seem to move to comfort him…(Useless)
"You have to believe me, okay? I swear to you—I swear on my life that it's Al. It's—it's complicated—we were going to tell you in the morning—"
"Tell me what?" She makes a grab for his right arm again, but he pulls it back like she's poisonous. "What have you not been telling me?"
His mouth contorts, down down down until the emotional agony on his face looks physically painful. His eyes look away as he replies, "Just…do you know where he went? We need—we need to find him…"
His words hold a desperation, and even if Trisha is not sure she believes his conviction…maybe finding the armor will prove it either way, once and for all. "He—he just left. I don't know where…"
He swears under his breath (and quickly sends a terrified glance toward her. Under any other circumstances, she would rebuke him, but now is not the time) before throwing on his boots and heading for the door. "We need to find him, Mom, come on—"
She is slower to get to her feet, because some irrational force that says the armor is not your son is almost physically holding her back. But Edward is her son, and she can't stand to see him in such pain…so she pulls herself up, quickly retrieves shoes and a sweater from her bedroom, and follows him out the door.
She used to think Resembool at night was soothing—quiet and lonely, but comforting at the same time. As a teenager, she spent hours on the front stoop, simply staring up at the stars…
But tonight is so very different. Edward has a tight grip on her hand (always his left) and is running out across the lawn, shouting his brother's name to the heavens.
"ALPHONSE! Where are you?"
There is no answer; as they stop to listen, Trisha cannot even hear the armor clanking as it moves. She's not sure how she's supposed to feel about this, but Ed's face is steadily draining of the little color it had left. After a few seconds he veers to the side, toward the river.
Of course. Her Al always goes down here when he's upset, when Ed talks without thinking or someone laughs at him in school. She wants to encourage Ed that surely this is where he'll be, because the panic is clear on his face now, but he's yelling to the night—
"Al, don't you dare—you idiot, stay out of the water—"
But when they pass through the line of trees, come upon the river…as Trisha looks around wildly for any sign of her son, she realizes that he has never been here.
There is little light to go by—the moon is full but half-obscured by lingering clouds—but she does not see the armor; she doesn't see any footprints, doesn't see any signs at all that he has passed through here.
(And she wonders why Ed is so desperate about the water, but there are much more pressing matters at hand. Maybe she'll ask him later.)
Ed swears again and takes off back the way they came; Trisha can only watch as the panic settles more firmly on his face. Resembool may not have many inhabitants, but it's still large, and the armor—Al—could be anywhere by now—
"Would he—would he have gone to the Rockbells'?" she asks tentatively, quietly, because if she really has screwed up this badly (if that's Al and she threatened him, denied him as her son) then Edward has every right to be furious. But he is nothing of the sort—he only stares in the direction of that little yellow house for a moment before slowly shaking his head.
"He wouldn't want to bother them…especially if they're asleep…"
She has no idea where else Alphonse might have run, where he might have taken refuge after she was so hateful…but Edward's eyes turn west, toward town, and the pain so clear on his face only deepens as he realizes.
"I think…I think I know where he is…"
And before she can ask, before he explains any more, he has tightened his grip on her hand and taken off toward town.
Trisha has no idea what is in this direction; it is well past midnight; all the shops are closed, and the merchants are asleep. The train station doesn't run at this hour...what else is there—
But then Ed veers south, up a dirt road she knows well, and her heart sinks as she realizes where they're headed—
The cemetery.
But Al hasn't known anyone who's died! (At least, whispers the malevolent corner of her mind, your Al hasn't…) Urey's father died years before Alphonse was born, and no one else…
But there he is, curled into a ball on the ground near the gates, staring at an empty patch of grass.
Silent. Unmoving.
"Al!" Ed's voice cracks, and the relief is so strong in his tone that Trisha can barely stand it. "Al, we've been looking all over for you—"
The armor turns at the sound of his voice but does not stand. Now that Trisha knows, it's so obvious that it's empty…the clanging of the joints is far too hollow; he's hunched over with his head on his knees like a child…
(He's only fourteen…)
"Brother…" he acknowledges before glancing at Trisha; he averts his gaze quickly, looking terrified and ashamed, before continuing to Ed, "You should be asleep…"
"Like hell I'm sleeping when you're out here on your own!" He releases Trisha's hand to rush forward, punching the shoulder of the armor. (It almost seems like he's avoiding looking at the empty plot, as if terrible things will happen if he does.) "Don't ever do that again, I was so worried—I thought you were down at the river, thought maybe you'd—"
He laughs, hollowly, without humor. "Don't be stupid, Brother...I'm the one who yelled at you, with Scar..." (Trisha doesn't understand, can't comprehend the implications of such a statement, but she is given no chance to ask.) "I—I had to go. Mom told me to leave…" His voice is barely audible; his hands twist together and he stares at the ground as he continues, "I had to…"
"She didn't mean it," Ed says quickly, forcefully, glancing back at Trisha as if daring her to disagree. "'Course she didn't mean it—it's the middle of the night, nobody's been thinking straight this whole time we've been here—"
His voice cracks, though, and Al's head is shaking in denial even before he finishes speaking. "That's not true...you know that's not true..."
Trisha's been conflicted, these past several minutes; she's been confused and terrified and entirely unsure of what is happening to her sons. But no one—no one—can fake the defeat in Alphonse's voice. That is so assuredly her son that her cruelty earlier feels like a stab to the gut... She's moving forward, now, putting a light hand on the metallic shoulder. (She doesn't wince at the contact—not this time.) She needs to make this right. "Alphonse, I know it's you...I'm so sorry..."
Words have failed her, but she knows she needs to continue. Alphonse is one of the most important parts of her life...and he needs to know that. "I—I was scared, and confused, but I never should have—"
"You shouldn't be apologizing for anything!" His voice is suddenly loud and hysterical, and both Trisha and Edward jump. He stands up abruptly, tears the helmet from his shoulders, and bends over so Trisha can see inside. (It's still empty.) "I'm not even human! Look at me! I'm hardly your son if you can't even see my face!"
Edward opens his mouth, looking incredulous and outraged, but Trisha answers first. Her son. Her baby boy. It's true that she can't see his face, but the self-loathing is so clear in his voice... "I don't care what you look like," she says, and her voice is so strong that she surprises even herself. "I don't care what you've done, or what's happened to you, or why your brother joined the military. All I care about is that you're Alphonse, and I've known you since the moment you were born. All I want to do is help."
The three of them are quiet for several moments, and Trisha feels a chasm opening up between them as the silence stretches ever-longer. She can't...why can't she understand? Her bravado is suddenly gone; whatever fire was pushing those words past her lips has suddenly gone out. "Please..."
The trance is broken; Al collapses to the ground with a sob, dropping the helmet beside him. Edward follows quickly after, leaning against his brother's arm and looking anywhere but his mother's eyes. (So much guilt. What could he possibly be blaming himself for?) Trisha hesitates before sitting down on the ground as well, facing them, a certain distance away because her presence can only ever cause them pain.
(What has she done wrong?)
(And, more importantly, how can she make it better?)
"I lied to you," Al says quietly, at length, and the way he chokes out the words shows so clearly how reluctant he is to say them. "Last night...when we were talking...I lied to you."
She's known this; she realized this hours ago, when the stories stopped lining up and she stopped being able to accept them. But she doesn't say this, doesn't say anything, because he's talking of his own accord now and surely that is easier on all three of them.
"Not everything," he says after a moment, quickly, as if trying to redeem himself. "Just...just some things..."
He trails off, starts pulling at the grass next to him, and Trisha knows she must prompt him to get more information. "Which parts did you lie about, sweetie?" She's not angry—can't possibly be angry, because he so clearly regrets it now...
He laughs, but the sound is haunted and hollow and sends shivers down her spine. It's several seconds before he replies—
"The part...about Dad coming home..."
.
(Full stop.)
.
She must have heard him wrong. She must have, because if Van never came home—hadn't Al said he saved her life?
But...
It's all making a sickening amount of sense, now, and as much as she needs to deny the truth of his words, it's impossible, because...
If Van never comes home, she dies, and that's such an impossible concept. But haven't they both been acting like they haven't spent time with her in years? Hasn't she been thinking that they seem oddly attached to her?
"I—I didn't—" She's stumbling over her words, now, because her mind has processed it but is still refusing to accept the truth. (She's in shock. But the diagnosis doesn't make it any easier.) She needs to respond, but there's nothing to say; her mind has betrayed her; this can't possibly be right. "I get sick and then—and then I die?"
Both of her sons flinch harshly at her words, shattering any illusion of hope left within her. She is going to fail her boys in the worst way possible—she'll leave them utterly alone in a vast and terrifying world, with a father who never comes home and a mother who wasn't able to protect them...
(What kind of woman does that to her children?)
It's all there, all of it, and she doesn't realize tears are streaming down her face until Ed leans forward, carefully (he's treating her like something precious and fragile why hasn't she seen this before), and wipes her cheek. "Mom...please, it wasn't your fault...it—an epidemic—by the time Auntie and Uncle Rockbell had a cure, you couldn't..."
He's crying as well, now, despite the way he's trying to stop her tears. Alphonse (he can't cry, she realizes. Suits of armor can't cry or eat or sleep and where in the world is his body if not here?) is heaving empty sobs behind Ed, his ever-neutral face showing no emotion but his body language revealing everything.
This...her sons are in such pain...and, just as she feared, she is the cause of it.
She pulls Edward into a hug, tight and desperate because maybe if I never let go everything will be okay. But that's a childish notion, and she knows it; she's supposed to be the adult, responsible and fearless and invincible. But clearly, that's not true either.
This is my fault.
"I...Al told you, it's about a year from now," Ed mumbles into her shoulder, and though his voice is barely audible Trisha hears every word. "Maybe...I don't know if it'll work, but...just...can you try and be strong? Maybe, just...if you don't...everything will be okay. We'll be okay..."
And somehow, even though she wishes she could take his words to mean exactly what they seem to be—we'll be happy and we'll have a mother and even if Dad never comes home it'll be fine—she's not sure it's true. Something about the despair deep within his voice, Alphonse's body...and the fact that he became a State Alchemist...
(It wouldn't have been for the money. Van left them a sizable amount when he left, amassed through his centuries of travel, and it would be more than enough for the two of them to live on. But if not for that, then why?)
"What happened to you?" she asks in a hushed voice, stroking Edward's hair gently as her shoulder is stained with his tears. "It's not just that...I'm not important...Sara and Urey and Pinako would have taken care of you..."
(But it was an epidemic...did they submit as well? It's a horrifying thought, but not outside the realm of believability...after all she has learned tonight...)
Edward seems beyond words, but Al answers in his stead; he's still staring at the patch of empty ground, and Trisha realizes with a horrifying jolt that this must be where she will be buried. "We...we couldn't take it...we read up on human transmutation and worked for years to try and bring you back..."
She freezes, one hand wrapped protectively around Ed's back and the other at the crown of his head. No... "You didn't..." Even she knows that human transmutation is illegal, is impossible, is almost a certain death sentence. She isn't worth that...she isn't worth her children's lives...
But their silence is answer enough.
She wants to scream at them, because why would they ever do anything so stupid? Such a thing is dangerous and lethal, and surely they knew it had never worked...but the despair so clear in their voices, in their bodies...she doesn't have the heart to yell. Instead, "How badly—what—what happened?" She only manages a croak, a dim whisper of her usual voice. How can she stop this? What could she possibly say to her sons, to her small boys who, now, wouldn't consider such a thing, to convince them against it? To convince them that she is not worth the risk?
Nothing. She realizes immediately that nothing and no one will stop Edward when he sets his mind to something, and even if Al is much more gentle than his brother, he's just as determined. The wrongness is sickening, but nothing else makes sense in such a situation...in the Hell she will hurl her sons into...
"It took...it took me," Al says very quietly, and he's curled into himself again, his arms around his knees as he stares somewhere several inches in front of Trisha. "Brother saved my life...got my soul back...but my body's still..."
Soul. Body. She suddenly feels ill, terribly nauseous, like Edward's tightening grip is the one thing binding her to reality. She's never understood the more in-depth alchemical theory...Van mentioned it on occasion, but...
His body was taken? That's why he's a hollow suit of armor? But how are they going to get it back?
"That's—that's why I'm a State Alchemist," Ed mutters, speaking again even as his voice trembles dangerously. "The research opportunities...the restricted libraries in Central...it's the best chance we have to get his body back. It's all my fault..." Here, his voice catches, and he has to swallow shakily before he can continue, "Everyone says it's impossible, but Mustang and the others are helping us as much as they can..."
Of course. She feels a sudden surge of pride in her sons, despite all she has been thinking to the contrary; Edward's joining the military was not an abandonment of his brother, as she had feared. He's doing everything he can to fix this, fix this tragedy that has clearly torn them apart... And even if she wishes so desperately that there is another way, she knows that there's not. Her little boys, so strong...
"Mustang?" she says, before she can help herself, because she does not recognize the name. It's a small thing, unimportant compared to the rest of the conversation...but, maybe, if she distracts herself from the tragedy unfolding before her...
"Commanding officer," he mutters, as if he'd rather not think about it. "He can be a bas—a jerk—sometimes," he corrects himself quickly, and Trisha almost finds that she wants to smile at his effort to keep his vocabulary clean, "but he gives us leads on people that might be able to help...books that might be useful...he's an alchemist himself..." He pauses a moment, as if wondering whether to continue, before he says, "That's where we were when the transmutation activated...his office. They'll keep us...them...safe, until this is all over..."
There's a lull in the conversation, while Trisha tries to process this new (damning) information. Even if this 'Mustang' clearly facilitated Edward's appointment to the military, she can't help but be thankful...because if Edward trusts him to look after her younger set of sons, she does as well. (And that is an enormous weight off her shoulders, even as this huge burden is being loaded on. They're together and they're safe, but look at what will happen to them if she fails.) Clearly, Mustang cares for her sons on some level; she wouldn't doubt that he has been the father figure her boys were never allowed to have...
Van never comes home.
It's like a punch to the gut, to know that he is gone, somewhere...perhaps dead (though, from what she understands, that would be an impressive feat), perhaps lost, perhaps simply abandoning them... She doesn't want to believe it, but what other options are there? What else could keep him away from his family during such a time?
"What...what happened with your father?" she asks in a hushed voice, almost afraid to bring it up, because she knows that both of them will react badly. And even though she is sure Van has a good reason for being away...leads a more complicated life than even she knows...her sons don't understand this about him, and she's sure they hate him for it.
Sure enough, Edward lets slip a few choice words she pretends not to hear before muttering, "We tried to find him—called every single one of his contacts when you got sick. No one knew where he was. We haven't seen him since he left..."
She says nothing to this, because what can she say? She can't explain his situation, as she doesn't quite understand it herself...Al may listen to reason, but she's sure Ed has already made up his mind...
She's thinking about this instead of everything else, focusing on the least terrible fact of this conversation. But things like Alphonse is without a body and in their future, I've been dead for nine years and Edward is still a member of the military are encroaching slowly upon her thoughts, and she knows she can't put them off much longer. She's trying so hard to be strong, because her sons are so broken before her that she can't possibly do anything else, but this isn't going to last forever.
Their lives have been thrown into the deepest pits of Hell, and it's all because she wasn't strong enough to survive.
Something else is nagging at her, pulling at her mind and asking for release, but she cannot focus on this because all she can think is that her family is going to fall apart. She's sobbing, now, into Edward's hair—great, hysterical choking sobs that barely allow her breath...
I die. I die and leave Ed and Al alone, and in their desperation to bring me back they nearly lose their lives...
"I'm not worth this..." she's able to say, though she's not sure they can understand her when her voice is so distorted. "You shouldn't have...I'm not worth anything..."
Edward's grip is tightening again—her left side is starting to feel pinched, pained, because of the force—and Alphonse pulls himself forward, trembling and filling the graveyard with the sound of the armor. (She barely has the presence of mind to be glad no one else is here.) "Of course you are, Mom...you're—you're the best. I'd give anything to have you back, in the future...even if it means I'll never get my body..."
"Don't you say that!" Her gaze snaps in his direction, though her vision is swimming terribly and nothing is right anymore. "Don't you ever say that! You don't need me, you've been fine all these years...but now you can't even...you can't—you have to get your body back...you're miserable..."
She can't continue; she only bows her head into Edward's hair in despair. How can they possibly think she is so important? She's never been anyone special; she's just been Trisha Elric, wife and mother and friend. She does her best to love and help and be kind and do everything she can for others, but surely that isn't irreplaceable. She's...she's just Trisha...
Ed's grip shifts, as if he's trying to hold her tighter. But her left side is suddenly caught in something, and the pinching turns from uncomfortable to painful, and she lets out a gasp before she can stop herself. Edward lets go of her faster than she thinks possible, looking up at her with huge red-rimmed eyes and holding his right arm away from himself, as if denying that it's a part of him...
That arm. She knows so much, now, knows the terrible things that have happened to her sons...but this one question still hasn't been answered. His arm is stiff and unyielding and painful...it doesn't make any sense...
(Of course, nothing is making sense right now.)
She needs to know but can't possibly ask, because the agony so clear on Edward's face (so, so young—he shouldn't have to go through this) looks physically painful. How can she ask any more of him...?
But in the end, she doesn't need to say anything. Ed holds her gaze for several more seconds, his golden eyes almost glowing eerily in the dim light, and then slowly pulls back his sleeve to his elbow.
She holds his gaze a moment longer before allowing her eyes to drift downward. And her breath catches in her throat when she sees; the world turns upside-down; whatever she has been thinking is the cause of the stiffness and the clicking and the pain, this is not it...
His arm is gone, and automail has taken its place.
She realizes, almost immediately, what must have taken it. That damned transmutation... Not only did it take Alphonse, it took Edward's arm; it was greedy and unforgiving and cruel. They're...they're only children, even now, and if he's already gained full control of the automail, they must have been so much younger when they lost everything...
"For Al's soul," he says, very quietly, and his eyes are shielded by his bangs now, as if he's too ashamed to meet her gaze. "I—I didn't have much time, couldn't think—Al was gone and my leg was gone and there was just so much blood and..."
His head sinks lower in self-disgust, and she can see his hands balled into badly-shaking fists. Her mind registers the information about his leg (a pang of horror—that must be automail as well), but then Al commands her attention, is leaning forward, so she can see the inside of his neck. And though the light is dim, though there is only the faintest pre-dawn glow to see by, she can see the ghost of a small circle inscribed there. She realizes—that must be the array that...that is keeping him here...
He shifts a bit, and the light catches it just right, and then the circle looks too red too red too red and she realizes what truly happened.
Blood. The circle is drawn in blood...
Her Edward was entirely on his own in that moment...bleeding out from a missing leg and watching the aftermath of the transmutation, whatever it created... And yet all he could think was that he needed to save his brother. So he...he used his own blood, gave up his arm just to bring Al back to safety...
She can't...
She feels irrational pride combating the all-consuming grief, because her boys are so brave but how could they have possibly lived through that, how are they still the good people she knows and loves? They're—they're so strong, stronger than they should ever need to be...
She can think of nothing else to do but pull them both into an embrace—pull them into her arms and hope that, if only for this moment, they can feel safe and protected. They have been on their own for far too long; they've had to take care of each other and look after each other and sacrifice so much that she can't even imagine the pain...
But she knows, immediately, that she can change that. She can change the future—she can fix her sons' lives so they can grow up happy...
(She won't die, so they won't be alone. She won't die, so they won't attempt to resurrect her. She won't die, so they won't have to tether themselves to the military... She can only hope that her best effort will be enough.)
She can do this. All she has to do is survive, right? Survive, knowing that her husband will never come home...but also knowing what is in store for her sons if she succumbs.
Right now, she's forcing herself to focus on her boys, to stay strong for them just as they have been strong for each other. But she knows her composure won't last forever...
Her sons, though, are always, always, more important. And if they have been so brave for all these years, she can be brave as well; she can be the mother they remember and love.
(And only when she knows she is alone will she allow herself to break.)
.
fastforward
.
It isn't until Ed's been gone for almost fifteen minutes that Maes starts to think something's wrong.
He allowed him to go to the bathroom on his own; after all, the Ed he knows is stubbornly independent, to the point of recklessness, and Maes knows this Ed wouldn't have been happy if he insisted on accompanying him. But the bathroom isn't far at all; he can see the door from their table. He figures, this way, Ed's "I'm an adult" streak will be satisfied, and he can still make sure he's all right.
Of course, after a while, he starts to worry.
"Is Brother okay?" Al asks, looking worriedly toward the bathroom door. (He hasn't touched his lunch.) "Why's he taking so long?"
Winry looks concerned as well, but she glances toward the front door instead. "Mister Hughes, would you mind checking on him...?"
He nods and stands up immediately, because something isn't right here and he refuses to put those little boys in more danger than they already are. (Something is pulling at the back of his mind, something like Ed's near-miss at the abandoned laboratory, and it does nothing to quell his unease.)
He almost isn't surprised when he finds the bathroom empty; he only turns around quickly, glancing around for the hostess (she isn't there) before asking an elderly couple at the nearest table—"Have you seen a little blond boy go by here? Blue shirt and khaki shorts..."
"Didn't we, dear?" The woman turns to her husband for confirmation before continuing, "He walked right out the front door. I thought of stopping him, but—"
Maes swears under his breath and takes off, calling a hasty "thanks" over his shoulder as he slams the front door open. How could he have been so stupid? He had even been thinking of the time Ed and Al had sneaked off to the Fifth Laboratory...how had he not realized that this Ed could pull something like that?
And whatever those things were that nearly killed them there—if they get their hands on this Ed...
He can't bear to entertain the thought. Ed will be fine; he's just on some hare-brained "adventure," and Maes doubts monsters like those would attack a child in broad daylight—
He glances up and down the street, finally catching sight of the boy several feet away. There is a woman walking with him—a woman Maes does not recognize—but he sees no tattoo that marks her as one of them...
(Of course, the long dress covers her almost from head to toe...)
"Ed, what are you doing out here?" he yells, half-relieved, half-alarmed, because even if he can't know for sure, his gut is screaming that he shouldn't trust this woman. "We were so worried—"
He is ready to collect Ed from her quickly, head back into the relative safety of the restaurant, because this isn't sitting right with him at all. Ed's eyes are enormous, staring back at him, and Maes can't tell if it's in surprise or shame or fear but he knows he can't take the chance—
But then a too-familiar man with long hair steps out from the alley to his left, and all Hell breaks loose.
He remembers screaming for Ed, screaming as loud as he can (to make sure he hears but also to attract bystanders, because he knows—hopes—they'll be less likely to hurt the boy if there are witnesses). He remembers embedding a throwing knife in the creature's skull and watching him pull it out; rage coats every inch of his face as red energy crackles around him—
He remembers hearing the restaurant door slam open behind him, but he barely has time to gesture to whoever it is to get back inside (please not Gracia or Elysia or Al or Winry this is too dangerous he'll never forgive himself if they're hurt) as he drops a second knife from his sleeve. It's useless but it's better than nothing, and he eyes the creature warily, doing his best to seem as threatening as possible as it walks forward—
But then Edward screams, shrill and terrified and full of pain, and everything stops.
He turns desperately despite himself, because if Ed is hurt that is so much worse than any injury Maes could sustain. (He's only a child.) The boy knows nothing of what is happening, and it needs to stay that way—it needs to—and if that woman hurt him he swears to God—
But Ed is standing under his own power—the woman has even released his hand—and he does not look injured. But the way his face has turned a sickly shade of white, the way his eyes have grown impossibly wider, fills Maes with a different sort of dread that does nothing to calm his racing heart—
But he can't focus on this, can't rush to him and make sure he is all right, because something long and dark is hurtling toward him and he barely has time to jump out of the way before it pierces his heart. (His shoulder is stabbed, though; he gasps despite himself...and a voice that sounds too much like Winry screams from behind him.)
"Give me one reason why we shouldn't kill you, Mister Hughes," the monster says mockingly as his companion retracts her weapon. (Another grunt of pain, but he can't show weakness before enemies like these.) "Just one, c'mon..."
His face is twisted into some sort of sadistic grin, but Maes has eyes only for Ed. He's still frozen in place; it looks like he's not paying attention to his surroundings at all. That may be a small blessing, but there's still—"How about the fact that I haven't done anything to get myself killed?"
"You threw a knife at my head!" he says incredulously, as if this is a minor problem rather than a permanent solution. "What—"
"How about the fact that three powerful alchemists are on their way here right now?"
Maes swears under his breath, turning to look at Winry as he continues to clutch his shoulder. Her face is white as a sheet and her clenched fists are shaking violently, but she's standing her ground, glaring murderously at the creature feet away from her. (She needs to be inside, safe, not challenging inhuman monsters who will kill her without a second thought—!)
But he only stares blankly at her, one eyebrow raised, and asks, "Who the hell are you?" He doesn't look about to attack her—seems more surprised than anything—but Maes still opens his mouth to scream at her—
Before he can, though, she continues, her voice loud and brash to mask the tremors—"Roy Mustang, Alex Armstrong, and Van Hohenheim are going to be here any minute now, so unless you want to fight off—"
The monster looks vaguely irritated at the mention of the first two... (He mutters something that sounds like "stupid sacrifices," which sends up warning flags in Maes' mind but he has no time to remember why.) But at the mention of Edward's father, he actually looks surprised, glancing over to the woman before interrupting Winry—"Damn, that old man's still around?"
"Yes," Maes says loudly, with more bravado than he thought possible with his steadily draining energy, "and he's one of the best alchemists in the country, so—"
"Aah, this might be troublesome," he sighs, suddenly relaxing before throwing his hands behind his neck and rolling his eyes. "Hohenheim...who would've thought..."
"Hughes? Hughes! What's going on? Gracia called and—"
Roy's loud, worried voice carries from down the street; to Maes' immense relief, he's running toward them with Hohenheim and Armstrong not far behind, ignition glove poised to snap. The monster turns and swears under his breath when he sees—even through his blurring vision, even though has he has to use every ounce of his strength to stay upright, Maes can see the irritation plain on his face.
"Damn...Lust—"
"Yes, we should probably report this," the woman—Lust, what a bizarre name—says, walking forward and looking remarkably calm. (Maes takes several steps back, stands protectively in front of Winry, because he'll be damned if they hurt her without going through him first.) "We have everything we came for, anyway... We can kill him some other time." She gestures vaguely to Maes as she makes her way toward the alley her partner had appeared from.
Maes would try to stop them, would demand to know exactly what's going on and why they're so interested in Ed... But his world is spinning and he can barely stand upright—he has to make sure Ed is okay. He hasn't moved from his place several feet away, still looks like nothing less than the apocalypse has swept through, and terror clenches at Maes' heart as he tries to move forward. But his legs give out; he is forced to his knees as he struggles to stay conscious.
"Ed? Edward! Are you all right?"
The boy does not answer, but Winry rushes toward him, dropping to her knees and grasping the boy's shoulders as Hohenheim and the others finally arrive. Roy looks as if he wants to follow Lust and the green-haired man into the alley, but then he catches sight of the blood seeping through Maes' fingers and changes direction. He falls to his knees as well, prying Maes' fingers away from his shoulder and swearing when he sees the damage.
"Hughes! Can you hear me? What happened? Who were those people?"
Armstrong is hovering, looking worried but unable to help; Hohenheim hurries forward, dropping down beside Roy and inspecting the wound. He slowly brings his hands together as if to transmute, but as far as Maes knows, there isn't any alchemy that can—
"M'fine…" he mutters, even as he sways dangerously and Roy is forced to catch him. "Ed…there's something wrong…"
He nods unsteadily toward the boy, who still hasn't said anything, hasn't moved or responded to Winry at all. (If those monsters hurt him…Maes swears on his life he'll tear them apart.) "Edward?" Hohenheim says carefully, sending one last glance toward Maes' shoulder before standing and taking a few steps toward his son. "Edward, are you all right?"
His eyes flash at the sound of his father's voice, but it is several more seconds before the boy finally speaks. His voice is very quiet; Maes has to strain to hear—"Where's Mom?"
Hohenheim looks unable to reply, but Winry answers in his stead. (Her voice cracks dangerously.) "She's—she's at home in Resembool, Ed. You'll see her soon, once your dad figures out the array—"
"So why can't I talk to her on the phone?" His tone is suddenly accusatory, and his voice is loud; Maes can see his face twisted in fury and anguish, even from this distance. "And why'd Solaris say she's dead?"
The pause is too long, and every one of them knows it; Maes scrambles for an explanation, for a way to talk themselves out of this...but the horror growing on Edward's face tells him it's far too late for that.
(Stupid kid... Why couldn't he be like any normal five year old and not go digging into something like this?)
"That's what you lied about," Ed accuses, his voice shrill and terrified; he chokes on the words, pushing Winry away as she tries to pull him toward her. "Mom doesn't love us enough so she died—"
"That's not true!" Winry says immediately, desperately, and Maes can see the tears as they form in her eyes. "Your mom loves you so much—she didn't want to—"
"You're lying! You're all lying!" He's walking backwards, now, glaring with all the hatred and contempt Maes has rarely seen even in the Ed he knows. (Hohenheim and Winry both flinch harshly.) "You—"
Hohenheim's shoulders are rigid, as if moving will send the world crashing down; Maes can't see his face, but he can imagine his expression…"Edward, listen to me…"
But instead of calming down, instead of listening to reason, Ed's gaze snaps to his father, and his face only contorts even more. "It's your fault!" he yells, and before anyone can stop him, he's run forward, slamming right into his father and pounding his little fists on Hohenheim's legs. "Why didn't you fix Mom—she says you're the best alchemist in the world—"
Nobody says anything; what can they say? This little boy is five years old, has just found out that his mother is dead…and the trust he's always had in his father has just been crushed beyond repair.
(He's only a boy…Edward Elric has only ever been a boy. This grief so clear on his face now has never dimmed…as the years have gone by, he's only gotten better at hiding it.)
(Maes truly wonders how he does it, how he makes his way through every damned day without falling apart.)
"Edward..." Hohenheim says slowly, and his hands are shaking as he crouches down to grab Edward's wrists. "Edward, listen to me—"
"Why didn't you fix her?"
"Because—because I didn't come home in time." The words are forced, choked out, and Maes sees where this lie is going even before he continues, "I didn't get the message until it was too late—by the time I came home, she was already..."
As heart-wrenching as the story sounds, it is so much better than the truth, and Maes can only hope that Edward believes it. To believe that your mother died, but you lived on, relatively happy, with your father and brother and friends...
(If he doesn't buy it, demands the absolute truth...Maes isn't sure he'll be able to lie to him anymore.)
(But he can't even imagine this little boy finding out how deeply his life will be thrown into the pits of Hell.)
"But…but…" The sight of Ed crying—even a five-year-old Ed—is so jarring that Maes feels physically uncomfortable, beyond the searing pain in his shoulder. The boy has never cried in the years that Maes has known him; he's always insisted that Al can't cry, so he isn't allowed to either…
But now, there is nothing but undiluted agony streaming down the boy's face; he has no reason to hold it in…
He's far too young for this…
"You can stop it," Hohenheim says quietly, glancing over his shoulder toward the door to make sure nobody else has emerged. "You need to start looking for me as soon as you get home…everything will be okay, I promise. But you need to stop crying…Alphonse is going to come out soon, and you don't want him to know about this, do you?"
Ed says something in reply—his voice is still angry, hateful, but not as poisonous as it had been—but Maes cannot focus. The blood still spilling from his shoulder is making him lightheaded, and he lists dangerously to the side as his vision blurs. Roy is still holding onto him, is yelling, calling Hohenheim over…
But before he arrives, the world turns to black.
.
.
What kind of alchemy was that? What the hell was that?—
—Uncle Roy, what's going on? Why is Daddy on the ground?—
—Brother what's wrong? You look upset—
—Hohenheim, you explain this to me right this second—
—Roy, calm down, please—
—I'll explain back at the house. Maes will be fine, but we should lay him down—
—That was not a regular transmutation! I swear to God if you hurt him—
—I told you, he's fine... It's a very long story, I'll explain when—
—Colonel Mustang, I don't think your gloves are necessary!—
—Uncle Roy, stop it, you're being scary—
—Roy, please, not in front of the children. They've been through enough already—
—I will not wait until we're back at the house! Damnit, if he's hurt Hughes—
—Mister Roy, please, Dad doesn't ever hurt people—
—Al, it'll be okay, just stay back in case Mister Roy gets too mad—
—But Dad's the best! He always helps people...
.
.
(Finally, silence, but it's a silence seething with mistrust and anger.)
(The children don't understand. And Edward has been sworn to secrecy.)
(He agreed readily. After all, he'll do anything to keep Alphonse happy.)
.
.
I'm still alive.
His first thought when he awakens surprises even himself. He can feel sheets covering him, can feel the soft pillow of his own bed beneath his head…and it astonishes him that he feels anything at all. Even if that Lust woman hadn't hit any of his vital organs, he had lost an astonishing amount of blood before Roy and the others arrived…he wasn't sure…
But he's alive. That means everything more important than him has already been taken care of; Edward has calmed down; Alphonse has accepted whatever lie they made up to appease him…
As he opens his eyes, struggles to focus without his glasses, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this might turn out all right.
"Daddy!"
Elysia's voice is the first thing he hears, and he lets out a small oomph as she throws herself onto his stomach and hugs him around the middle. "Daddy, you're okay! Mister Ho fixed you up just like he said and everything's okay now!"
He blinks a couple of times, staring down at her. "Mister Ho fixed me?" He realizes suddenly that his shoulder feels perfectly fine… So there is a branch of alchemy that deals in medicine…? But wouldn't the Elrics have looked into it already? "Is he here? What happened?"
"You were sleeping but Mister Ho did alchemy and fixed you, but you didn't wake up so Mister Muscles had to carry you home," she says, her eyes wide and terrified as she looks up at him. "Mama said you were just sleeping because you've been working hard but I was scared and—"
"Well, Mama was right," he says, smiling and ruffling her hair. "Daddy's okay now. I just have lots of stuff to do at work, so I decided to take a nap after I found Ed. I'm sorry I worried you…"
She pouts, crossing her arms and looking utterly adorable. "As long as you don't do it again!"
He laughs and pulls her into a hug just as the door to the bedroom opens. Winry walks in; her eyes light up when she sees him awake. "Mister Hughes! How are you feeling?" She rushes to his side, setting down the glass of water she was carrying. "You've been out for hours, we've been so worried—don't you ever do that again—"
"I was just promising Elysia I wouldn't," he says, grinning a bit at her. "So Hohenheim fixed me up, then? Is he still around?"
"Yeah, he's in the kitchen with Colonel Mustang and Armstrong, finishing up that circle…they said they'd be able to reverse it by tonight."
Her tone is suddenly different, even as she's clearly trying to stay cheerful. Something flashes through her eyes, something Maes can only read as pain… He sits up, adjusting Elysia on his lap and grabbing his glasses. "Hey, is everything all right?"
"Ed…he isn't talking to anyone. He's locked himself in Elysia's room and won't let anyone in," she says quietly, the cheer in her face gone entirely now. "Even Al…he's really worried, but I don't know what to tell him…Ed promised not to tell him anything about…about Auntie Trisha, but…he's starting to ask questions…"
"Well, we'll just have to clear everything up with both of them, now won't we?" he says, smiling even as his own stomach plummets. Even after we fix this, they won't ever be the same…"C'mon, let's go talk to Ed. What does Hohenheim know about the circle?"
"I don't really know…they're back in the kitchen. Al's with them…Mrs. Hughes and I were trying to talk to Ed, but…"
"Right. Well, let's go," he says, doing his best to look optimistic as he sets Elysia on the floor, standing up. The pain—or, at least, lightheadedness—that he is expecting does not come; apparently, whatever kind of alchemy Hohenheim did…
"What did Hohenheim do to heal me?" he asks Winry as they make their way to the door. This is impressive; why haven't hospitals used this kind of transmutation to heal wounds?
"Um…I don't know much about alchemy," she says, shrugging after a moment, though her eyes flash in fear for some reason. "But there was some red light and it was healed…"
Red light? The light of a transmutation is blue; he knows that much…
But that green-haired man had healed himself with red light…
He changes course, abruptly turning from the hall to the kitchen despite Winry's protests. Red light. That isn't natural, surely…but Hohenheim has made it clear he cares about his sons, would never dream of harming them… But that monster had been doing his damnedest to…
This isn't making any sense.
He knocks on the door before letting himself in, and the four of them look up as he walks in the door. "Mister Hughes!" Al says, his face lighting up. (It looks as though he's been crying—Maes feels a sudden stab of guilt for messing up this badly. If he hadn't let Ed run off…) "You're okay!"
(He sees Roy's face as it turns from angry and mistrusting to intensely relieved, sees the way a smile lights up his features. He wonders vaguely what has happened, why he was so tense, but now is not the time to ask...not in front of Elysia and Al.)
"Yep," he replies, smiling at the boy before turning to Hohenheim. "Your dad fixed me right up…but I was just wondering exactly what he did." He can feel his gaze hardening, silent demanding answers. Obviously, he and those monsters are connected in some way…but how—? "I'd really appreciate it if I could have a quick word with him."
Roy's eyes darken, and everyone else in the room seems to flinch as one, but Hohenheim only sighs and stands up. "I'll be right back… We're nearly done," he adds as explanation to Maes as the two of them shut the kitchen door, walking into the sitting room. "As soon as we can get through to Edward, we'll be able to reverse it."
"Right," he says, because that's surely very important, but isn't this as well? He needs to know what he's up against… If even the Elrics' father is a threat to them…they've already been through too much… "Well, Winry was saying you healed me with a red transmutation. But that green-haired man healed himself with red light too." He stares hard into Hohenheim's eyes, searching for any trace of a lie. "I was just wondering what that was about, because his wound should have been fatal…and mine definitely should not have healed that fast."
Hohenheim inhales deeply, shutting his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I suppose you'd have to be intelligent, to be of such a high rank," he says after a moment, falling into a nearby chair. "That's a very long story…Roy was demanding answers earlier, as well... But I can assure you that those—people—who attacked you are in no way friends of mine."
"So what are they?" That's the answer he was hoping to hear—he didn't deny knowledge of them, which is what a liar would typically do—but it still doesn't add up. "How is any of this possible? I thought alchemy didn't specialize in medicine."
"It doesn't. How I fixed your shoulder…how that man healed himself…it's not…medicine, per se." He sighs again, glancing at Maes before gesturing to the other armchair. "You need to know this, especially if they're targeting my sons, as Alex says…this is so much deeper than you think…"
He trails off for several seconds, and Maes fidgets, waiting for him to go on. This is important, and he knows it; this is about the incident at the abandoned laboratory—the Philosopher's Stone made up of human souls—those creatures who seem so interested in the boys he's come to think of as surrogate sons…
But now that he's getting answers, he's almost terrified to hear them. What is so horrible that even this brilliant alchemist is worried?
"They're called Homunculi," Hohenheim says finally, raising his head to look Maes in the eye. "Created humans. I'm fairly certain there are eight of them…I haven't been idle since I left Resembool twelve years ago. I've been tracking them, predicting their movements, trying to stop their plans…"
"Their plans? Plans for what?"
He is silent for several seconds longer before taking a deep breath and asking, very quietly, "What do you know of Philosopher's Stones?"
One.
Two.
"I know enough," he says, his tone hard. He wonders how such a thing could be related to these Homunculi, what they could possibly want with it…and he doesn't like the only answer his mind can produce. "Your sons were researching that for years, thought it could restore their bodies, but then they found the truth. They've sworn off it since then."
He nods slowly. "That's good…I'd expect as much from them…" He sighs like an old man, his eyes flitting around the room as if trying to find a distraction. "The Homunculi…they're created around a Stone. It's their core, their very existence…and they have terrible plans for this country. Edward and Alphonse are players, now that they've committed the taboo…that's why those two were so interested in finding out where they've disappeared to…"
"What?" Plans for the country—involving those boys? But they're only children—what could those monsters possibly want—"So how do we stop them?"
(The fact that a Stone is their lifeblood…that makes sense, how the man was able to heal himself. Immortality. By throwing that knife, Maes had caused the death of not the Homunculus, but one of the innocent souls within him… Suddenly, he feels sick. This is wrong. This is so wrong...)
"That's what I'm working on," Hohenheim says, running a hand through his bangs distractedly. "I have a counter-circle set up, but that won't stop him permanently—I—I'm not sure…"
He looks so lost, so tired and alone in this moment that Maes finds himself putting a comforting hand on his arm. "Whatever you need help with, the military will help. I work in Investigations, we'll get this sorted out—"
Hohenheim shakes his head sharply, his eyes flashing. "He has eyes and ears everywhere. If I'm right…the Fuhrer himself cannot be trusted."
What?
"Well—we'll keep it away from the higher-ups, then," he says, recovering as quickly as he can. Even Bradley…who is this monster? "Roy's a colonel, we can get through this, right? And I know Armstrong's sister is a general in the north—they're a good family…"
Even as his minds runs through the possibilities, though, the terror flooding him comes seeping out like acid. This—this can't be right, the country in such danger…but hasn't he been thinking lately that things have seemed off? That there are so many rebellions occurring, all around the edges of the country…he's done his best to chalk it up to the nature of a militaristic nation, but he's not sure…
(He'll have to check that out, later. But in the meantime, a much lesser question is still pulling at his mind…and since Hohenheim has not replied…)
"So if the Homunculi are able to heal themselves with red light using a Stone, then how did you heal me?"
The man flinches, harshly, and Maes almost regrets asking. It's inconsequential—whatever this man is, he is on their side of the battle…but it's something big, and he needs to know, if he is expected to fight.
"That's…the long story that I mentioned earlier," he says, hands twisted together and gaze on the ground. "The original Homunculus…he and I are…blood brothers, I suppose you could say. A very long time ago…he tricked me into helping with a transmutation, and I became the way I am now."
Something doesn't sit right in Maes at this statement; something is dangling just out of reach, taunting him and demanding to be discovered. If the Homunculus transmuted a Philosopher's Stone, if that's how he became powerful—
The realization hits him hard, sends him physically reeling back, and he stares at Hohenheim in horror as the truth reveals itself to him. "You're—you're one of them?"
"In a manner of speaking," he mutters, as if he doesn't want Maes to hear. "I realize you have no reason to trust a monster like me, but…if he isn't stopped…"
The sentence is left hanging, but Maes does not need him to finish. If the Homunculi aren't stopped, if they're trying to transmute the entire country…
It's answered for him, even before he even has a chance to consider. He doesn't even have options anymore—what is required of him is spelled out plainly.
"Just tell me what I need to do."