Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.
Content Warning: Very mild tearjerk warning.
- x -
He tapped his cheekbone again, firmly, but had much the same result as the last time.
It was still numb.
Damn.
Edward Elric slumped back against the bricks, ignoring the curious look he was getting from the MP standing guard. He was tempted to tell the soldier that he was a civilian, and being held under military guard without being placed under arrest was illegal, but the weight on his right thigh was reason enough for the man to be present.
Besides, there was no real reason to protest. He was leaving them alone, at least until one of two things happened. And Edward was reasonably sure the ambulance would be arriving before Hakuro could possibly show.
Or Mustang, come to think of it. He supposed it was possible he'd want to cover this up, considering there was no doubt the trap had been laid by Sorn. He might already be sending Falman or Fuery to pick them up.
Either way, they were making a stop at the hospital first.
A slow grin spread across Ed's lips as he imagined the looks of shock, the gaping mouths as he actually said that out loud. His face twinged slightly, and he brought up his left hand again, tapping experimentally.
Nothing.
He'd really done a number on it this time.
"Stop doing that," a thick voice slurred, from somewhere in the vicinity of his lap. "S'bad for the nerves."
"You're bad for the nerves," he growled in reply, halfheartedly glaring down at his little brother to hide his relief. Alphonse's head was propped up on his leg, elevated to lessen the strain on his injuries, and the extra six or so inches of height he had looked even longer stretched out on the sun-warmed concrete. "How do you feel?"
His brother's eyes were only half-open, in protest of the sunlight streaming down. "Pretty crappy," he admitted. "Are we still alive?" Then he coughed.
Edward shifted slightly, glaring at the MP until he took the hint and wandered a couple feet away. "Last I checked." He didn't want to even think about the last time he'd checked, crawling on his hands and knees on the shifting ground, trying not to vomit, working his way towards the shadowed, misshapen heap that was his brother's form-
"That's nice," Al murmured, closing his eyes. He deepened his breathing a little, and coughed again. "Ugh. Tastes like dust."
That was no surprise, considering how much they'd both inhaled. The coughs weren't deep, probably nothing to worry about. "Don't move around too much."
"Wasn't planning to." He left his eyes closed, but he was obviously still awake. "S'what happened?"
Edward sighed, his ears perking up as a new siren cut faintly through the ringing sound. "Springs."
Al's eyebrow quirked, though his eyes stayed resolutely shut. "Mm."
"Rows of them. They caught the hallway floor about forty feet down." Just like a giant box-spring, the collection of steel coils had turned a forty foot fall - a potentially fatal one - into one that only injured them. And that array of springs, coupled with the complex mechanism of gears he'd gotten a glimpse of, left no doubt as to who had created it.
"Great." Al took another deep breath, then stretched his back marginally and grimaced. "Ow."
"Should have transmuted your coat, idiot."
"I figured I was only going to fall one story," he retorted, a little grouchily. "My shoulder hurts."
"You dislocated it."
"My ears are ringing, too."
Edward let his head fall back against the brick behind him and listened to the ambulance getting steadily closer. "No they're not."
Al's neck shifted slightly on his leg, and his brother inhaled sharply. "Yes, they are."
He picked his head back up to stare at his brother, whose eyes were once again open, a little wider this time. They were more than a little dilated. And his neck was bothering him, obviously. Al probably had a concussion of his own. "That annoying metallic school bell sound?"
"That'd be the one."
He gestured towards the top of the building. "It's actually there. Went off as soon as the floor fell away." Or, at least, as soon as he'd regained consciousness. He'd thought the same thing, that it was from the concussion, until he'd gotten them outside and found it was quite a bit louder.
He'd also found it had attracted the attention of the local business owners and law enforcement. Showing them his watch had then summoned the nearest MP as well as an ambulance.
Edward had relocated Al's shoulder on the spot, but he wasn't sure that was the only thing wrong with his brother. His unarmored fingers weren't working too well; none of him was, really. He couldn't trust his sense of touch at the moment, which was one of the reasons he kept tapping his face. It felt funny.
He was hoping that was because of nerve shock he received at impact, rather than because his face was that messed up. It could explain all the curious looks he'd gotten . . . but then again, he already knew his face was bleeding. Maybe he'd just broken his nose. His cheekbones felt like they were in the right spots, after all. He didn't really think he'd damaged his actual skull. But the ache behind his eyes was definitely familiar; he was certain he'd aggravated his already-present concussion, and could look forward to several days of light sensitivity and occasional dizziness.
"An alarm?" Al squinted up again, as if trying to make out the little bell, still steadily ringing away. "Why . .. ?"
"To let someone know the trap had been sprung, I'd guess." That was the only logical conclusion. The 'walls' of the hallway had continued down unbroken those forty feet, so that the hallway floor had fallen as a single slab into what was essentially a deep trench. Even though the springs acted as shock absorbers, the fall had still knocked Al unconscious as well as injured him. A non-alchemist would not have been able to crawl out again. And if Sorn really had split town, setting off an alarm with the trap was the only way to guarantee anyone would think to check the building out before the victims died either of their injuries or starvation.
And that, at least, was a small comfort. It meant Sorn wasn't out to kill anyone. Even if his enemies were.
"You land on your face?"
Ed scowled. Why was Al always tactful with everyone but him? "How bad is it?"
"Not so bad, if you'd actually try to look pleasant."
He simpered, surprised when that made it twinge more strongly, and began gently exploring again.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine, Al." Unlike his brother, he hadn't free-fallen the entire distance. "I caught up with the ladder on the way down."
"With your face?"
Edward seriously considered hitting him. He'd made a grab for the lip of the ceiling when the floor had given, but his armor wasn't automail; there was room inside the metal for his fingers to slide a little. He hadn't had the strength to cling by his fingertips, and had fallen. It had been a simple transmutation to lengthen the falling ladder and jam it between the walls, and while he hadn't managed to catch himself completely, he'd at least slowed himself down.
"No, my face is thanks to you." Because the hallway floor was on springs, and was also a solid piece of wood, not only did it have a lot of give, it also produced a see-saw effect. Al had impacted first, and Ed had badly misjudged where the floor was, since it was on the bounce back up when he hit it. He'd braced his left leg armor to take the impact, but hit bottom a hell of a lot sooner than he'd expected, and the braced armor had sent his weight forward.
At least, that was what he assumed happened. All he really remembered was complete surprise followed by the realization that it was really dark and his face was numb. By the time he'd located his brother, treated him, and transmuted them out of the building, around thirty minutes had gone by.
"Oh," Al murmured, though his voice was not at all apologetic. "What's the other ringing?"
"Ambulance." It was quite loud now; he expected it around the corner any minute.
His brother squinted up at him, suddenly alert. "Nii-san?"
"It's for you, idiot."
Al's eyes widened a moment before he relaxed again. "Oh," he repeated, and then carefully stretched out his legs. "I don't feel that bad . . ."
"How's your neck?" That was the one thing he was worried about, that Al had re-injured his spine. He'd complained of pain ever since he'd been buried alive, five months ago, during his encounter with Craege Irving. Ed had still gone ahead and propped his brother up against his leg to ease his shoulder as well as keep the neck relatively still, but he was afraid even this position was pulling at it.
"Okay," he replied, turning his head slightly back and forth. "A little stiff, though."
Liar.
"Well, try not to move around," he repeated, watching the large, mostly-white automobile cruising up the alley that ran along the back of the building. It came to a stop about ten yards away with a crunch of tires on gravel, and the back doors opened to expel a pair of medics.
"Nii-san-"
"Don't argue with me," he cut him off, even as the MP sauntered back over. As if there was any question as to who was in need of medical attention. "Let Doc check you out. Springs or no, it was a long way to fall."
Alphonse's expression was quickly moving from confusion to something else as one of the paramedics knelt beside him, and Ed smirked when his brother's protesting voice turned plaintive.
Then there were firm, gentle fingers on his face, and Ed jerked back and had to focus on the medic assaulting him.
The fingers followed his flinch, and with a brick wall behind his head, he really had nowhere to go. "Hey-!"
"Take it easy." The voice was soothing. "Don't look like you've got much to be grinning about, son."
So his face was bleeding. Big deal. "I've had worse." He raised his left arm to bat the medic away, but it was immediately caught in a strong grasp. The fingers kept hold of his face, the same cotton-covered steel that was present in the older man's voice.
"I can see that," the medic noted dryly. "Hold still. I'm not gonna hurt you."
Edward stopped moving, fixing the man with a flat look. "I'm fine," he ground between his teeth. "I don't need help. My brother, he's-"
"I know who he is." The fingers were withdrawn from his face, showing him that his attacker was a rather lanky man in his late thirties, with a badly receding hairline and a square jaw. The medic hadn't released his left wrist yet, and his right was still tangled up in Al's coat, useless for fending him off. "I know who you are, too." To emphasize his words, he tapped Edward's cheekbone squarely.
Nothing happened.
The man frowned at him, and Edward returned the look tenfold.
"Great. Then get him to the base hospital. He's one of Dr. Patterson's patients. I'll follow in the car."
He got a pair of raised eyebrows, and the paramedic shifted his grip on his wrist, consulting his watch as he did so. Taking his pulse. Which was a lot like still treating him. And delaying getting Al to Patterson. Ed was about to repeat his refusal of medical attention and reiterate his desire for the two paramedics to get Al and get the lead out when the weight was lifted off his leg – Alphonse was sitting up, much to the apparent displeasure of his own medic.
"Sir, please wait a moment-"
"Sergeant!"
Edward hastily untangled his now-freed right arm, moving to support Al's back, but not fast enough. He almost winced in sympathy as his brother gave a surprised hiss of pain, grabbing his left shoulder tightly.
"Al!"
The MP hadn't been far, but he responded to the summons with a smart salute, and Al forced the words out around a clenched jaw. "The man behind me, Edward Elric, is a witness to and victim of an attack on two State Alchemists."
"Al-"
"He is therefore material to a military investigation and is to be taken into custody immediately." All traces of the slurring were gone. "If he resists, arrest him."
"Yessir."
For a moment, Ed was too stunned to say anything. Pulling rank on him was low, even for his brother. Furthermore, how the hell did this MP know about his temporary demotion anyway? He'd been in the military longer, and since they both shared a rank of major, technically he would have outranked Al if not for the court martial. "Al, just listen to me for two-"
Alphonse couldn't turn his head, and Edward was almost glad of it; his brother's tone was quite unfamiliar to him. Some weird combination of angry, worried, pained, and weary. "No. Don't you argue. You're not the best driver on a good day, and that's not our car."
With his right arm freed, Edward was able to fend off his medic, and he scrambled to his feet as Alphonse was painfully helped to his. "Al-"
"It'll have to wait," Al snapped. "We need to get patched up before we can do anything else."
His medic reached out a hand towards him, and Ed evaded, pacing Al as he slowly made his way toward the ambulance. Injuries be damned, they finally had proof that Sorn had been expecting this, had left traps in his notes to slow down pursuers. Had known he was being targeted by someone prior to disappearing.
It meant he hadn't just stumbled onto some alchemist experimenting with chimera.
And the implications there were heavy. It meant they couldn't be sure that Sorn, even without notes to prove it, hadn't been the one transmuting the chimera. Hadn't been the one mining the Incomplete Stone. And if he was still in the city, now he knew that someone had gotten far enough into their investigation to trip this trap. If he was still in Central, he sure as hell wasn't going to hang around much longer.
"There's no time-"
"No." Al's voice was like stone. "Do as I ask on this. Please."
Edward just blinked at him, completely nonplussed, and that same strong hand gripped his left shoulder. "Come on, son. Let's give them a minute to get him settled. I need you to look up for me."
- x -
"Hey! Tringum!"
Russell blinked, glancing over his shoulder as a large shadow descended the wide stone stairs. It was undoubtedly the source of the hail; no one else had a voice quite like Morris did. Deep and smooth. He should have been a singer, but, as many of them had discovered, alchemy was more lucrative than the arts.
Though he supposed he and Fletch had the best of both worlds. Art in alchemy. Healing wasn't just a science.
"Yo," he greeted, leaning against the banister and waiting patiently. Morris didn't keep him long; the large, dark-skinned man was slipping a few sheets of paper out of his physics textbook, and he held them out as he hopped down the last few stairs.
"Took notes for that lazy brother of yours. Tell him he owes me another favor."
Russ raised his eyebrows, accepting the documents without even looking at them. "Wwhu . . . you mean he wasn't in class?"
Morris grinned at him, a brilliant stripe across his almost-black face. "Nope. Good thing for me, though – I killed another of Sara's ferns."
He just nodded, not even really paying attention. It was noon; Fletch and Morris had the same eleven o'clock, Objects In Motion. And there was no way he'd blow the last class of the day if he'd bothered to show up for his eight o'clock . . . which meant he'd probably just gone directly home after shift.
Good, on the one hand; Fletcher had looked wiped. On the other hand, it would have been nice to know he'd played hooky, as he'd gone out of his way to pick up the slacker. Russ sighed, folding up the documents. "Yeah, that's my brother. Probably just crawling out of bed."
"Heh. Him and the Elrics, then."
"Oh?"
Morris was still grinning, tucking his physics book back under his arm. "We were thinking it was gonna be the first time Full Metal was late to a lecture, but the admin staff came in and announced the class canceled. Was a damn shame, too. I actually put something into the pot this time."
So Edward had cancelled the class. It was a two hour lecture, which meant Fletch really might have just written off the rest of the day. "Well, you got it back, right?"
"Yeah, but I was thinkin' it was my lucky day." He sighed. "I take it you don't know what's up, then?"
Russ shook his head. "What, with Elric?"
"Well, you guys bein' all chummy . . . rumor has it maybe a little too chummy-"
Russell rolled his eyes. "You're disgusting, Morris."
The man held up his hands placatingly. "Just watchin' your back, man, that's all. You know this bunch."
That was an understatement. Thanks to that little announcement a couple days back, the rumor mill was split between the people that thought the military proper was trying to make a grab for the State Alchemists, and the ones that thought the State Alchemists were going to be disbanded by the Parliament. He didn't honestly know the whole story there, though he was pretty sure the Elrics did. But even if he had known, he wasn't about to tell Morris. The guy couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it.
"BL called out, too. Canned his classes for the day, and tomorrow too. Someone said it was from HQ hospital, so we're all pretty sure he finally got Full Metal checked out from that boom a couple days back."
Russ leaned up off the banister, giving Morris more of his attention. "Did Full Metal actually show up and then leave before class?" It had been days; if Edward really still had burns serious enough to warrant a hospital stay, it might be a good idea to collect Fletcher and pay him a visit. He'd be too impatient to let them heal by themselves, and there was always the risk Patterson couldn't keep a lid on the 'automail.'
"Dunno." Morris glanced up at a greeting from another alchemist. "Didn't see him, though," he added. "Take it easy, Tringum. And tell Fletch I need that plant revived by Saturday night."
Russell nodded with a wave, heading back towards the parking lot. Time to go home, grab a shower and possibly his wayward brother, and go pay Full Metal a visit.
An alchemist that owed you was a valuable thing indeed. And a joint healing was going to be worth far more than a fern revival. Maybe even enough to weasel the real reason for the military inquiry out of them.
- x -
A bright light cut straight to the back of his head, startling him, and he squinted painfully. "Geez, doc-"
"Hold still. You're almost as bad as your brother."
Alphonse Elric did his best to keep watering eyes open as Dr. Patterson presumably watched his pupils react. "You know I had to threaten to have the MP arrest him to get him here?"
The doctor whistled quietly, switching his inspection to the other eye. "Whatever works. Though frankly, I'm surprised it did."
Al blinked, and Patterson leaned in a little closer, shrugging apologetically. "Well, if he really wanted to get away, I don't think a platoon of MPs would slow him down."
"Don't give him ideas."
"Oh, trust me, that's the last thing I want to do." Patterson put the penlight away, marking something on the chart sitting on Alphonse's knee. "You have no idea how thrilled I was at the prospect of being able to put you both in private rooms this time."
Al grunted, favoring his aching left shoulder as he eased back onto the pillows propping him up. "I wouldn't have helped him even if you hadn't. He needs some freakin' sleep."
Patterson shook his head slowly, not looking up. "Pot calling kettle," he murmured.
"Hey, I got some sleep-"
"Falling unconscious during an ambulance ride and sleeping are not equivalent, as you well know," the doctor reminded him mildly. "You're spending the night, by the way."
Al just sighed, glancing around the familiar room. Ed had actually been in this room the last time he'd gotten himself beaten up, though now the bed to Al's left was not occupied by a sleeping Prime Minister. Instead, sunlight streamed through the window to warm empty sheets, pleasantly patterned by the shadows of leaves.
Technically, that tree out there was close enough to serve as an escape route, so it had been poor planning on Patterson's part. Luckily, neither Mustang nor Ed had thought to actually use it for that purpose. And he obviously wasn't going to. If Patterson said he needed to stay, he probably did. A glance to Al's right showed him the IV pole, where three small bags of liquid hung like dull-colored fruit. None were familiar.
"Your rotation is a bit better than I expected," Patterson noted, scribbling further on the chart. "Any pain in your neck?"
He turned back to the doctor, thinking about it. "There's an odd grinding feel to it, but no worse than it was the first time." He was pretty sure there was a decent painkiller in that mix somewhere, because he felt a heck of a lot better than he had when he'd first woken on the pavement outside of the building. Then again, that was apparently four and a half hours ago, so maybe the nap had helped. That and not being in shock anymore. "How's Ed?"
"Sleeping. You should take a page out of his book." Patterson signed the chart with the same odd, constricted flourish that all doctors seemed to practice, taking his feet. The mattress sprang back up as his weight disappeared, and Al rearranged the sheets.
"I'll think about it." The moment he did, he yawned, and the doctor grinned at him.
"I see."
"Why do you want to keep me overnight?"
"The concussion. I don't trust Edward to actually wake you up every couple hours. Mainly because I don't trust him to wake up every couple hours," Patterson muttered. "Both of you have fairly disappointing reflexes. I also want to keep that arm immobilized for a while. There's a sling in the top drawer of your nightstand, but I only want you to use it when you use the head."
Al glanced, taking note. "What about Ed?"
"He'll live. He suffered some contusions, but like most head wounds, they looked worse than they were. He aggravated the pre-existing concussion, of course. The burns are coming along nicely, though." His tone was dry. "Outside of a little shock to his nerves, he's fine. Better off than you, actually. I'll keep him overnight, same as you, for observation. You can probably head home tomorrow, but I want you both to take it easy the next couple days. No teaching, freefalling, or explosions."
"Just for a couple days?" Al quipped.
Patterson narrowed his eyes. "You two are going to be the death of me, you know."
"Then maybe you should discharge us. For your health."
Al blinked; Patterson was right. His reflexes were off, as were his observation skills. He hadn't even noticed the door opening.
Nii-san stood in the doorway in the usual blue cotton hospital gown, arm and leg shining. He looked as improved as Al felt; with his face and scalp cleaned up, outside of a giant egg on his forehead, he was otherwise intact. He didn't even have an IV pole with him, so his pain meds were being administered by simple injection.
Patterson was pretty good about prescribing the right meds. If he wasn't even running fluids into nii-san, it meant Ed was fine.
He really was fine.
"Not gonna happen," Patterson almost sang, dropping the chart into the holder on the foot of Al's bed. "Go back to bed, Elric."
Edward stared at him a moment, almost consideringly. "He okay?"
Al rolled his eyes. "'He' is perfectly capable of answering for himself."
"I only ask because Al apparently thought he was an asshole when he first woke up, and I just wanna make sure he's really himself this time around."
Patterson's eyebrows shot for his hairline. "Wow. Boy am I glad you both have private rooms. Should I leave?"
Al waited for Edward to say something else, but his brother just gave him a steady look. "There is that other bed in here, doc. We'll be fine."
"I'm more worried about the equipment." Patterson was still giving Edward a strange look. "You steady on your feet?"
Edward's eyes never moved from his. "This'll just take a second."
Al almost smiled when Patterson sighed. "Sit. I'll be back in twenty minutes to break it up."
His brother eventually moved to comply, and Patterson gave him a slightly wider berth than usual as he took his leave. The door clicked shut just after Ed's butt hit the second bed, and Al watched him for another moment, silently.
"Your neck is better," his brother observed after a moment, in a far more reasonable tone of voice.
"You really want to take that kid on in this condition?" he replied quietly.
His brother frowned at him. "It's kinda hard to do that when we don't even know where he is. And he sure as hell knows the reverse."
Unfortunately, that was true. It wouldn't hard for Franklin to put together the cancelled classes with his trap getting set off. "So you want to be Dwight, or Missy?"
Ed's eyebrows knit together for a moment before it clicked. "The noise of the gears," he said suddenly. "Damn."
The child's adventure book was actually the recording of the trap he'd set, and the rooms the children investigated were probably a code for the construction of the changes he'd made to the building. The 'thunder' the kids had heard, the storm rolling in – that had actually been the sound of the trap falling into motion. The novel had been dated, but of course he could have back-dated it.
If he hadn't, he'd constructed the damn thing over two months ago.
Which meant he'd either been a target, all this time, or he knew he was going to do something that could potentially make him a target.
More and more, their evidence was pointing to Sorn setting something up, instead of being set up. Unless it was all retaliatory, and he was setting up his escape . . . ?
Either way, he probably needed to give Mustang a head's up. Including everything he'd gotten out of Blane yesterday, and everything Ed had told him about the notes.
Al glanced around, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately, it meant his pocketwatch was also conspicuously absent. No matter; it was some time mid-afternoon, which meant Mustang was probably working. It was likely therefore not an opportune time to get him on the phone, even though there was one by the bed. He could always report in to Hawkeye, though . . .
"You really think he's that dangerous?"
Al blinked, refocusing on his brother. "Sorn? I don't know. I've never seen him fight." From what Blane had said, Franklin had little to no combat training, but that didn't mean he didn't carry a collection of useful transmutation circles. His specialty was mechanics, which didn't necessarily lend itself to swift reactions against other forms of alchemy, but it did lend itself to the sort of dangers they'd just encountered from him. Any fight with Franklin needed to be off his normal stomping grounds. He could have boobytrapped a quarter of the city by now. "I do know I'd rather not find out until I've gotten a good night's sleep."
"I've seen him fight," Ed answered, in an unusually quiet voice. "He doesn't seem particularly good at it."
All Al knew of the fight with Irving was that Sorn had taken a hit but lived, and Kirby, twice his elder, had not survived. None of the alchemists attacked had successfully dodged, though he was betting the Strong Arm Alchemist could have if he hadn't been trying to protect his colleagues.
"Let me get this straight. You're pissed because I prevented you from going after him?"
"He's after a Stone, Al. You really want someone else to catch up with him first?"
Unfortunately, that was another good point. "He could have made that trap lethal. I don't think he's trying to kill anyone."
"All the more reason to track him down now."
"And look where? Do you even have any idea where to start?"
"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say he wasn't in the hospital room," Ed began, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But seeing as I can't leave because there's an enlisted stuck to my ass, I guess my search will have to stop at the hospital grounds."
Alphonse took a slow breath. The fact that Ed hadn't left already was a miracle unto itself; the simple reason was because he'd asked. He'd said please, and Ed would remain here based on that alone. Which was affirming, in a way, but it was not the reason his brother needed to stay in the hospital. "You have a concussion, Ed," he started, purposefully using his patient teaching voice. It was condescending as hell, and he knew it. "I doubt even your skull can take another knock."
"I wasn't the one that caught the wire-"
"No, you're the one that blew yourself up a couple days ago," he retorted. "There are some risks we don't have to take-"
"You want to risk that kid out there with who knows how much Incomplete Stone? Or the lives he could take if he figures out how to bind it together?"
. . . oh.
Al closed his eyes.
"You don't think he'd make the same decision you did."
Al heard his brother sigh, and the mattress creaked faintly as he slumped a little on it. ". . . I don't know his reasons. But I do know he doesn't have . . . someone to remind him of his conscience."
He didn't have a terrified little brother in the corner, begging him not to.
Al opened his eyes, choosing to look at his brother's bangs instead of his face. "You would have made the right decision on your own," he said quietly.
Ed smiled, one of the empty ones. "No. I don't think I would've."
There really wasn't much to say to that. Obviously they'd never know. And applying that situation to the present . . . that was a flawed way of thinking of the redhead with the too-big nose. Red Edward was not Edward. He wasn't the Alchemist of the People. He was a genius, yes, but he was a gear-head.
He would think like a gear-head.
He would think like Winry.
"When Patterson gets back, remind me to ask him about . . . Ackernath, did you say?"
His brother looked surprised at the change in subject. "Yeah. Actually, he said if she was bad enough, he was going to bring her here for treatment."
"Think Pinako will listen?"
Behind him, the door opened, and Al glanced over. "That was a short twent-"
It wasn't Patterson.
He smiled in surprise as the visitor fully entered the room, a familiar canvas bag over his shoulder. He was followed by the nurse who had presumably led him to them, one Al also remembered from Edward's last stay. The one that had surprised them all by giving the then-intimidating Brooks a quick kiss on her way out.
"Well, this is a surprise," Russell Tringum drawled, setting the bag down just inside the door and giving the room a once-over. "I was expecting Full Metal to be in that bed. What happened to you two?"
Al shook his head as the nurse frowned at both of them, then bustled over toward Edward. "Long story. What's in the bag?"
Tringum grabbed the chair from the corner, pulling it up towards his bedside. "The usual. I thought I'd be treating burns, though."
"You still could," Al groused, not resisting when the other man leaned in to look at his shoulder. "It was dislocated. Not much you can do, I'm afraid."
"You may be bright, but healers you are not."
"You know, I've been thinking of studying up." Ed said it conversationally, trying valiantly to ignore the fact that the nurse was actually turning down the sheets around him. Al smirked; she would simply transfer him to the room and they both knew it.
After all, if he resisted, she could always go get her boyfriend. None of them had actually seen Brooks – or Goodman – in action, but he would bet a month's salary they were both impressive fighters. Significantly more so than an enlisted, at any rate.
"You could always take a class from me, Full Metal."
Edward gave him a dirty look, and Al laughed outright. Edward taking a class from the Winding Tree Alchemist. As if his pride would allow that.
"Speaking of classes, either of you seen Fletch recently?"
Al felt his eyebrows raise, even as Russell leaned in close, running his hands gently around the swollen joint of his shoulder and back. "I spoke to him on the phone yesterday . . ."
"No, I meant this morning. I actually thought he'd beaten me here."
"No." For a moment, it wasn't clear if Edward was speaking to Russell or the nurse. "We didn't make it into the academy building at all today."
Russell's hands withdrew, and he frowned into his canvas bag as he started rooting around. A female voice broke the sudden silence.
"Tall, blonde, cute?"
All three pairs of eyes swiveled to the young nurse, who used the opportunity to throw a blanket over Ed's bare legs. "Sorry for eavesdropping, but I saw him this morning. He was here looking for Dr. Patterson."
"Really?" Al glanced back at the other alchemist. Russ's tone was a little more sharp than he would have expected, as if the other man was worried. "Was he okay?"
She tutted at Ed as he tried to nonchalantly flip the blanket down, and turned then to look at him and Russ. "He seemed fine. I sent him towards the apothecary. But that was hours ago," she added. "I'm sure he's left by now."
"He wasn't admitted, was he?"
Ed had stopped trying to escape the nurse's mothering, and fixed Russell with an odd look. "Russ, did something happen?"
"Not that I know of," she said with a shake of her head. "You can ask Dr. Patterson when he returns."
Russ just nodded, and she gave him a quick smile before turning back to Edward. "You are not supposed to be walking around, Major Elric."
He crossed his arms. "I feel fine."
"If I see you outside of this room, I'm calling Dr. Patterson," she warned him, flipping the blanket even further over his legs. "You are not sneaking out of this hospital on my watch again."
"I can see why you like Brooks," he muttered under his breath as she withdrew. If she heard, she didn't say anything; she merely patting Al on the foot as she passed by. "I'll bring your lunches to you now, if you'd like to eat."
"That would be nice, thanks."
He also got a smile, and then the door was closed.
"Russ."
Al looked between his brother and the man that had pretended – twice – to be the Full Metal Alchemist. It hurt his neck, so he decided to just stare at a point equidistant between them.
"What's up?"
"Nothing. He's probably out getting groceries or something." Russell gave up on the bag, giving Al an apologetic look. "I don't have the ingredients to repair cartilage or ligaments on this scale. I'll have to come back."
"It's fine, really. Thanks for thinking of me."
"Well, that settles that," Ed announced, and he flipped back the blanket, getting to his feet with a muffled metallic clank. When the two of them just stared at him, he sighed. "Look, you're worried about Fletcher, we're worried about Aunt Pinako, and you need ingredients anyway. Let's just hit the apothecary. I'll bet you a hundred cenz that's where Patterson is right now."
Al continued staring at him, and was more than a little amused that Russ did the same thing. "Because . . "
Ed gestured at some point to Al's right, and he turned to see the IV stand. One of the bags, a lifeless yellow, was nearly depleted.
"How much do you wanna bet that's another one of his med school concoctions?"
Well, that was a good point; he really did feel well enough to get up and wander the hospital, rather than drugged and distant. It would probably be good for his legs, too; he knew he'd landed on his feet, because the soles had tingled unpleasantly when he'd walked to the ambulance and hadn't stopped since. They were probably bruised.
"Didn't that nurse just tell you to stay put?"
Ed shrugged, stretching languidly. "Or she'd get Patterson. Who we want to talk to anyway. It's not like we're going outside."
"I wouldn't in that thing," Russell pointed out, and Al grinned. Blue hospital gowns had a bad habit of not closing well in the back. His opened to the front, though, to allow easier access to his shoulder, so at least there was no chance he was going to accidentally flash anyone in the hall.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Al had already thrown back his sheets, and he gingerly sat up. "Oh, give it a rest. I could use the exercise." If he remained completely still for the next few hours, he was going to be too stiff and sore to even move tomorrow. Which he'd need to do, since he'd have to follow nii-san all over town looking for Franklin Sorn.
"You really don't trust him, do you." Russell sounded amused, helping him put the sling over his head.
"Not as far as I can throw him."
"There was a time you probably could have chucked him a long way."
Of course, Ed had also been a lot lighter back then. And a lot shorter. He very politely did not point this out as the three of them slowly made their way into the hall. And even if Ed's metal boot had been removed, the squeaking of Al's own IV stand's wheels would have given them away plainly, so they didn't bother trying to keep their voices down.
"I dunno, I bet you could have gotten him thirty feet. The automail would have been a good weight."
"It was actually pretty light," Ed corrected, as they rounded the corner towards the nurse's station. There were only patient rooms on their wing, so the apothecary had to be on the other end of the hall. "Pinako and Winry did a good job of inventing new compounds for me."
"To lessen the effect it'd have on his height." Okay, so he could only be tactful for so long.
"Not lessened enough." Okay, so in comparison to that, he was still damn tactful.
Edward made a choking sound. "Who are you calli-"
"Edward Elric, get back here!"
Alphonse grinned to himself and kept right on walking. A patient ambling down the hall with his IV stand in tow was simply considered a patient getting exercise. Edward, on the other hand, was considered a patient on the run.
"I'm still in the hospital!" he yelled back, and the brown-haired nurse glared daggers at him from her round nurse's station. "Not by choice," he added darkly, mostly to himself, but Al didn't bother to turn around and look at him.
"So, what did happen to you two, anyway?"
Shit. Ed didn't know Russell was on Mustang's short list.
"Nothing we can get into here," he said quickly, in a low voice. "I'll tell you later." He didn't even turn to look at Russell, who had dropped back a couple feet to wait for Edward. Hopefully his brother wouldn't question it. Not that he didn't think, as Mustang probably did, that Tringum was clean. It would just be better if fewer people knew until everything had been cleared up.
"Uh-huh," Russell commented, but he dropped it. "So what are you two worried about Pinako Rockbell for? Is she here in Central?"
Al started looking at the doors they were passing as Ed started explaining. All were clearly marked; storage, utility, autoclave, Records-
Ah. Of course the apothecary would be the unlabeled door at the end that looked thick enough to house a meat locker. Just in case something mixed inside was unstable.
Al brought the IV stand around, bracing his weight so none of the pull would be on his left shoulder. He doubted he'd be able to hear anything through the door, so knocking was pointless. He did it anyway, and only waited a few seconds before trying the handle.
"You find it, Al?"
He hauled the thick, solid slab of wood open, glancing at benches crowned with shelves of every possible element. "Yep," he called over his shoulder, pushing his IV stand in. "Anyone home?"
It was too late in the afternoon for the sun to actually glare in through the ceiling-high windows, but there was plenty of light, enough to see the room seemed unoccupied. Most of the benches were clean, arranged in the old-fashioned rows that were a little reminiscent of some of the labs they'd seen in Germany. It was quite obvious which one Patterson had chosen as his own, as it was the only one that appeared to have been used in recent history.
And it was the nearest bench to the shelves and shelves filled with government-approved drugs. Not enough to stock a pharmacy, but close.
Al fully entered the room before he smelled it, something sharp, under the usual scent of baking soda and cleaners. It took him a second to place it; he'd expect to smell stale urine out in the gutter rather than in a room so pristinely clean-
With the door out of the way, he could see around the corner of Patterson's bench that a stool had been overturned. Al took another step into the room, eyeing the floor carefully for broken glass. A sample must have fallen-
But a spilled sample wouldn't have hair.
- x -
"She can't be as bad as you say." Russell pushed the heavy door further open, glancing to his right before heading left. "She did a good job raising Winr . . ." His voice died in his throat, and suddenly Russell was moving like he meant it.
Confused, Ed hurried his steps, coming around the door to see Russell already halfway to -
To Al. His brother was crouched on the floor, looking up at them with a mix of shock and sadness, and while his body was blocking most of the view, it looked like . . .
Edward started running, reaching out for Tringum even as the other man brought his hands together. Al had come to the same conclusion; he was launching himself at Russell, moving away from the body. And it was a body, he'd only gotten a second's glimpse and he could see that the man was dead.
It was too late, or Alphonse would have already done it.
"NO!"
Al got there first, safely catching Russell's left forearm. But he couldn't stop Russell altogether, his left arm was in a sling and there was no catching Tringum's right hand.
His right hand, which was prepared for a human transmutation. Now heading for Al's left shoulder.
Edward threw the 'automail' forward, fingers outstretched. He clipped Russ's ribs hard as he jammed the armor beneath Russell's arm, and there was the sudden, weird shock that accompanied absorbing alchemic energy. The three crashed together with Russell in the middle, and Ed saw Alphonse go flying backwards with a cry of pain.
No.
He twisted his wrist, grabbing Russell's right arm and yanking it behind his back as they both fell. He landed hard on top of Tringum, using the impact and his weight to pin him. But he had eyes only for his brother, for Al, who was sprawled on his back, curled around his left shoulder. His eyes were screwed shut with pain, but he was gasping, he was breathing-
The armor had successfully caught Russ's hand. He'd caught the reaction with steel instead of skin.
"NO!" Beneath him, Russell gave a mighty heave, very nearly throwing him off. His next shout was intelligible, and Edward gritted his teeth, shifting his weight and making sure he wasn't breaking Russell's right arm.
"It's too late!"
And it was. They were only a couple feet from Fletcher, close enough to see the texture and color of his skin. He lay just beside an overturned stool, flat on his back. His arms were resting by his sides, fingers relaxed, and there was no blood, no visible wound. His eyes were mostly open, glassy and already starting to film over, and his expression, even in death, was a shadow of –
Of fear.
At that distance, there was no way to deny that he was looking at Fletcher Tringum.
Russell gave another cry, and Ed hung on grimly as he struggled. "GET OFF ME! GET OFF!"
"Dammit, Russ, listen to me!" The alchemist was going to break his own arm if he kept it up. "It's too late!"
"NO!"
Al was pulling himself back up with effort, almost as pale as Fletcher, and there were tears in his eyes. He met Ed's gaze squarely, breathing hard, and shook his head slightly.
No chance.
"He's gone, Russell."
"Let go!" Russell was sucking down deep breaths, he'd probably been winded by the tackle. "Damn you, help me!"
"Listen to me!" Russell's head was craned up, staring at his brother, and Edward was glad he couldn't see the man's eyes. "Listen to me," he repeated, in a slightly kinder voice. "There's nothing we can do."
Russell gave another heave, then collapsed a little against the floor, and Ed loosened his hold marginally. "There's nothing we can do."
" . . . get off me." It was a little calmer, but not much. "You don't want to help, that's fine. Just get the fuck off me!"
Al had scooted forward again, still cradling his left arm, and looked on helplessly. "Russell, it's too late." His voice was positively gentle, and Ed could feel a tremor pass through Russ's frame. "You'd die."
The man turned his face away from them, laying it on the floor for a moment as he shifted. Edward tightened his hold again, and Russell stilled.
"No one can bring back the dead," he told the man softly. Russ just clenched his jaw, twisting in Ed's grasp.
"He's cold," Al tried again. "His soul has already passed through the Gate. There's no way to call it back." Alphonse looked again at Fletcher, swallowing hard. "And even if you could, think of the damage to his body alone. Think of the damage to his brain. It can't be repaired, not even by us, not without a Philosopher's Stone."
Beneath him, Russell gave another, less emphatic tug.
"And even if you survived to see the result . . . it wouldn't be him."
Footsteps sounded behind them, increasing in volume. "Edward Elric, I will chain you to that be . . ." The voice was masculine, and he heard a sudden, sharp intake of breath.
Doc.
Ed gave Russell a gentle squeeze, and then released his arm, leaning his weight off the other man.
Alphonse's eyes widened slightly, then dropped to the ground as Russell scrambled to his feet. Ed heard Patterson start forward, and he extended the armored arm, blocking his way.
Russell had heard them. If he chose not to listen, that was his choice. He was a talented alchemist; if he survived, they would do everything they could to save his life. It was all they could do.
Patterson almost collided with the armor before he could stop himself. "Russell!"
Tringum had covered the distance in less than a breath, his hands only hesitating for a fraction of a second before they touched his little brother. His entire body flinched, but there was no flash of light. No transmutation.
Just understanding. His fingers told him what he refused to believe from his eyes. Russell had seen enough death. Touched enough.
He started to shake, but his hands were still remarkably steady, so gentle as he touched his brother's chest, his face. He opened his mouth but said nothing, closed it again. He reached out with his right hand to stroke Fletcher's cheek, his thumb running over his cheekbone before withdrawing, and Russell rubbed it thoughtfully against his forefinger.
"He was crying," he announced into the silence. When he brought his hands together, it wasn't so much a clap as a touch, and Edward had to hold himself back. Kept his arm out, even as Patterson tried to push past him.
"Dammit, Ed, he's going t-"
Al jerked, too, but didn't stop him as Russell laid his hands again on his brother's body.
The flash of the transmutation was very brief, and when it was gone Russell was still there, just as he had been. Fletcher's body appeared unchanged, and Edward blinked, so shocked he didn't even notice when Patterson successfully circumvented him.
How . . .?
Russell swallowed hard, his fingers suddenly curling into his brother's shirt. "There's nothing wrong," he croaked, staring at his brother's face. "There's nothing wrong with him."
Patterson made no move to try to push Russell away, he just knelt on Fletcher's other side, reaching out for the younger Tringum's throat. The second his fingertips brushed skin, however, his expression changed from urgent to something else, something Edward had never seen on the doctor's face. He withdrew his hand slowly, staring at the body critically.
Russell looked up at him, as if seeking some sort of answer, and Patterson met his gaze with eyes full of sympathy.
"I'm so very sorry, Russell."
Russell's throat bobbed for a moment, and then his eyes filled. He looked back down at his brother, and his hands began to shake.
"You said you were fine," he whispered hoarsely, gripping his brother's shirt even tighter. "You told me you were fine. Why did I let you go?"
Patterson put a hand on Russ's shoulder, his expression flicking from sympathetic to concerned in an instant. "Russell, you're bleeding."
Ed blinked. Doc was right; there was a tear in Russ's shirt, just under his right arm, and the fabric was stained red. He'd clipped him harder than he thought.
"I did that," he admitted quietly, moving to help Al. "Might've gotten a rib, too. I'm sorry."
Patterson just nodded, eyeing both him and Al up and down. His gaze lingered on Al's shoulder, still being cradled through the sling, and then he looked back at Russell.
"Come on," he said coaxingly, tugging gently on his shoulder. Russell immediately resisted, his arm flying out to swipe the doctor's hand from his shoulder.
"I'm staying," he growled in a thick voice. "I looked, but I can't find anything wrong. I-I don't know-"
Patterson didn't try to touch him again. "I need to examine him now, and I can't do that here."
"But there's nothing wrong with him!" His voice was rising in pitch. "You don't understand, I've looked, his organs are fine-"
"I swear to you, I will find out what happened." Edward had never heard Patterson so serious. "I will tell you as soon as I know. But right now I need you to come with me. You need stitches, Russell."
He balked, but he released his brother's shirt. The fabric remained bunched, molded by his fingers.
"No . . ." His voice was pleading.
"You're bleeding heavily. You need to be treated." It was a bit of an overstatement; the stain was spreading nicely but certainly not alarmingly. "Edward, would you please help Alphonse back to bed?"
For once, his not-quite-forceful tone seemed to be enough, because Ed found himself moving towards the door without really meaning to do so. Russell's transmutation had to have been something small, like moving the iron in Fletcher's blood. Something that gave him a picture of what Fletcher looked like on the inside. If he was fine-
But obviously he wasn't. Hadn't been.
"Thank you," he heard Patterson say, and he glanced back to find that Russell hadn't moved, and neither had the doctor. "We'll be along in just a moment."
- x -
Author's Notes: I'd apologize for the long delay, but I warned everyone ahead of time that this one was not going to be updated quite so quickly. Pre-emptive disclaiming good! Getting slammed at work bad.
Regarding the previous Author's Notes – please don't get the wrong idea! I wasn't fishing for feedback! I just wanted to make sure that you guys feel comfortable giving me the good with the bad, because god knows I will kill a story with sheer amounts of plot if given half a chance. It's absolutely appropriate to let an author know what works and what doesn't, and such information is very helpful! I will never get offended with comments left unless they are quite obviously flames, and I've yet to be flamed . . . well, ever, regarding a fic. Messageboards, now, that's another animal altogether . . . ; )
(And while I wasn't fishing, thank you guys so much!! There was lots of happy squeeing.)
So, Krows Scared, thank you for the comments about plot-heaviness. I guess I didn't do a good job of improving on that this chapter, did I. \ And Should Be Sleeping, don't hurt yourself feedbacking!! Is your hand okay??
I know I said things would start moving, but I sort of had a little change of plot. If I post the notes for this fic at the end, as I did with the first, you'll see what it was then. Trust me when I say almost every word of this chapter was necessary. And it seems you're all holding out for a magical plot twist to save Fletcher . . . :whistles innocently: I guess I should get to writing, then!
On Content Warnings: As a rule, I only give two kinds – explicit sexual content warnings and tearjerk warnings. Some people aren't old enough to read this stuff, and some people prefer not to suddenly burst into tears in the middle of the public library, internet café, etc. I do not give any other types of content warnings – I feel it acts as a spoiler for the fic.