Chapter Two: Many Betrayals
Adiel was quiet the whole way back to the manor. William, using his twin senses, understood she had many thoughts to digest and didn't push her into conversation. Instead, the two twins absentmindedly listened to their mother's chatter; both of them knew that Dante's ostensible cheer was merely a mask for her almost overpowering anxiety.
'Why would one go back into the past if they died? Does the Gate send you back…,' she stopped mid-thought. The Gate threw an answer at her faster than she could ask the question. Adiel could feel her head burn with extraneous knowledge that she promptly tried to forget. 'Stupid Gate… it's not supposed to. But as a stupid coincidence, it took me. But why?' If the Gate had a voice, the thrice-damned thing would be sniggering at Adiel's confusion. She decided to save her sanity once more by putting her thoughts off till another time.
The family sans father made it back to the manor in a short amount of time and immediately started to pack. Adiel brought out a large, black, leather bag and began to unceremoniously shove dresses inside. Really, she had nothing against dresses, but her legs were just used to being covered up. After her 'death', Adiel's hypersensitivity to the cold seemed to have disappeared among other traits (like needing to shave her legs; it made wearing dresses seem safer).
Aside from too much information, she was unable to sleep any longer. This development upset her deeply, much more than it did William; sleep was her method of escaping daily life (albeit an unhealthy method). Her first few nights were spent restlessly trying to let her body shut down and ease into the relaxed rhythm of sleep. After a week or so, she ensconced herself in William's room to talk, read, play games, or just to enjoy each other's company. Dante had yet to know about the twins' situation.
Adiel finished off with tossing a light cloak into the bag. She quickly exited her room and headed downstairs, where the foyer was. William was already waiting impatiently.
"Mother still has business to take care of," he said, answering her barely-formed question. Adiel refrained from rolling her eyes. Was he like a miniature Gate or something, predicting her questions similarly? She rather not think about that hideous structure at the moment, so Adiel looked around for potential sources of amusement sans her brother.
Adiel didn't have the time. Dante burst into the room, dragging large truck after large trunk into the room. William immediately leapt to help her and Adiel followed at a slower pace. The two managed to pull five mahogany trunks into the foyer. Adiel patted her nose, slightly confused that it wasn't moist with sweat like when she usually carried heavy things. She shrugged—and pouted when Dante scolded her for such unrefined behavior. Her new body was so strange. She hardly felt tired at all.
"We need to be off, dears," Dante called out. William and Adiel sulkily dragged her trunks outside.
Dante was humming cheerily while the twins were pensively staring at the passing scenery. They were sitting on the back of a rickety wagon pulled by horses. An old man was steering.
"Have you traveled much, William?"
"Not really… have you—" he stopped, remembering that she hadn't lived long.
Adiel didn't notice that and thought he finished his question. "Yes, I have."
William looked extremely puzzled. "When would you have the opportunity to travel?" Adiel's eyes widened with shock and she then bit her lip with trepidation. She couldn't believe that she slipped already. It had only been two months. As a young girl—she would loath to admit—gossip was an integral part of her life, so secrets, except for life-or-death ones, didn't stay as such for long. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing for William to know. And besides, who else could she trust in this world-time, if not him? As her twin, he was already proving to be unusually loyal and close to her in such a short amount of time and vice versa.
"I'll talk to you when we get to the other manor," Adiel hissed, taking care to not alert Dante. The woman had a frail happiness about her, and she didn't want to give something new for her mother to worry about.
William nodded with complete understanding and turned back to stare vapidly at the trees. Time passed with no dialogue between the family members.
The old man giving them a ride stopped at the nearest town for the night and rode off. Dante said that they would have to get a new coach in the morning, and that they might as well spend the night at an inn. Again, Adiel and William had to drag the trunks up a flight of narrow stairs and into a tiny room for their mother. The twins each had their own room on both sides of Dante's room. While their mother went downstairs for a drink and supper, the twins sequestered themselves in Adiel's room to talk.
"Well, what were you talking about then, Adiel?" William asked immediately, unable to hold in his curiosity.
She worried her lip and tugged on her hair. "Umm… well, I… I lived before I died, you know?"
William did not know. He gave her the most puzzled look anyone could have on their face. "Would you like to elaborate more?"
"Well, I may not have lived in this body, but my spirit was in another body before it… died," she finished lamely. William snorted.
"Are you sure that you didn't imagine things? Really, another life…"
"Not as outrageous as being brought back to life," Adiel pointed out. William frowned.
"I don't like it when you have a point. I'm supposed to make the most sense," he whined. Adiel rolled her eyes and looked down snootily towards her brother.
"Well, I've found kindness in my heart to let you make sense," she retorted.
William started laughing. "That didn't make sense." Both collapsed in gales of laughter but regained control after a few moments.
"Keep explaining," William implored.
Adiel closed her eyes. She thought back to that night, and once she remembered details, she reached further back in her memory. "I lived sixteen years in this other place… it was much more futuristic than now—but I suppose it was the year was 2010 and it is 1514 now." William was enraptured.
"Tell me about your life."
"You believe me?" Adiel looked at William incredulously, but an indignant squeak from her brother prompted her to continue. "Let's see; I had a regular family… a mother, a father, and a younger brother—plenty of older cousins. I lived in a city—it would be the size of ten towns put together with the population of fifty towns. I visited other countries, I wasn't rich or poor; I was sixteen, I went to school to study for university—"
"—you actually went to school?" William interjected, shocked. Adiel looked surprised. William shook his head. "Now I really know you're probably not making this up; girls have never received a formal education in the past and now," he explained.
Adiel's eyes lit up. "Was that why you used to look at me strangely when I read alchemical texts in the library?" William nodded, but gestured for her to go on.
"Right… I died, causing me to appear in this world-time-place," Adiel concluded.
William looked disappointed. "That's it? You just died?"
"No, I was murdered by a serial killer nicknamed The Beautician; he cuts shapes into girls and chops off their hair," Adiel explained calmly, not betraying the tangled mess of emotion in her head. William noticed but pressed her on—better to make her think about something else than mulling over bad memories.
"Well, how did you get here?"
"I walked through the Gate. Didn't you see it too, when you died?" At William's confusion, Adiel decided to elaborate. "There's this gate, you see… one's spirit seems to go there after they die. My guess is that it filters out spirits between the worlds; it hasn't exactly answered my questions pertaining it," she grumbled. "Something messed up and I was sucked into here with you." Adiel looked away, afraid of William's reaction. She wouldn't admit it, but she grew rather attached to her new brother and didn't want to scare him off.
William responded quietly. "I really don't know what all of that will do to anything now, but it doesn't change the fact that you came here as my sister and it'll stay that way." She turned back to him, eyes full of wonder. He frowned. "I wish I could remember as much as you… everything seems fuzzy, except for key memories, you know? Like whom my parents are, my name, age, and when… when I died."
Adiel was worried. "What about other things? I thought you were an apprentice physician… you remember your medical studies, right?" William nodded, perplexed.
"It's strange… I-I haven't told you yet, but… I'm afraid that I'll end up forgetting myself one day."
He was hugged by Adiel. "If you do, I'll be there to remind you," she promised solemnly. "As long as you'll always accept me as your sister, and I'll always accept you as a brother, even though it's been such a short time—"
William cracked a smile. "No need to make a speech! Besides, you're the only one who has the same problem with their body," he gestured, "and I don't want to deal with this alone. So thank you for telling me your secret. I promise to never tell."
"Same promise for you." Adiel held out her pinky. "I know this is childish… but pinky-promise?" William cocked his head in confusion. "That means we entwine our pinkies and shake our hands as a gesture of our word." William rolled his eyes and did as she requested, but Adiel knew without seeing that he had a tiny smile on his face.
There was little to note for the next day and a half of travelling. The family finally reached their destination and left their things at an inn for the time being.
"See up there?" Dante pointed towards the mountain that overshadowed the town. "We have a large estate up the mountain. Your father should be there…" she trailed off. Neither William nor Adiel replied, both nervous and scared.
The trek up the mountain was silent. Out of the three, Adiel was the only one to relax and observe the surroundings. She realized that she didn't have the emotional attachment that Dante and William had towards Hohenheim, so she supposed that she really had nothing to be anxious about.
They reached the manor as the sun started to set. Adiel still had yet to feel fatigued and it was starting to nag at her. It wasn't like she enjoyed being tired, but it felt so foreign and wrong. She knew that William had put little thought into it—one look at his troubled face showed that he was concentration on the reunion with Hohenheim instead. Adiel hoped for William and Dante's sake that her father wouldn't ruin his last chance to reconcile…
Adiel almost toppled over in surprise and pain. William had stopped walking in front of her and she crashed headlong into him. Her nose was slightly sore, but the pain dissipated soon. She looked up in awe. As she was from a bourgeoisie background, opulence still overwhelmed her—the manor was a work of art. Doors were beautifully embossed with designs; the iron-wrought gates were delicate and elaborate… Adiel felt her head spin. She laughed at herself mentally. Wasn't she used to the other manor? She hummed to herself when she realized that she rarely went outside for the past few months.
Dante waited at the side while William single-handed pushed the large gates open. Adiel saw that he hardly broke a sweat. The three of them walked towards the front door briskly and stopped short. The door was made of a thick, dark wood. There was no knocker on the door—Adiel assumed the visitors pulled the tarnished chain that hung down from the roof.
Neither Dante nor William was willing to pull the chain. Adiel saw that it was going nowhere, so she stepped up to the intimidating front door and quickly gave the chain a sharp tug before stepping back behind William. She supposed that she lied to herself when she thought she wasn't nervous.
A few grueling moments later, the door was pushed open with ostensible trepidation and Hohenheim popped his head out. He took one look at his callers, debated whether to slam the door shut or not, but ended up cracking the door open a bit more to allow access. "Come in."
Dante strode into the foyer with caution while William sauntered with a blank face. Adiel always stayed a few steps behind her brother, not really understanding her part in this reunion.
"Well, Hohenheim; you said that the experiment was a failure, but you see the result behind you now," Dante gestured to her children gracefully. Adiel and William wrinkled their nose in unison at the word 'experiment' but let it pass.
Hohenheim stood imperviously, eyes staring and appraising the forms of his offspring. William was beginning to lose patience. "Why did you leave us? Why did you abandon Mother?" Adiel heard the hidden part in the message: Why did you abandon me?
The man was suddenly overcome with emotion. "William, my precious son," he wept, sweeping William into a fierce hug. "You're alive again… you'll live again."
William stood still until the embrace ended. "Now you decide to play the loving father," he spat. "I want to know why you left. Give me a reason to forgive you; give a reason—" he looked back "—for Adiel—" he shoved his sister to the front of him "—to forgive you for not being her father as soon as she was born into this world. And apologize; we deserve at least that much." Hohenheim looked curiously at the girl and Adiel stared back intrepidly.
She saw a more mature jaw line of William's on his face; Hohenheim's faint brows were on her face (the last she looked in a mirror), but that was all the obvious features they had in common that she could discern. Hohenheim had a thin, sharp face and a lanky body. His dark hair was kept in a long ponytail—he obviously kept it well but couldn't be bothered to cut it. His glasses gave him a scholarly air. She just noticed now, but the same flowery scent hung around him as did Dante. Perfume?
"Adiel," he murmured, tasting the name for the first time. The man's voice was soft but not weak. Hohenheim smiled wearily at her. "I've always wanted a daughter—"
"—stop this!" William was scowling. "How can you act like nothing happened? You can't just pretend that you didn't run away!" Dante sent her son a sharp glance that preempted his tirade.
"William, please—" she stressed on the word 'please' "—forgive your father." She turned to Hohenheim and smiled. "Yes, we have a daughter; we had her all along. We're blessed as a family, aren't we, Hohenheim?"
Adiel's father was still staring at her with wonder. "Lost before childbirth, then…a daughter," he said, smiling. William was seething at Hohenheim's unrepentant attitude towards his sister. Dante alternated between shooting warning glances at William, smiles at Hohenheim, and urging, reproachful looks at Adiel.
Adiel said nothing, but she did not reject the warm affection Hohenheim was giving through his gaze. She had little feelings on the situation; in her heart, her father was the one she left behind when she died—Dante was second to her real mother, but yet still a mother. Hohenheim hadn't stayed around for her to recognize him. She wanted to give him a chance: one, because of Dante's longing for her lover (they didn't seemed to be married); two, because she knew that, even without apologies, William wanted his father back in his life—he would praise Hohenheim for his accomplishments and brilliance during their nightly discussions; three, she felt that if she had a chance to live in this life, she might as well have a father.
Dante, William, and Hohenheim were waiting for Adiel's next move. If she decided to not forgive—
"Hmm," she sounded out. There really wasn't anything she could have said. It made her sound grumpy so Dante practically dragged her inside the manor, past William and Hohenheim, past two corridors, past the stairs, and into a commodious room with a luxurious, queen-sized bed and shoved her under the covers.
"You must be tired from the journey, Adiel," Dante commented briskly. She patted Adiel's face and smiled. "I'm very glad that you decided to be more mature than your brother pertaining this—" Dante pulled the covers higher over Adiel's body "—and all I ask is just to have a big heart for your father; as a man, his mistakes will be numerous," she said conspiratorially, a small smile gracing her lips. "What does matter is that your father is always willing to try. Isn't that more important?"
To Dante's imploring gaze, Adiel could only affirm her declaration. Dante smiled gratefully at her nod and, patting her head one more time, left the room with a resounding snap of the door. Adiel sighed. She supposed that she should try to force herself to sleep for the umpteenth time, despite knowing how impossible it was.
She didn't know how, but days managed to flash by into weeks, melting into months, and flowing into years. Gradually, William warmed back up to Hohenheim. Gradually, Dante and Hohenheim fell into the roles of loving parents. Gradually, Adiel felt that they were truly a family.
She would read and relax with William. The two of them spent their time walking idly in through towns and villages. During the summer, William persuaded Adiel to swim with him. Adiel was very leery of swimming, despite enjoying it very much—the time period she was in now did not have swimsuits. What she considered skinny-dipping was natural and common. William solved her problems with a big shove into the nearby lake; her layers of dresses and petticoats and stockings made her sink like a rock until she twisted out of them to swim to break to the surface. William found that his medical books mysteriously disappeared the next week, and had to hunt through the daunting bookcases of the manor library (which was as big as a ballroom).
Dante was adamant that Adiel should learn more lady-like behaviors, such as sewing and embroidery. Adiel was constantly reminded to "—stand straight, chin up, and for heaven's sake; please don't stomp through the halls!" She took it in stride and enjoyed the peaceful times that she spent lounging with Dante, quietly working on some sort of embroidery or just looking at nature in the garden.
Though Adiel knew that Dante was very inclined towards science, Dante left Hohenheim to connect to Adiel on that level. Hohenheim was pleasantly surprised to hear his daughter's well-formed opinions on various alchemical practices that he had written treatises about. He started to educate her on alchemy in earnest. Adiel proved to be quite adept with the science, but she knew that most of her ease was due to knowledge gleaned from the Gate. The Gate only provided wisps of knowledge, so she still had to actually learn. William did not participate in these alchemy lectures because he would rather learn about the medical field. Another reason was that the family discovered that William was the only one unable to perform Alchemy, not that he tried it in his past life. Still, William couldn't care less and life went on.
It was strange. As years passed by, Adiel noticed that while Dante and Hohenheim aged, neither she nor William did. William didn't care to notice or he noticed, but he didn't care and neither did Hohenheim or Dante since no one celebrated birthdays after their twenty-fifth birthday—but Adiel became slightly bothered. She knew there was definitely something different about William and her. The other day, Dante dropped a silver plate because it was very hot; Adiel walked by a moment later and not knowing, she picked it up. Her hand had jerked in pain and she dropped the plate like her mother, but when she looked at her skin, there was no burn and the pain disappeared a second later. Adiel remembered seeing William crash headlong into a thick oak branch while horseback riding. His nose only had a small cut that seemed to fade as the day went on—the bridge of his nose became less swollen within minutes. "I feel fine," he had grumbled, swatting away Adiel's worried hands.
Since she was the only one who actually cared about the abnormalities, it was Adiel's responsibility to tell Dante and Hohenheim. Something held her back, though.
She did care about her new parents, but she knew she would only feel vaguely disappointed if they left. Adiel did feel affection towards them, but… she knew that she rarely cared about anyone, even back when she was alive—at least, it was hard for her to be attached to adults, but that was another psychological twist for another day. Feeling a hollow pulse in her chest, Adiel wondered if she was lying to herself. What if her new family believed her to be some sort of inhuman monstrosity—weren't they experiments to bring back the dead? What if something had gone wrong? If they left—
No, William would be the one hurt the most. William, being the stereotypical boy, bottled everything up and tried to masquerade as someone 'perfectly fine, thank you very much'. Adiel saw how every time he brought up Hohenheim when he was gone, his voice would falter and his face would turn blank. William would only return to normal when she sat next to him, murmured and fidgeted with his clothes, bringing him back from his pensiveness. She wouldn't feel upset for her own sake, but for William's sake. If they ever abandoned the two of them, Adiel would hurt and cry only for William's pain. She didn't know how, but William had firmly planted himself in her heart over months and years. Adiel loved him, loved him like the brother she had left behind many years ago, loved how he would insist on glaring away every potential suitor, loved how he hated that she rearranged his bookcases as a practical joke, loved how he shoved her into the lake as retaliation, and loved how she could count on him being on her side always.
It would hurt when she saw Hohenheim's conversations with William—their father would dip back into nostalgia and ask if William was able to remember something from his first life. Sometimes he did and sometimes he didn't; the days that he didn't became more frequent and Hohenheim tried to hide his growing disappointment. William began to grow more worried.
He would sit sullenly in Adiel's room at night while she lay on the bed, diving into the Gate mentally to grasp for answers. She seemed to have been able to access the ominous structure without adverse effects to herself and took to exploring it while she was supposed to be sleeping. She told William that since he died before and passed through the Gate, the omniscient structure must have some sort of record, imprint, or something of his memories. When Adiel first started traversing the Gate, she caught snippets of her own memories from the other side. She viewed them with a detached interest. The girl back then didn't feel like her now. It wasn't like she had a different purpose now—both the past and present girl lacked direction.
She found bits of William. They hardly seemed different, except that the William of the present was a little tenser, more anxious. She supposed that it had to do with his niggling fear of being abandoned, since Hohenheim almost did so once before. Dante didn't appear inclined to do the same, but it was painfully obvious that William was much more attached to Hohenheim. After two decades or so, there were more worries than abandonment running throughout the family for the past few years.
Their country, Hylantier, was under pressure to join the new militant country Amestris. It was implied throughout the land that Amestris would have war before Hylantier caved into its demands. William felt as though he should join in protecting his country, but Dante and Hohenheim did not take well to any risk to their son's life. Adiel jokingly implied that she would dress like a male and run off to war—like the girl from a famous story imported from Xing—but Dante threatened to chain her to the living room couch. The family was left with little choice but to flee and keep a low profile as tensions rose.
It was the dead of winter in the year 1557. The borders of the quaint town the family resided in brought whispers of attack and invasion. It was time for an evacuation. Hohenheim secured passage to a province deeper inside Hylantier's territory. As moving day approached, the twins decided to revisit the nearby lake for a final time.
"This was a nice place for a while… I just despise war." William's boot scuffed the rock protruding from the dirt. He led the way down to the lake the two of them frequented. The surroundings were shadowy and lively with the sounds of twilight. The twins were walking along a hilltop of dry grass and ice plant tangles that overlooked the lake. Barren trees filled a sharp declivity below the hill and surrounded the actual lake.
Adiel caught herself as she stumbled over a gopher hole. "It feels senseless… why would one want or even need more land, especially such a large country as Amestris? Why conquer?"
"Politics," William grumbled. "I will not pretend to understand the ruling body. I mean, can you believe that there was an edict to restrict opium poppy imports? Honestly, just because the Xingese cannot control their bad habits, it does not mean that others should suffer for their folly!"
Adiel smirked with mirth. She knew enough of his medical world that she could keep up with him, and maybe throw in some jibes. "Apparently, along the apothecary grapevine, the Aerugonians made a breakthrough regarding opium as a pain reliever. I shudder to think that Kaileth of Aerugo is allowed to cut people open without consequence—"
"—Kaileth is a highly respected physician and … but yes, Aerugonians should just stick with trading pots," William interjected with a dirty look tossed at his sister. She smiled angelically. "I only wish us poor Hylanchians were allowed to be as medically advanced as the Vyish. They put Xing and Aerugo to shame."
"Maybe it has to do with the fact that Vye produces most of your raw medical material." Adiel threw her hands up with mock-frustration. "I wish that we were as alchemically advanced as Amestris. That isn't fair."
William gave a sly glance at his bemoaning sister. "Well, I heard that old crone Paracelsus claimed to have found the secret to immortality."
Adiel snorted and unconsciously whipped a fan out to cover her face in embarrassment. Dante's constant inculcation of etiquette did have an effect, after all. "That man is only a whelp. He should just stick to his mind games; the psychology of this time is sorely lacking." William rolled his eyes. "I am telling the truth!" She calmed down. "On the subject of alchemy, Nikolai had a very interesting thesis—"
It was William's turn to snort. "His treatise on the riveting chemistry of lead proved far more accurate than anything he could write on alchemy—" His sister's shriek sent his chills up his spine. William whipped around to discern the problem and let out a yell.
Adiel had slipped. Her foot tangled in ice plants vines and she fell backwards. Her body was hurtling down rapidly and William swore that time slowed down as the sickening crunch of Adiel's skull smashing into a tree trunk echoed through the night. "ADIEL!" he howled. William tore his way downhill, trying to reach his sister, trying to see if she was still alive, trying to see if he could help her at all.
A vicious red drop fell onto his face and mingled with tears that he did not remember appearing. He found her. William looked up and saw her battered head and unseeing eyes angled unnaturally towards the ground. What made the picture more grotesque was that her body was impaled by a sharp branch, devoid of leaves. Her arms draped over her section of the treetop like a morbid puppet. William felt his throat twist but his body could not throw up, would not throw up, even though he wanted the sick squirming in his abdomen to stop. She was his twin. He had lived eighteen years without her before, but he had also spent a few decades cementing her existence to his.
He stood under her, blood creating red tears as he cried when he felt the steady droplets ease up. Did she bleed out that quickly? He looked up, reluctant to stare her in the eyes again. Adiel just blinked. He must have imagined things.
"This… is unexpected." Her familiar drawl almost sent his heart into cardiac arrest. William couldn't stop staring now. Her head, while bloody, showed no sign of injury and her point of impalement was healing. He saw how the skin of her stomach looked as though it was stitching itself back up. Her body twitched as her flesh became completely wrapped around the branch.
"You're—you're still alive," William let out in a breath of amazement.
"I'm still alive," she echoed. She wiped off blood that threatened to drip into her eyes. "I-I—this can't be… I felt myself black out for a moment—"
"I saw you. You were dead; your head was crack open and now—it looks fine," William added in disbelief. His morbid side looked on in amusement as Adiel tried to free herself from the branch.
"Oh, just chop me down," she growled in frustration. "If I survived that and healed back up, I should live through additional pains—not that I want to," she added under her breath. William, unable to find any ax or sorts in proximity, took to climbing up the tree and kicking the branch with all his might. Surprisingly, his strength proved devastating as his foot broke through the wood and Adiel dropped a few yards to the ground. A pained gasp and moan, followed by a grumble convinced William that she had indeed survived the fall. Adiel was bleeding from landing on her belly, but the force of her landing jarred the remainder of the oversized stake out of her body. She was coughing blood and on all fours as William carefully descended and ran up to her.
"You're unhurt?" He looked at the gaping hole through her abdomen. "Relatively unhurt?" He gasped as he saw her flesh twist close again, but more dramatically this time. "Your wound just… healed itself." William knew if this was any other day in any other circumstance, Adiel would have laughed at how unnerved his voice sounded.
She did laugh still. "I feel fine now." She looked down at her ruined dress and bloody, yet unharmed, stomach. Rubbing her skin, she marveled at how normal she felt, if that was even the right word for it. "I feel simply divine. Wait," she muttered. Adiel gestured for William to hand her a sharp branch that fell nearby. When she wrapped the stubby wooden spike in her hands, she stabbed zealously into her left thigh.
Through her hiss of pain, William wrenched out the branch in panic. "Are you out of your mind?" He stopped as the wound healed itself again right before his eyes. Adiel smiled and touched her skin.
"This is incredible…" Incredible couldn't fully describe it. William looked at the bloody branch in his hand and gritted his teeth. In a flash, he jammed the wood through his left thigh. Adiel looked worriedly at him. "What if you canno—" his twisting flesh silenced her quickly. A smile grew upon her face.
William felt much more confused, but let the thought of invincibility rush through his head. "What is this?"
"I have no idea… maybe—we should ask Mother and Father; they might know something—"
"—that does not sound like a bright idea—"
"—fine, we won't let them know, and try to figure this out ourselves—"
"—that's a much better idea." The twins reached an agreement.
Adiel looked back towards the path from where they fell from. They just needed to run home without being seen by locals, sneak into the house without being seen by their parents, and dispose of their bloody clothes without them being seen by anyone. Perfect.
The two of them resorted to crawling through the local flora to sneak in through the veranda in the back. Adiel pushed William as he lost his footing while scaling the railings and then she pulled herself up easily. They smirked at each other as they quietly pushed past the curtain that served as a barrier from the outside elements and into the corridor. Adiel nimbly stole down the hall and up the stairs, followed by William when a shocked voice stopped them: "William? Adiel? What ar—you're covered in blood!" It was Dante with Hohenheim walking quietly behind her. Both looked at their children in horror.
"Are you two alright?" Hohenheim rushed up the stairs and dragged both of them down; Dante started pulling at their blood-encrusted clothing and checking frantically for wounds.
"We-ah, stop!—we're fine!" William said firmly. He pushed his mother away from his red-stained, but otherwise undamaged, shirt and coughed nervously when the family was totally silent.
Dante wasn't done worrying. "But—blood—why...?" she seemed to have lost the capabilities of speech in shock.
Hohenheim wasn't as easily deterred. "Explain. Now." His voice left no room for escape or arguments.
Adiel spoke up. "Well... I-er-got hurt... but I'm fine now?" she said with a nervous lilt at the end of her sentence. Hohenheim was not so blasé.
"It looks like a bear mauled you here—" he pointed at her head "—and here—" he pointed at her stomach "—but there are no wounds. And William—" he turned to his son now "—you look like you've been swimming in blood. What happened?"
William caved in. He babbled incoherently about everything from Adiel's fall to their sneaking in through the veranda until their father pieced everything together. Dante stared at them, her face pale.
"Wha-what does this mean, then?" she murmured softly.
William seemed to have snapped with momentary insanity. "Father, hand me your scalpel." He was pointing at the small surgery pouch Hohenheim carried around for his scientific experiments. He withdrew a small, sharp knife from a leather pouch that hung at his hip.
"William, what foolishness is thi—"
Dante screamed as William sliced himself on the back of his hand. She almost fainted when he sliced open the palm that Adiel offered him. Hohenheim's lips tightened as he watched their skin beadily. Their flesh knit back together. He stepped back, holding Dante upright.
"See, we're perfectly fine," William said, exasperated.
He didn't expect Hohenheim to utter what he did.
"...unnatural... abominations—"
"What?" Adiel looked at her father in shock. Hohenheim's eyes widened and she saw how his pupils were dilating with fear.
"You two aren't human! You cannot be my children!"
William let out a cry. "Father? I don't understand! I am your son!" He was painfully confused.
Hohenheim backed up the hall and let Dante drop to the floor. "You're only a human-like doll wearing the face of my son! You don't have his memories! You have everything else but that! How can you be my son?"
Adiel stepped forward with indignation. "I thought you didn't care! He remembers some things! That's enough!"
"Stay back!" Hohenheim roared. He looked at the two wildly. "Both of you... inhuman... I've created monsters!"
He tried to run down the hall but Dante grabbed his leg. "Hohenh—you can't leave! You promised!"
Hohenheim tried to shake her grip off but her hands proved to be like a steel trap. "I only promised to live out our life with our children! Have you even noticed? They haven't aged since forty-odd years ago! They don't keep flesh wounds! They AREN'T human!" The twins winced and fell back onto a wall, devastated.
Dante cried. "But they're still mine! We can use the Stone, we can live with them—"
Hohenheim finally kicked her hands off. "—but they aren't mine. I-I'm taking the Stone. You do what you want; it's your foolish choice." With these final words, Hohenheim fled the scene.
It had been weeks since Hohenheim left. The manor mirrored the desolation and torrent of negativity that flooded everyone living inside. Dante walked about like a zombie, muttering to herself about 'she was running out of life'. Whenever she had more energy than a rotting corpse, Dante would scour the manor for 'the Stone'.
William and Adiel stayed out of her way, partly due to fear and partly due to pain. They didn't know how to deal with her. William especially didn't know how to cope. He was broken at first; then his depression gave way to anger. He broke things. He broke Adiel. Adiel could fix herself, while the objects he destroyed could not. Adiel didn't want to use alchemy to fix them, either.
She cried at how William was torn apart. Why did everything just—there was no word for it. She thought she wouldn't care, but she found out how much she did care. Not human... she felt human. Granted, different, but not human? She held William as he screamed and cursed and kicked and stabbed. He tore his books. He punched her in the face. She let him, as this was how he truly dealt with pain. She could forgive him. He couldn't forgive Hohenheim.
After a few weeks, William's anger stopped boiling past the surface and slowed to a simmer. He was still apt to throw fits, but less frequently and with more provocation. Adiel started blinking again and noted dully that her left eye wasn't sparking in pain anymore from being kicked in the face. Dante finally showed herself in front of her children. She was smiling.
"I-I'm sorry, for this—" she gestured around them. "Your father—" cue William's snarl "—just...made a mistake; that's all."
The children were quiet. Adiel finally spoke. "Are... are you okay?"
Dante's smile grew wider. Adiel caught a tendril of her perfume. Its scent grew stronger every day. "I'm perfectly fine. I would like you two to do me a favor."
They narrowed their eyes and tilted their heads in bemused unison.
"I want you two to... help me achieve immortality."