THREE WISE MONKEYS

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN • The Fourth Friday

"I'm surprised they let you out, Brother."

Ed grunted. Despite his blessed freedom, his mood remained as dark as a moonless night—while stars may flicker in the abyss, they couldn't illuminate the black oceans of his mind. He leant heavily on Al's forearm, unbalanced, since his automail hadn't been returned yet and he did not want to be carried.

"You really gave Winry a scare yesterday," Al continued as they watched the elevator stutter to a stop in front of them. As the floor locked into place, a tiny bell sounded, ding, to alert them to its presence. Alphonse reached forward to open the gates, letting them swing open with the slight squeak of oiled hinges. He allowed Ed in first, and so, reluctantly, the Fullmetal alchemist edged into the space. It was a relatively new elevator—top of the range—but with a seven-foot suit of armour, room to breathe became scarce and the platform shuddered even more in protest. They descended slowly, and Edward was painfully aware of each clank of each link of chain, worried that they might snap.

"You gave us all a scare."

Ed flinched in both surprise and guilt, then mentally kicked himself for being so jumpy. When had he—the People's Alchemist—become so frightened of his own shadow? Well… he knew when… but why was he still on edge? He was safe. Envy was no more than a projection, a hallucination… but a damned good one.

"Brother?" Alphonse prompted softly, coaxing Ed to look up into the emotionless mask. "Do you want your notebook? Do you have anything to say?"

He rocked his head from side to side, staring at the floor intently. He hated the notebook, had decided that just as Alphonse offered it like an aged carer offers a pensioner their cane. Edward was a cripple—he had been for quite some time—but automail could be hidden beneath clothes and a confident attitude. The notebook was the physical manifestation of his weakness, his frailty. It forced him to admit that Envy had damaged him in a way that couldn't be wiped away with unnatural crimson brilliance.

When they were younger, he and Alphonse used to play a game. They used to play several games, but Ed was thinking of a certain one in particular. The 'talking game'. Whoever spoke first was the loser, and it was a tournament that led the two brothers dashing through the fields of grass, loud in their artificial silence. It would ultimately end with a young Edward Elric screaming 'Unfair! Unfair!' and begs for the more adept Alphonse to 'Be more easier next time'. A game of smiles, anger, laughter, and affection.

The current 'talking game' seemed to lack most of those key emotions. And, for once, Ed was winning.

The bell on the ground floor must have been larger, for the noise it produced sounded much deeper, more melancholy. Just a few notes lower, several decibels higher, and Ed might have been listening to his own funeral bells.

Ed let his eyes wander around the foyer as Alphonse talked to the nurse at reception. There were only two other people: a boy and his mother, both dressed in their finest. The boy—no more than ten years of age—held a box in his small hands. The lid was open and military ribbons caught the light, reflecting red and blue and silver. The woman by his side had red-rimmed eyes and a large bouquet of flowers that shivered in her unsteady grip. While Ed watched, the boy held out his hand and she took it gratefully, smiling even as an anxious tear splashed onto her ebony dress.

Such was the life of the military dogs. They ended soon, surrounded by despair.

"Brother," Alphonse nudged him gently. "You're staring."

Ed gave him a vacant nod and took the volunteered crutch without much of a fuss. He didn't want it, but it was either use the support or rely on the cool, metallic arm of his brother. He knew which he preferred. The one that appeared in less of his fears.

XxX

Al hated everything that had happened. Equivalent exchange was making itself known, firing shots into the air, dancing wildly, like it was somehow afraid it had been forgotten. But it was a different equivalency to the one that Al followed; the new one was menacing, sadistic. For every good occurrence, a disaster befell them.

They found Edward. He was in a coma for almost four days.

Winry came back from Risembool. In time to witness Ed go into shock.

Al was finally able to take his brother home. But he felt as if he were babysitting a zombie.

No. A zombie would have been more responsive.

All Edward had done since returning to the dormitory was wander into the bathroom, then stumble out, face slightly green, and collapse just beside the bed. The crutch had fallen to the floorboards with a loud clatter, pointing like an accusing finger to the room he had just vacated.

Since then, he had managed to pull himself up using the blankets and no small amount of will power. It was… nice, Al supposed, normal to see his brother acting independent again… but he wished that Ed would let him help. He wished that Ed would tell him what Jeremy had done.

It was almost as if Edward wasn't there. His body—what remained of it—lay on the bed, but his eyes were vacant and glassy. Though his chest moved, Al thought he could have been looking at a doll; a fractured puppet waiting for its next chance to frolic across the stage. But, as he was at that moment, it was difficult to imagine that the Fullmetal alchemist would ever truly return.

No.

Alphonse wouldn't let that happen. He would get his brother back, and the people would have their alchemist. Though there was sometimes a light in Ed's eyes, Al had noticed that it was twisted, bent, and not at all what it should be. But he'd only been awake for two days, right? Al had to believe that he could fix it.

"Brother," he said quietly, standing at the foot of the bed. There was no indication that Ed had heard him. He simply lay on his empty shoulder, staring at the wall beside the window. It was a dark cream, almost a beige colour, and certainly not as interesting as Edward made it seem.

Alphonse tried again, debating whether to nudge Ed's foot or not. "Brother, I need to talk to you."

Golden eyes flickered towards Al and then away again. They were blank, empty of all emotion and interest, and if there was something going on behind them, Al couldn't find what. Ed's gaze had all the properties of water; whenever it tried to settle on the suit of armour, like rain it would run off and drain into metaphorical gutters.

"Brother, please."

Al watched in horror as his words caused Ed's face to crease, teeth bared in a mask of agony. There seemed to be more lines than his young face should carry, but Alphonse knew that each one was earned and justified. The slender leg jerked up into his chest and Ed wrapped his arm around it mechanically, as he had done when trying to use his automail at the age of eleven. His forehead and his knee kissed in greeting, effectively hiding his face, but Alphonse hadn't lost the ability to hear, nor to see. Even the most insensitive idiot would have understood…

The Fullmetal alchemist was crying again.

Alphonse had seen many tears in his past four years. The first were also Edward's as the child lay moaning and sobbing on the floor of their basement, 'Give him back, give him back," over and over and over and over… Tears had stained the ground in a transmutation circle of their own, a human equation designed to produce sorrow, pain, pity, self-hate, or yearning out of nothing more that a few drops of salty water and raging, uncontrollable emotions.

Tears called out for comfort, for family, friends, loved ones lost in the past and hidden in the future. Hidden beneath grey stone markers, and chiselled script rapidly obscured by nature's cruel, twisting vines. Hidden until the tears became too much, until every sob tore a new hole in your chest, and until those cavities bled scarlet liquid all over the ground.

But it had been a while since Al had last seen Edward cry. Each time burned his memory until he was unable to forget it, and this one was already promising to singe the entire tapestry of his mind, simply because Alphonse had no idea of what to do.

Trying to be quiet, Al headed over to Ed's side. But, being as it was, the body that Edward had chosen for him didn't have that capability. His first foot landed with a loud clunk! and screech! as metal slid together. Ed froze immediately, like a small child waiting for their parent to deliver the first blow.

Something was broken, it was easy to see, and alchemy wouldn't repair the damage.

"Brother." Al's voice was almost a whisper, echoing strangely inside his armour. "Ed, please look at me."

Hair, loose about his shoulders, knotted around itself as Edward rubbed his face further into the pillow, letting out a high whine. His arm released, travelling upwards to clamp itself around his ear, and he continued to shake his head.

Maybe… Al was coming to realise, Ed wasn't hearing him. But a quick glance around the room proved that there was no one else.

"Ed." Al's hand completely dwarfed his brother, gently shaking his shoulder. The keening cry only grew louder. "Brother, please. Just look at me. Please. I can… I can… I can help, if you let me know what's wrong. Brother, please."

Edward's eyes were wide open and unblinking, watering madly and sending trails of moisture running into the dampening pillow. Red surrounded gold like a fiery sunset, but Al had never seen one quite so distressing. No one ever mourned the passing of the sun, knowing it would reappear each morning. Yet it was hard to find any optimism while watching twin suns vanish beneath clouds of unreality.

Insanity.

Ed needed to go back to the hospital, but even in his current condition, Alphonse knew he would never agree. "I'm fine," he would insist even while eyes darted to nothing. But lacking the ability to verbalise his assurances, they would undoubtedly fall flat. "I'm fine," was the biggest lie that Edward could write.

But then Ed let out a loud, wet sigh and turned his vacant, bloodshot gaze to Al. The sight might have sent shudders running down his spine, if past events had gone a little differently. As it was, Al's armour rattled, quickly and quietly, under the scrutiny.

It was creepy. It wasn't like Ed.

Alphonse had to steel his will in order to stay standing, even as Ed held out a hand and… fear flitted over the older brother's expression. But fear of what, exactly? Surely, it… it couldn't be Al, could it?

Ed broke him out of his thoughts, miming a pencil in what could almost be called an impatient manner. He wanted to say something. Alphonse silently handed over the notebook and Edward shuffled to get into a better position. Soon, his hand was outstretched for the pencil again.

When he had all he needed, Ed's focus drifted over to some empty space next to the window, as if he were waiting for reprimand or permission. Eventually, the blunt tip of the pencil prodded paper and the first letter was formed. Al knew that left wasn't Ed's preferred hand, but he seemed even more uncoordinated than usual. Times had changed, and they had learnt to adapt, and Ed wrote with his left to compensate for that. Al had always admired the skill and effort it had taken to teach what was essentially no more than an extra to perform fine motor skills such as writing, so to see it had all disappeared was disheartening to say the least. It took Ed almost three minutes to craft a sentence that may have previously required no more than thirty seconds.

'We should talk.'

Al looked from the notebook to his brother, noticing how Ed wouldn't meet his gaze. "What about?"

Another glance, another search for allowance from a being made out of not-so-pure oxygen and carbon dioxide, heralded the beginning of a new, painfully slow reply.

'Whatever you want.'

It was so unexpected, so unanticipated, that Al found himself stumped. All the questions that had once cluttered his head gave one last hurrah! and fled. Not a single one—not even so much as a whisper—remained. Emptiness as black and as riddled with holes as the dark side of the moon filled the space inside his helmet, occupying it with a loneliness felt only by the desolate. And Al's head was desolate of thought.

Edward cocked his head to the side, and he did an almost-imperceptible nod. The end of the pencil tapped his message once, twice, thrice, impatiently. A shallow frown marred his brow as annoyance increased.

"I…" Al trailed off, looking at Ed's calmly waiting face. "Brother… I-I don't know… A-any question?"

A second nod.

"Then…" If Al had lips, he would have been licking them nervously. "I guess I have a few… like… Are you fe-feeling better? Than yesterday?"

Edward raised an eyebrow, as if to say: Is that really the best you've got? Then he inclined his head again, after casting another glance to the wall, and all emotion left his face. Al almost sighed with frustration.

When would he get his brother back?

The curiosity was eating him alive from the inside out. Alphonse was sure that, if he dared open his armour, he would find the interior corroded and rusty—a visual transcription of his worry. A question… that was all he needed. And he had one. He had a question, but… he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer.

The fire in his eyes dimmed as his soul resigned itself to be hurt. Whether Edward spoke truths or lies, Al was sure it would be damaging.

"What happened to you, Brother?" he finally managed to blurt out. "What did Jeremy do to you?"

'Nothing, really.

Al really wanted to grit his teeth. It was so frustrating! Edward was right there, but it was as if his mind had never truly left 32 Seaview Road, and that scared Al. What horrors could leave such profound scars on the psych, but not the body? Was a remnant of that horror lurking behind Al, beside the window, telling his brother what to say? What to write?

"I mean it, Edward!" Al felt Ed's flinch pull deep at some dark corner of his soul, but he didn't let it deter him. "Tell me what happened, or… Or I'll ask Jeremy Colt!"

That got Ed's attention. For a second, Al fancied that he could hear whatever hallucination was taunting the Fullmetal alchemist. It was laughing.

The pencil moved faster than before, scrawling nonsense letters into the notebook. 'Where is he?'

Dread filled the cavities inside Al's armour; so potent it became solid and froze his limbs in place. He'd made a mistake. A big one. The expression on Edward's pale face told him as much. It was a mixture of determination and terror; a glimpse of the old Fullmetal, but somehow tainted. Rotten. Eroded.

An impatient finger stabbed at the message, terrified golden eyes wondering why Alphonse just wouldn't answer. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then there was an almost permanent confusion saturating the vital entity. Like a damp layer of mould, slowly growing, creeping, devouring every shred of Al's brother before leaping out to consume family, friends, colleagues… Everyone.

"I-I don't know," Al lied. He never was a very good liar. Even lacking a face in which to turn red, or a mouth with which to twist in a mockery of a smile—a smile that clearly read, 'I'm lying'—he couldn't do it. Not to Edward. He could always call him out. "He… We didn't catch him. H-he was gone when we found you."

Ed stared at him for so long that Al was certain he knew what was coming. A scribbled "Tell me the truth', or 'Stop lying to me'. Alphonse felt dirty, contaminated. He was a fraud—a storyteller of the worst kind—and Ed must have known. Why else would he be watching him so intently?

But the note contained only four simple letters. Four simple letters than somehow managed to scare Alphonse even worse than his imagined scenarios.

'Good'.

XxX

Edward couldn't sleep.

Rather, it would be more accurate to say that he didn't want to sleep. In his dreams lurked fears, memories, words he couldn't understand. And loud. So loud they blocked out all rational thought, morphing his once-prodigious mind into a cacophony of noise and colour. One colour: red. There were so many shades…

But there was one thing that wouldn't leave despite—or perhaps because of—his temporary insomnia. Envy. And Ed knew—he knew that the monster… the homunculus wasn't real. Hallucinations. Dreams. Nightmares. Reality. All were one and the same where Envy was concerned. There were two pairs of eyes settled over Ed as he 'slept', and while one was familiar in a vaguely comforting way, neither were truly human. Edward had taken the physical aspects of his brother's humanity. Maybe he—the Fullmetal alchemist—was the real monster.

He wanted Al to leave. Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, turning the armour into that. It was so obvious during the day, when the sun's rays illuminated just about everything but Ed's thoughts, yet he hadn't expected the moon to be so… potent. Had Alphonse always shined so brightly?

But there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe one day, when he managed to put the past week behind him, Ed might be able to focus once more on his brother. He was being selfish, and he knew that, but… getting their bodies back was an impossible task. Failure lurked just around the corner, grinning its white-toothed grin.

Worry churned his stomach. Worry and guilt joining as one to make him ill both mentally and physically. Al was too bright. Too bright. Too bright… And always awake. Always watching over his older brother. Caring, protecting, smothering.

Ed rolled around, put his back to the window, and hoped that Alphonse hadn't seen the spasm that had passed over his face. Neither of them wanted to hurt each other—it was unintentional!—but it happened nonetheless.

"You're just causing problems for everyone, Fullmetal."

Envy detached from the shadows, their thin tendrils holding onto his face, hair, chest, like grasping hands. Like the Gate. A half-clad hand rested comfortably on a slender hip, reminiscent of a deadly spider waiting to pounce. Kill. But Edward wasn't afraid of death. No. The thrill of terror that raced up his spine was one of remembered pain and uncertainty. It was caused by the knowledge that—no matter what he might try—it would never end. His life would go on while others ran their course and withered. His hair would stay that signature gold forever, even once everyone he knew hosted grey strands above their wrinkled faces. He wasn't—

"Human," Envy drawled, stretching out the accursed word to accommodate for both sarcasm and contempt in the two syllables. One corner of his large mouth climbed into a cocky smirk. "If you're not human, Fullmetal shorty, then what else could you be? Hmm?"

A monster—

A freak—

An immortal—

A demon—

A…

"Homunculus?"

Suddenly, Envy was all Ed could see. His sharp violet eyes capered with maniacal glee and his nose brushed against Ed's with all the force of a feather alighting the pavement. If either had deigned to breathe, they would have felt it instantly. But they were caught in a permanent homeostasis, locked in the moment by delight and panic, respectively.

Oh, how Ed wanted to move. His stomach churned as if home to an agitated nest of snakes, sending bile up to burn his throat. But Alphonse was behind him and Envy was in front. And without his arm or leg…

Trapped.

"That's right, Fullmetal," Envy sneered. "You wouldn't want precious Alphonse to know what you've become. But he's gonna find out anyway—there's no way around it! Who the hell knows if that pile of junk can age, but…" Envy paused just long enough for dread to suffocate Ed into an even more complete silence. He wasn't breathing. "He's gonna notice when you stay fifteen forever."

Homunculus…

Like the reattachment of his automail, everything slammed into place with a force that gritted his teeth together and bloomed small tears at the corners of his eyes. So obvious. Too obvious. He was an idiot for not seeing it before. The red lightning was familiar in the worst way possible; it was the light of a corrupt transmutation. The Philosopher's Stone. Homunculi, incomplete attempts at life, were barely more than planned mistakes. An oxymoron of existence—a sentient being without their own soul. Without a conscious.

And now Edward was one.

Envy pulled back, perhaps sensing how close Ed was to spitting up his dinner of toast and water. The older homunculus crouched in the shadow beside the bed, slim muscles highlighted in profile by the moon. His eyes were a mismatch of darkness and luminosity, revealing, Ed thought vaguely, the only two personalities the sin appeared to have. A dark, burning hatred, and a light that matched his malicious, insane grin. The light most likely had come from all of the homes he had burnt to the ground.

"You're a homunculus now, Pipsqueak," Envy said in a loud whisper, possibly to hide the unholy words from listening ears. Though who would be eavesdropping on the hallucination of a madman, Ed couldn't say for sure. At least he knew it wasn't real… Even if the answers were. "Like it or not, you're one of us. This is gonna disrupt our plans, Fullmetal, so I hope you're happy! But even if you can't be useful, at least you can be our plaything."

Edward barely registered moving.

There was a worrisome blank in his already fragile mind, causing him to experience the next events as if he were flicking through a bleak photo album. Keeling off the bed. Getting tangled in his bed sheets. Kicking them off frantically with his one leg. Clawing towards the bathroom. Heavy hands on his shoulders. Being pulled back. And finally, a burning version of what may have been toast re-emerged.

Ed sat in the puddle of his own sick, shaking violently, and supported only by Alphonse's steady hold. His hand clawed desperately at the empty port in his thigh, blunt nails producing a rapid scritch, scritch on the metal. It birthed an unwanted sense if déjà vu, bleaching the night-soaked walls to a stark, clinical white. He hated hospitals.

"Brother? Brother! Are you alright?"

Ed nodded, though he hardly heard the question through the pounding in his ears. Fake blood, fuelled by the Stone inside his chest. How had it gotten there? How could he get it out? He wasn't sure that the shell he inhabited was even his own body. It was just an amalgamation of false cells, bonded around a core of twisted vines of muscles, all formed of the same… same… same wrongness. Stone had encompassed his heart some time before—most likely in that fateful pub so long ago—and each death had bound it tighter, tighter, tighter, until it cut off the erratic beats and cut off his humanity.

Homunculus.

Homunculus.

Homunculus.

Homunculus.

Homunculus!

Dreadful monsters, horrible unliving creatures. Hearts of Stone and souls of many, though neither were their real hearts, their real souls.

Fake. Edward was a fake.

He heaved again, but all that escaped his mouth was a thick stream of clear, gloopy liquid. That was fake, too. It all was. Himself especially. He was a mockery of Edward Elric, an unintentional imposter. Maybe the reason he felt so uncomfortable in his brother's arms was… Ed wasn't really his brother.

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