Time to make good on a promise to give some attention to my favorite Al pairing. Several of you already know that Scar/Al is a secret desire of mine. Not so secret now, huh?

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter One

The bottle of sleeping pills contained one less than it had the night before. One too many, one too few. It had been a last ditch effort of a desperate attempt to get even one night of constant sleep. Undisturbed by the waking effects of certain dreams.

And yet, Alphonse Elric still tossed and turned in his prison of a bed as the covers threatened a strangulation only avoided by a jerking movement in the other direction.

The vision lurched and swayed, though not as much as it had in the past. Yet it brought him down that dusty road where the children of Ishbal worked or played. The stark contrasts in this place were more than a reminder of this country's past. It was a blatant showcase. The adults embodying a worldly air the children did not. The original homes of decades ago worn down and their walls littered with dried mud plugs that sealed off where shrapnel or bullets had made itself known. The new homes were simple, but elegant without the polka dot walls.

A flicker of something wooden near the lower right hand corner of his eyesight nearest the ground always moved too fast to be identified. And the lurching progress down the road continued until it reached the outdoor bazaar where a now familiar man always had a keg tapped somewhere.

A blink.

And then he was sitting on the edge of a marble fountain run dry. Chipped mug of ale half gone. Most of the remainder splattering to the ground only to soon dry up as his hand shook violently. But raise the rim of what was left to his lips, he did. It was easy to see why the hand of bronzed skin trembled. Bandages were wrapped tightly about the majority of it and extending up past the wrist to who knew what end. They were clean, but dyed with yellow salve.

Another blink.

The lurching was more hurried again, this time through a door that seemed distantly familiar. But before any recognition could be made, there were two more blinks, and then the bathroom. Bottles were fumbled for in the medicine cabinet by heavily bandaged hands, bottles falling out in the hasty actions.

But the movements had pulled and tugged on the bandages, the pain growing worse by the half-second, and the trembling increased. Pain… too much pain. The bandages began to spot red now against the white of the gauze and yellow salve. So much red…

So much pain… it seared through him like a hot serrated knife.

Then the fingers grasped onto the very thing he'd been searching for, and the lid came off the bottle, the syringe falling into one violently shaking hand. Barely able to line it up with the artery in the crook of his arm, an artery nearly overtaken by bandages as well, the needle plunged in deep, wrenching an inhumane gasp of a name before everything went crimson and dark.

Alphonse jolted upright in bed with a sharp gasp, only to be tugged down again mercilessly by the stranglehold the bedcovers had on him. He flailed to free himself, kicking them away once he had. But he didn't sit up, only put a hand to his clammy forehead and letting out a shaky sigh.

"Not again." He whispered dejectedly, and pulled his hand away so he could flop his head over to look at the clock. The hands on the face informed him it wasn't even past one a.m. "It's just getting worse."

Knowing from prior experience that he'd be getting no more sleep, he did the only thing left to do. He got out of bed. And like all times before, he padded to the kitchen drearily.

X

It was not the first time Alphonse found himself here.

For the fourth night in a row he circled a lukewarm cup of tea between his hands as he sat on the last step of the porch of his tiny home on the outskirts of East Central. The tea was more a tactile fixation than a necessity, he wasn't thirsty. The regular movement of it in his hands helped fix a languid pace in his mind, keeping his thoughts from swirling out of control. His dark amber eyes didn't even see the speckled horizon of the night sky despite how he was staring at it.

Past it, if anything.

Past it to the catalyst that had awoken him from dreams at a regular time each night. A catalyst that he had last known to exist in the reaches far beyond what he could now see of the eastern horizon. And every night the dreams of him grew more vivid, until they'd begun reaching the point that they felt real.

It had been many long years since that fateful day, when he'd been turned into the Philosopher's Stone by the will of one Ishbalan. There were days of memory where he had cursed the man's name for doing that to him. But for the most part he'd moved past it. He was alive, he was flesh and blood. Those tumultuous times were over, and he was more than ready to embrace a life of tranquility.

If only the dreams would allow.

He couldn't understand why he kept dreaming of Scar like that. It seemed incomprehensible that the man would even still be alive after the injuries he had to have sustained. So why start haunting him now? Only… he couldn't shake the feeling that gripped him that there was a chance Scar was alive. A feeling coupled with a strange magnetic pull to the east. One he'd been fighting against since the start.

But if Scar was, by some miracle, still alive, what did these dreams mean?

He refused to believe they were anything more than dreams.

Shaking his head Alphonse finally raised the cup to his lips and drank the tea in one sitting. It seemed he had no other choice now. He'd been hoping to avoid going this route, especially at three a.m., but even the sleeping pills had failed him. The last concrete scientific means of trying to achieve some solace at night. So with his mind made up, grudgingly at best, he got up to go back inside. He'd need a jacket.

The walk to Holly's house took just under twenty minutes this early in the morning. For which he was very grateful. Though he doubted he'd be feeling so pleased once he actually woke the woman up.

With that bracing thought in mind, he let himself through the gate of her front yard and made his way up to the door where he knocked several times in quick succession. Then, he waited. All the while cursing his thoughtlessness in not bringing her some sort of peace offering so she didn't bite his head off for the social call at this ungodly hour.

When the deadbolt grated in the door, Alphonse braced himself.

The door opened to reveal a sleepy looking woman with messy red hair and large gray eyes that seemed a bit too large for her head. She had a bathrobe carelessly thrown over her pale blue pajamas, with black house slippers poking out from underneath the leggings. And she considered the young man, barely out of his teens, who had woken her. "Am I to assume you have a good reason?" She asked him point blank.

Alphonse looked properly chastised, but nodded. "I don't know what else to do. The sleeping pills were my last idea, and even those aren't working." He gripped the front of his hair with one hand, the heel of his palm resting against his forehead. "I get three hours of sleep, tops, and then he wakes me up."

"Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of live-in boyfriend then." Holly suggested through a frown.

Alphonse glowered at her. "He's not my boyfriend, but he won't stay out of my dreams!"

Holly blinked, and suddenly stood aside. "Now that, I might be able to help with. And you took sleeping pills." A rich snort of laughter showed what she thought about that.

Alphonse followed her into the house, knowing the way she took through the darkened interior by the sound of her amused laughter at his expense. Shaking his head, he just hoped she'd be able to help him. "Holly? Does it make any difference that I used to know the man? I mean, this isn't my mind not having enough to otherwise keep it occupied so it's messing with my memory to give me dreams, it is?"

Holly had just flipped on the light switch to her den. A cozy room, not too large, filled with plump couches and chairs with a dormant fireplace at the fore. But the crystal lamps about the room of warm reds and chocolate browns threw off plenty of soothing light. "I expect that's what you're here to find out." She said as she took a seat on one couch, and patted the cushion next to her. "And if so, then you'll just have to find a mentally stimulating hobby."

With a bit of an appreciative smirk, Alphonse sat down onto the indicated cushion. "What do I do?"

"First?" Holly queried as she settled back into the lush comfort of the velvety leather cushions. "You tell me about this man."

"Not the dream?" Alphonse frowned at her in confusion. "But what will that help?"

Holly leaned forward enough to be able to whack the side of his head. "It helps. Tell me about him."

Rubbing at the now tender spot on his head, Alphonse complied. "Well, his name is Scar. At least, he never told me his real name. I don't think anyone knows it anymore. But he goes by Scar. Or, he used to. He died years ago… he should have." He said firmly. "No one could have survived what happened. I only survived because of what he did to me."

"And what did he do to you?" Holly guided through a sleepy yawn.

"He had this arm, it contained souls. Souls needed to create a Philosopher's Stone. In a way, he implanted that arm into me to save my life. He turned me into a living Philosopher's Stone." And for good measure, added, "but I'm not anymore."

Holly nodded, waving a manicured hand for him to go on.

"After that, it was so chaotic. I barely remember what happened, to be honest." Alphonse admitted a bit shamefully. "It was all so much… too much. But the injuries he'd sustained, and the backlash of what he did to me… there was no way he could have survived that."

When Holly clued in that Alphonse wasn't going to continue on his own any time soon, she took the reins again. "Did you care for the man?"

Leaning back into the cushions as well, Alphonse thought about it. "I don't despise him anymore for what he did to me. There was a time before the end, in the quiet before the storm, where I was in his company for some time. And it showed me that he was a good man. A murderer, yes. But I looked past his blowing people's brains out, I guess. Saw someone who was actually quite selfless. I cared for the friend he could have been, had things been different. Turned out different."

"But did not love?" Holly asked, and at the look she received, smiled. "Must be thorough. You're the one who took sleeping pills."

Alphonse rolled his eyes, but answered. "I was too young to know such a love as you're suggesting. And even if I had known, he'd probably have thought me insane if I had loved him. No, there was no love. Just… a cease fire understanding, and trust."

Holly nodded slowly, "do you love him now?"

Now Alphonse looked at her as if she were the one going insane. "He's dead! Only now, after years, am I starting to dream about him. And not dreams that would suggest I even harbor some deep and dark infatuation for a moldering corpse."

Holly smiled at the last, and carefully withheld her chuckle. "That doesn't quite answer the question."

Alphonse sighed, raggedly carding a hand back through his long fringe. "I don't love him. I want him out of my dreams. Yes, I'm sorry he's dead. Grateful he saved my life at cost to his own mortality. But I've moved past any possible anger or guilt. I have not been left with feelings of love to be forever unrequited."

"Is there no chance he could still be alive?"

"No." Alphonse answered, even as he did so, remembering his uncertainties on that very subject. "It's just…" he frowned, "I can't shake the feeling that he could be. But logically, it would make no sense. And I keep having this damnable pull towards the east where we last saw each other. But isn't that just a result of the dreams? Some psychological thing, and nothing more?"

Holly pursed her lips, tapping her fingers together in a steeple formation. "And if he is alive? What then, would you do?"

Alphonse looked towards the fireplace, dark in its lack of flames. "Hypothetically speaking, if he were alive, I'd try to find him again. He saved my life, and that is no small favor. I'd owe him a debt of gratitude."

"These dreams," Holly redirected, "describe them to me. The details, please."

Still looking into the fireplace, though aware of the thoughtful look Holly was watching him with, Alphonse began to relate them to her. Down to the latest one that had woken him up and left him with no choice but to come to her for advice.

Holly remained silent for several minutes after Alphonse finished relating everything. It was a silence unchallenged by the young man beside her. "Do you wonder what your dreams might mean if he is still alive?"

Alphonse gave a haggard sigh, "it's crossed my mind. I suppose pain has something to do with it. But that's absurd that he would be in pain. He's one of the strongest people I ever knew. How could a man who was the personification of unyielding strength go from that, to being in pain all these years later? It's been so long."

"You're assuming now that these dreams reflect Scar's actual current state. Which wouldn't make them dreams." Holly pointed out to him. "Based on the severity of what happened during the event where he should have lost his life, do you not believe that he might still be recovering?"

"It was… catastrophic." Alphonse said quietly, looking darkly at the carpeted floor. "Fine, we've established that I don't know what the hell is going on with my own sleep pattern. What do you know?"

Holly smiled thinly, "you may not like it."

"Let me be the judge of that." Alphonse let out a slow breath. "You'd be surprised just how far my spectrum of things I like and don't like extends. I doubt anything you tell me will top the 'don't like' end as it currently rests."

"Based on your dreams having the clarity they did, and the fact that you were seeing through Scar's own eyes, only lead me to believe that your assumptions that they might not be dreams is correct."

"Then what?" Alphonse interrupted.

Holly tried not to look too disgruntled with him. "Answering that question takes us back to the beginning of what should have been the end. Scar forced part of himself into you in order to save your life. That is not something that is easily done. There has to be mutual trust, as you mentioned, and there has to be a will for it to happen. A deeper emotional connection beyond that of trust."

"Love?" Alphonse frowned, remembering part of their previous conversation. But as soon as he realized he'd interrupted again, he gave her an apologetic grimace. "Sorry."

She smiled, "potentially. The fact is, is that he was able to do it. But when he did that, he didn't just save your life. He transferred part of himself into you. What some refer to as a soul."

"I have his soul?!" Alphonse burst out again, before groaning. "Just get duct tape or something."

Holly rolled her eyes, "you're more amusing this way. But no, you do not have his soul. At least, not the entire thing. Depending on how much of it he gave to you, you could be the very thing anchoring him to the living world. He can live without however much he gave to you, but he cannot be whole without you. If this pain has been festering all these years, we can – well, I can – assume that the part of his soul he still holds is calling out to you."

"Calling out to me." Alphonse deadpanned, and muttered several words that had Holly glaring at him. Which earned her another apology.

"Yes, to you. Because you still keep the rest." Holly told him firmly.

"But that arm, it had souls in it as well. Ones that weren't his. I'm no longer a Philosopher's Stone, so how can I contain souls? Especially that many?" Alphonse frowned at her.

"You had no reason to keep them." Holly said softly, "you cared about Scar, in whatever fashion. But you did not care for the rest. Though you are no longer a Philosopher's Stone, when you became human again, you kept what you cared about. Discarded the rest."

"That sounds cruel." Alphonse muttered. "So, if I'm seeing bits and pieces of Scar as he is now, and he's in pain, I'm to assume he needs my help."

It was not a question.

"That which Scar still keeps is calling out to the rest, to you, for help." Holly nodded. "And I believe that until you can fix whatever made this connection between the two of you forge in such a way, that Scar will continue to haunt your sleep. Until such time he dies."

Alphonse closed his eyes then, boneless against the couch now. This was his diagnosis when sleeping pills failed? It seemed a far cry from an easy fix. And since when had he given Scar permission to inject a portion of his soul as well?! But if what Holly said was accurate, then he wasn't being given much choice here.

Finally, he opened his eyes. "I've got nothing to lose but more sleep." He decided, and sat up a bit straighter. "Even if this turns out to be as useless as those sleeping pills-" he ignored Holly's glare, "-then at least I'll have a bit of a vacation."

"At least." She muttered, still a bit perturbed.

Alphonse smiled at her grimly. "So, what do I need to bring? If Scar truly is injured like I saw, good intentions aren't going to amount to much."

Holly stood then. "I'll get dressed. Go find yourself something to eat in the kitchen if you like. Then we'll go out back to the garden and collect the possibilities. But you'll be surprised just how much good intentions and you being there will do." With that, she began to pad off, muttering "sleeping pills" under her breath with a laugh.

Since when had sleeping pills ever subdued a soul?

"Thanks, Holly!" Alphonse called after her, and finally stood as well. Now that food was mentioned, he was rather hungry. And so he let himself out of the den, turning off the lights. He found the kitchen easily enough, he'd been here far too often. Never for this sort of counsel, he preferred to keep his own. But Holly had always been a good friend to him. Even if she was clearly a little bit insane.

Souls…

He had known before now they could be attached to inanimate things, as his own had once been. But just portions of a soul transferred to another living body?

Shaking his head he rummaged through the refrigerator, finding leftover pancakes which soon became his.

He'd met Holly when he'd moved here several years ago. She was a schoolteacher at the local primary school. But beneath that chalk-loving exterior was a woman who was obsessed with oneirology, among other things such as Zen practices. Personally, he thought she'd do rather well in Xing.

He was sitting at the table, munching on a last pancake, when Holly returned in a pair of overalls, checkered shirt, and boots that had dried mud caked on them. She was pulling on a pair of thick leather work gloves.

"Looking sexy there, Holly." Alphonse teased her.

"Careful," she smirked at him, "I'm getting some scissors."

Alphonse visibly paled a shade. "We've established we're just friends, right?"

Holly laughed and went over to a kitchen drawer to find the scissors. "Yes. I'm perfectly aware I'll never be your live-in boyfriend. And not just because I'm a girl."

Several minutes later found them outside in the herbal garden. Alphonse was dutifully holding the bags as Holly filled them, and listening intently as she told them what each was for in regards to healing. And what he should absolutely not mix together, unless he wanted the part of Scar's soul he held ripped out of him sooner than anyone was planning on.

But that brought another question to Alphonse's mind. "Is there any way to give him back the part of his soul he gave me?"

Holly gave him an incredulous look. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Well," Alphonse began, "ignoring the fact that I feel guilty, and just a bit violated knowing that I've had part of him inside me for years and not known, and he's been suffering to the point that it's come to this, you said he can't be whole without me."

"And this is a problem." Holly deadpanned.

It was Alphonse's turn to look incredulous. "A problem? Yes! It doesn't seem at all fair. To either of us. Either way this goes, one of us is sacrificing something to the other's benefit. Not unless I can give it back to him, or can't he take it back?"

Holly sighed, and turned back to her harvesting. "Understand, I've never actually encountered something like this before outside of theories. I suppose it could be possible, if he adamantly wanted to take it back, and you outright rejected it. But I can't see how such a thing would end happily. Life is about sacrifices, Alphonse. You of all people should know this."

"Of course I-!"

"Then you know that things never stay bad." Holly cut him off, anger almost entering her voice. "And they're never as bad as they seem to be. Especially where souls are concerned. Remember, it took two of you to make that transfer happen." She straightened from her current harvesting project to give Alphonse an indiscernible look. "Which means that you were okay with what happened. Even if neither of you fully understood it. Because I'd bet my rose bushes, that Scar doesn't know anymore than you did before you came to me."

Alphonse slowly nodded, "I lived for years as just a soul attached to a suit of armor. I'll let you know when I start seeing the irony."

Holly laughed at that, and turned back to her harvesting. Maybe there was hope for this after all, now that the initial shock was beginning to wear off. The conclusion certainly had her interest.

Once they were done in the garden, and Alphonse was adequately weighed down with possible helps in healing whatever was wrong with Scar, he said his goodbyes to Holly and started off for home. He needed to arrange some things before he could go on a goose chase for Scar.

All he knew was that the man was somewhere in the east… yep, he'd definitely arrive in time to save Scar. If the man was still alive and this version of soul fairytales wasn't so make believe.