(A/N: I realized I've neglected the creepiness that is Mr. Gold-tooth'd, no-name doctor fellow. We can't have that!)

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There was a brief span of time when Kimblee still worked in the lab, and when he became semi-nocturnal. In that time, he discovered first-hand what he would have been happy to know in theory: Lab Five is a bad place to fall asleep. He hadn't meant to. He had been doing some paperwork concerning his transfer to other duties, and once more signing away his right to talk about anything that had occurred during his current assignment. It seemed as though he had signed such a document every other day since working there.

He had merely leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt himself drifting, and shook himself awake. Or thought he did. But the room he opened his eyes to was much like his bedroom in Central. Rain was falling, except that the drops ran upward on the glass, as though being pulled back up into the sky from whence they came.

He knew he shouldn't be there, that something bad was about to happen. He knew because it had already happened, like watching a film one has seen at least once before. The ceiling was leaking, black-tainted water dripping down the walls. It formed transmutation circles of its own accord, reminiscent of human transmutation, but every one of them was flawed. The only sound aside from the rain was a record playing a scratchy, often skipping recording of his grandfather's voice instructing him in the basic theories of alchemy, in the Xingese dialect he hadn't heard for over a decade.

"Alchemy is tapping into the life-force of the world, the thread which binds us together, the current which perpetuates existence."

You're wrong. He thinks to himself. You were always wrong about that.

He knows that he has until the noose pulls tight around his grandfather's neck to get out. This shouldn't be a problem, except he can't find his State Alchemist watch, and if he goes outside without it he will be nothing, because the circles on his hands seem to be flawed as well, just like every circle there, and the more he looks at the tattoos the less they seem to exist at all.

The record skips, the voice distorts, splits, one speaking of alchemy, the other muttering nonsense.

"…With the –" the record skipped "– in this, all life is equal…"

His mother is in the kitchen, going through the motions of cooking although there is nothing edible present. Her back is to him; her long, dark hair is loose, falling to the small of her back. He knows that he doesn't want her to turn around, that he won't like what he sees if she does.

The record skips, the voice distorts beyond understanding, in the background there is the sound of screaming. His mother's hand is black and crumbling as she pours sand and gravel into a pot of water as though she is preparing rice. He would try and save her, but what's about to happen has already happened, and he can't, can't, can't stay, cannot see this happen again and can't change it. He decides to just leave – he's already forgotten what he had been looking for, but the smoke is too thick now to see through…the voice on the record is babbling nonsense and screaming, and he turns to run but his leg is stuck –

– In Gluttony's inhumanly large maw, and before he was even fully awake he set off an explosion in the homunculus's flesh, and was very glad for the reason to do so, for the reminder of who and what he was. Not to say that he was glad about his leg though. He bent to survey the damage as Gluttony regenerated. Its – his? – teeth were blunt, and Kimblee's flesh was deeply bruised more than broken, with a few thin trickles of blood running down his leg and staining his sock.

"That was impolite." He said to the homunculus, but its eyes were fixed on something directly behind him.

"Ah, you must be one of the surviving researchers – although not by much, it seems."

There was nothing unusual about the voice, and yet it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He turned in his chair to see an elderly man standing in the doorway. From behind him, he heard the shuffling sound of Gluttony's retreating footsteps. His very quickly retreating footsteps.

"I would introduce myself," the man continued, and as he spoke, a gold tooth glinted in his mouth, "but it so happens I don't technically have a name, and it would be a farce to pretend I don't already know yours."

Maybe it was the unnerving way the man's eyes milk-pale eyes wandered in different directions, or the way Gluttony had so promptly fled from him, but Kimblee was suddenly less-than-thrilled to be alone with this person when he was injured. Or at all. He thought, unpleasantly, of sharks attracted by the scent of blood.

The man took a step towards him. "You should let me look at that leg. I'm a doctor, you know."

"No thanks."

"Oh? Isn't that what you might call impolite?"

"Impolite, for me, is your insides adorning the walls."

The man laughed. "Oh, such talk. King Bradley wouldn't be pleased at all, owing his almost-human body to yours truly. In a sense, I'm as much his father as Father."

"And 'Father' won't be pleased, to have that information compromised." Envy's voice, as he stepped through the door in the guise of Major Neid.

"Senior moment." The man said with a chuckle, but it was obvious to all of them that it was no such thing. He merely wanted to demonstrate he knew things Kimblee didn't.

"Maybe you ought to consider retirement." Envy said in a mockingly concerned voice.

"Maybe you ought to watch your tongue, little worm. Something might happen to your pet human, being so hapless in a place like this."

Envy's eyes narrowed, but oddly he did nothing else.

"Unless there's something I can help you with, doctor, I believe you're wanted elsewhere."

"Indeed, indeed. So many tasks for an old man. I'll be off then."

He turned and exited, passing closer to Envy than even Kimblee might have cared to under the same circumstances, as he made his way out the door. Envy slammed it shut behind him with a scowl.

"You want to watch out for that one."

"That's my general impression, yes. Does that mean that the Fürher is –"

"My youngest brother, Wrath, although created in such a way that he alone among us ages." Envy sighed. "It doesn't matter if you know, but Father or Pride will kill you if you let that slip to Greed."

"And you still can't tell me who Pride is?"

"It's not who so much as what. But no, I can't. Are you alright?"

"Fine. Just…odd dreams."

"I was referring more to your leg."

"Oh – it's fine. I'm not about to go jogging, but I don't think anything's seriously damaged." He didn't like calling attention to injuries around Envy, didn't like being so much physically weaker.

"What were you dreaming about?" Envy asked, cocking his head.

"…Nothing. Just, well, what you might expect, that something bad was about to happen."

"Seems appropriate."

"Quite."

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(A/N: Possibly better for Kimblee that Gluttony found him first lol. As far as the dream, it's not terribly important, just Kimblee's subconscious saying, hey, shit is about to go down, hello! I was going to write a more generic nightmare, but then realized: wait, this is Kimblee. Any nightmare of his has to be disturbing and trippy as hell. And it hints at more of his history, so that's two birds with one stone. Thanks for reading!)