Chapter One: Fullmetal No more

Honestly, Ed had to hand it to them. For a bunch of military grunts with no clear chain of command and not even half a building to call a base in Central anymore, he never would have expected that what remained of Amestris's defenses would be so on the ball about rebuilding. If he didn't know any better, he would have said that they were secretly a bunch of closeted alchemists who just hadn't given enough of a damn to take the exams and use their talents for state affairs. The scene outside the hospital window was textbook alchemy: understanding the properties of given matter, deconstructing it, and then reconstructing it into something different. Those principles had been drilled into his head since he was a little kid, pilfered from his father's ancient tomes—until recently, Ed hadn't understood just how ancient—and put to use in both the right and completely wrong ways.

The blue and white specks outside, though, were admirably achieving only the former as they shuffled back and forth through the streets with their cargo. Some were hauling injured soldiers and civilians in the direction of the hospital while others set their sights on clearing rubble from what used to be Central Command. Most of the monstrous complex had been utterly obliterated, vaporized by Father's tantrum, but here and there Ed could spy detritus marring the view and bringing business in the normally bustling capital city to a screeching halt. Not that anybody really seemed in the mood to go shopping, as far as he could tell. Between Major Armstrong all but dragging him to the exam room he'd been waiting in for the last couple of hours and the limited sight lines he'd been working with ever since, he hadn't gotten the opportunity to survey much of the civilian sectors, but the glimpses he had gotten were more than enough to confirm that yeah, everyone did remember losing their souls to that creepy psychopath. A part of him had been hoping that they wouldn't, that they'd just chalk their brief loss of consciousness up to a freaky weather phenomenon and move on with their lives. Instead, uncannily wide eyes and tormented stares had accompanied the shouts of disbelief when the extent of the damage had become more apparent to the public. Ed had spotted a few brave souls running towards the wreckage of their once glorious base, offering their own assistance to a military that definitely looked the worse for wear, but the rest? They stayed as far away as they possibly could. Really, could anyone blame them?

For his part, Ed was simultaneously itching to get out there and glad for the excuse not to venture off his rented cot in the military hospital that wasn't really adhering to their membership policy at the moment. For years now, he'd been considered an alchemist of the people. What that meant, he wasn't always sure, but he was mostly certain that it referred to his tendency to help people out if he saw they needed it. In Liore hunting down leads about the philosopher's stone? Might as well take that novice cult leader down a few pegs while they were at it. Youswell's mine needed inspecting? Well, that clown Yoki was practically begging for someone to come along and put him in his place. The examples piled up like discarded heaps of the auto-mail he'd demolished over the years until he couldn't count how many times he'd put their quest for the stone on hold to run more altruistic errands. That wasn't to say that they were entirely his idea, of course; Al had had a hand in most of them and pushed him in a kinder direction in instances when he would rather have stayed their course. Regardless, between the two of them, they'd garnered one hell of a reputation for putting Amestris's citizens above their military duties—the duties that Mustang occasionally unloaded onto them, anyway, which were relatively few and far between.

That was what made it so difficult to stare out at the cleanup efforts without joining in, although Ed would be lying if he said that was the only concern niggling at the rear of his mind. Sure, he was used to running into the middle of the action and doing what needed to be done with or without the colonel's permission. He absolutely could have made their jobs a lot easier by just transmuting all of the debris into dust and letting it blow away on the wind, the evidence of their battle vanishing like the perpetrator that had done his best to destroy them all. He might even have been able to convince Mei to stick around long enough to heal some broken bones and internal bleeding given her attachment to Al and guilt over helping him with his ruse to get Ed's arm back. The Fullmetal Alchemist, unlike some of the others, was perfectly capable of walking out there and getting his hands dirty. No doubt about it.

What he wasn't capable of, however, was what kept him rooted to his spot long after the sun began its gradual descent towards the horizon.

Because there was no more alchemy in his future. There was no more Fullmetal Alchemist. Never again would he be able to press his palms together, picture the array he needed in his mind, and make the transmutations happen. Never again would he grasp a piece of chalk in his two flesh hands with any confidence that it would do more than draw useless pictures. Never again would he so much as transform a lump of shapeless metal into a slightly deformed, disproportionate cow.

Al could. So could the colonel, Major Armstrong, and Teacher.

His father… Actually, Ed wasn't so sure that he would be able to manage a worthwhile transmutation either. It went beyond the notion that he'd used up whatever remained of the philosopher's stone that had kept him alive for who knew how long, too. (He banished that thought as soon as it occurred to him. The situation was far too complicated for him to ponder right now, and not merely in terms of alchemical relationships.) When they'd parted ways earlier, the guy had looked like a good gust of wind would knock him flat on his butt; alchemy probably wasn't the best idea in his condition, at least not today.

Then again, were the rest any different? Mustang was still adjusting to a world without his sight, and while he'd made do with the lieutenant's help during the battle, odds were that he'd cause more collateral damage than solutions if he tried to assist in the relief efforts right now. Teacher, despite the role she'd played in the whole debacle, was a self-proclaimed housewife and happy to step aside when she wasn't directly needed anymore. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that she wasn't in the kind of shape to be up and around either, her denials notwithstanding. The Major seemed to be mostly in one piece, but he appeared to be devoting that piece solely to ensuring that Ed and Al were treated with kid gloves. That didn't leave him much time for any other military obligations.

And Al… Al wasn't practically invincible anymore, a thought that brought with it a pang of both apprehension and subsequent revulsion. That was what this whole journey had been about, right? Getting him out of that tin can and back into his own body? From start to finish, Ed had never lost sight of their goal; at times, his determination to see his self-appointed mission through had even threatened to lead him astray. That giant suit of armor had always been a double-edged sword: a blessing for protecting the only family he had left and a constant reminder of his own failures that had led them to needing it in the first place. Now, they didn't. Now, Al was himself again, and Ed should have been unspeakably grateful for that. On some level, he was.

On another, it was like the icy fingers of the Truth itself wrapped around his heart and squeezed every time he looked at his little brother the way he was now. In the gateway, Al's emaciated body had been shocking but a comforting sign nevertheless. It existed—it hadn't rotted away like Barry's. It was a solid piece of matter that Ed could drag back to reality if he could only figure out how.

But it was also weak. It was thin and frail, withered and gaunt in a way Al never had been before. The photographs on the wall at Granny's house boasted a healthy, soft blob of skin and muscle and fat. On the rare occasions that they'd visited over the last few years, that baby face had grinned out at him in equal parts admiration and mockery. Ed was the one that had banished that face to the other side of the gateway with his selfishness and his hubris; Ed had been the one to seal his brother inside hard, cold, unforgiving metal for four years as a result. Ed had stolen everything that made that happy, normal phantom his little brother and transmuted it into something unrecognizable.

And Ed was the one who hadn't deciphered how to bring his body back before it ended up too feeble to let him help with the cleanup around Central like he knew Al would if he could.

Unbidden, the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a bitter smirk. As a kid, he'd always thought alchemists were invincible. They held the world in their hands and could shape it into anything they wanted as long as they had the right materials and the proper array to do it. In the end, however, they were just as helpless as everyone else.

In the end, they were just as human as everyone else.

He'd told the Truth as much, and the reward for his belated realization was currently sitting in a separate exam room while a doctor issued his first checkup since he was ten years old. Unsurprisingly, Al had suggested that Ed go first; he was, after all, covered in gashes and bruises that Al's body hadn't endured. It had taken a decade's worth of insistence and the assurance that Ed would get medical attention after he finished tying up some loose ends for Al to reluctantly agree to treatment, and while it was definitely taking longer than Ed felt comfortable with, he had gotten a good bit done. He'd slipped past Major Armstrong's freakishly keen eyes to wash the blood off his face and hastily wrap a bandage around the hole in his left arm before returning to the cavern beneath Central where he'd left a particularly important parcel. He'd seen to it that Pride—Selim, he firmly reminded himself—was delivered to Mrs. Bradley, who was the only person on the planet he thought might actually take care of the kid after all that had happened rather than treating him like some kind of science experiment. He'd…

He'd…

Well, okay, maybe he hadn't gotten done that much before Armstrong caught up with him and hauled his butt to the hospital to be admitted. Still, it was enough to keep him from feeling entirely useless as he sat around and waited for his turn, the rest of the military doing their best outside the window even though they seemed to be an entire world away for all the assistance he could offer them.

Ed didn't regret giving up his alchemy. Not in the slightest.

But he was restless, and that was going to take some getting used to.

"Mr. Elric?"

Starting slightly, Ed glanced over his shoulder as the door creaked open and a doctor slipped calmly into the room. Just like the guys outside, Ed had to hand it to him as well: he looked pretty calm for someone who was probably running all over the building taking care of the sudden influx of patients they'd acquired in the last few hours. That was really the only explanation for why he was here, anyway. Ordinarily, Ed saw the same doctor on each of his visits. It was just convenient that way: they wouldn't waste time going through the customary explanations (see: excuses) for his auto-mail if his physician already thought he knew. Given the varying states of disarray Ed had been admitted for in the past, that was a saving grace, especially in instances where he didn't have the energy to filter his mouth before something untoward slipped out. Al had always been there with him and could recite the comprehensive list of health needs he'd had since he was born, but why put him through that each and every time? Talk about a hassle.

However, it appeared that the usual physician wasn't available today. Odds were that he was off caring for someone else, which left this poor guy to mop up the former Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother.

Could be worse. He could be saddled with the colonel, Ed snickered to himself, more out of habit than any real animosity. All things considered, Mustang had been a pretty big help out there. It wasn't often that Ed could say without a hint of sarcasm that they had worked well together, but today… Today was different. They'd never be friends or anything—the colonel was just too damn annoying for that—but Ed was mature enough to grudgingly admit that it hadn't been so bad battling side by side on the front lines.

Once.

And he was never saying that out loud.

Clearing his throat and the sacrilegious thoughts from his head, Ed shifted around on the bed to face the doctor and asked the only question that really mattered: "How's Al?"

His temporary physician straightened his glasses as he glanced down at the papers he was holding and replied, "Most of his muscles have severely atrophied, and it'll take some time before we start him on any solid food. Otherwise, he's healthier than expected for someone in his…position."

His position, huh?

Ed had to bite back the urge to indignantly ask what position that might be, swallowing his temper and pride alike to nod instead. Despite the show he'd put on outside with his unprecedented attempt at human transmutation (at least, as far as the general population was concerned), there were still merely a handful of people who knew the truth of how they had been reduced to a walking suit of armor and a two-limbed teenager. To everyone else, the world of alchemy was just full of craziness that couldn't always be controlled, and a couple of kids had gotten caught up in that maelstrom of weirdness. If he had it his way, they'd keep on thinking that—his new doctor and his curious gaze included. The alternative made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. There was no telling what was going to happen with the government in ruins and no clear leader in place, but one fact remained incontrovertible: if anyone found out about his previous experiment with human transmutation, he would eventually be held accountable for it. And if he was held accountable for it, that meant he wouldn't be there to make sure Al got back home safe and sound. The Elric brothers hadn't been separated yet, and Ed wasn't about to let it happen now.

So, rather than tell the good doctor to spit out what he actually wanted to ask, he offered the guy a terse smile and hedged, "That's good."

Man, compliance tasted awful.

It wasn't a total loss, though. Seeming to realize that he wasn't going to get his answers and was vastly outranked here, the physician merely nodded stiffly and continued, "Major Armstrong is with him. We've arranged for both of you to share a room, so you can join them once we'v—"

"Whoa, hold on a second!" Scoffing, Ed gestured vaguely towards himself and retorted, "What do I need a room for?"

"I have strict orders from Major Armstrong to admit you and your brother."

"But why? I'm not even hurt!"

"That's up to me to decide," countered the doctor with the easy authority of someone who was accustomed to being obeyed without question when it came to medical advice.

Obviously, the guy had never met an Elric before. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he wasn't equipped to handle one.

Ed's persistent arguments and generous bribes fell on deaf ears, the doctor pretending not to hear when he made a smart remark or attempted to wheedle an early discharge out of him. In fact, by the time they actually reached the part where Ed had to remove his shirt and the pitiful excuse for a bandage on his arm, he'd pretty much resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't getting out of this. He and the Major shared a rank, but the latter was borderline insane and tended to use his muscles to devastating effect, so it was no wonder the physician chose to follow his instructions rather than placating Ed's irritation. He wasn't about to go down without a fight, though, so the rest of his examination was punctuated by the occasional muttered barbs and witticisms that were designed to get under the doctor's skin given that they certainly wouldn't get him out of the hospital.

But hey, a little voice in his head that he refused to acknowledge whispered, it'll be easier to make sure Al's all right if I'm here. The last thing I need is him rushing out too soon because of me.

Much as he wanted to, there was no denying that his concern was a two-way street. It was his job as a big brother to make sure Al was taken care of, whether that was here in Central or back home in Resembool. Ed may not have done a perfect job with that; really, he'd screwed up so often that he was sort of surprised no one had suggested Al ditch him and head back to stay with the Rockbells. Still, he was doing his best, and he knew that Al felt the same way. After all, how many times had Ed needed him watching his back? If Al hadn't been there… Well, suffice it to say that there were plenty of instances where Ed wasn't sure he would be sitting here at all if that big hunk of steel hadn't been at his side.

So, he couldn't be selfish. He couldn't run off and leave Al on his own any more than he could justify discharging both of them when his little brother needed to stay.

And…admittedly, he didn't feel quite as well as he indicated to the doctor for the millionth time.

"Seriously, Doc, I'm fine," he sighed impatiently, waving off the physician's attempts to check his pupils again. "It's just been a long couple of days."

His caretaker harrumphed lightly but didn't press the issue. Instead, he shifted his attention from the state of Ed's brain to the gaping hole in his arm where he'd been speared by rebar. It was impossible to hide a wince of pain when his fingers probed the raw, reddening skin around Ed's wound, and he worked double time to ignore the gleam of vindication in the doctor's eyes at his reaction.

"It's a good thing you were admitted," the latter mused as he reached for a bottle of antiseptic and roll of bandages that had been brought in on a tray when Ed had first arrived. "If you'd waited any longer, you might have gotten one nasty infection. Amputations aren't standard around here, but you never know."

Oh, yeah. Nice and subtle.

Appropriately chastised, Ed dropped his gaze to the sterile tile floor without replying. Amputation—any mention of losing limbs, really—wasn't a topic of conversation that he wanted to entertain ever.

Fortunately, the physician must have taken his lack of response for the strategic retreat that it was, because he didn't drop any other veiled insults in the few minutes it took to treat him. Without Ed's snarky comments to field, all he had to deal with was patching him up and getting him the hell out of there, which took significantly less time than Ed had expected. The bulk of it was spent stitching together the laceration on his left arm, bandaging the scrapes and cuts on his face, and giving him strict instructions to take it easy for a few days. At one point, he brought up something about reporting any sudden changes in his condition immediately, but Ed brushed it off. There was nothing wrong with him despite the gaping hole in his chest and his head where his life's work used to be, and it wasn't like he was about to do anything about that. Whatever accompanied his sacrifice would be well worth the effort—that was the whole point of equivalent exchange. His leg for the sins that would never be erased; his alchemy and his gate of Truth for his brother's body and soul. There would always be trade-offs, whether the doctors liked them or not. And really, Ed had sacrificed a whole lot more in the past. This was nothing.

Neither was the slight dizziness that clung to his senses for a moment after the physician vacated the room and he pushed himself off the cot to leave. He had foregone a few nights of sleep and meals in preparation for the Promised Day, after all.

That was why he didn't utter a word of complaint, not even to himself, as he trudged down the hall in the direction of the room the hospital had assigned to him and Al. He had his brother, Amestris was saved, and they hadn't lost anywhere near as many people as they would have if Father had gotten his way. All in all, he figured they'd done enough work to earn the beds that Major Armstrong was strong-arming them into occupying.

Huh. Guess he lives up to the reputation.