Alter!Series fic
so I sat down tonight and churned out a piece for the alter_series, a creation of hime1999 and her friends. For those of you who have never heard of the Alter Series, it's a story based off the end of the FMA series, putting a twist on Edward's [spoliers]. It's very fun, and I highly recommend everyone go read it sometime.
anyway, my contribution. now betaed! XD;;
Cannot Mend
Alter!Series fic (noncanon)
SPOILERS for the end of FMA!
companion fic to Stray
He woke up in a dark place with a start, sitting up suddenly and gasping for breath. The Gate - Al - lost--!
The smell of garbage assaulted his nose and Ed spiraled back down into himself. Reality found him again, and he sat still, resting his head back on the cool brick wall he had curled up against the night before. His breathing slowly settled. Just a dream - a recurring nightmare - and he could live with that, as long as back home, his brother was alive and well.
Home …
The thought propelled Edward to his feet, stumbling a little on the clumsy prosthetic that had replaced his automail (almost as if the Gate itself wished to preserve the barrier of discovery in this medically stunted world). He shuffled out of the alleyway and into the sunshine, into the streets full of hawkers and carriages and newspaper boys. They all avoided looking at him - at his arm - but Edward didn't care. They could stare all they wanted at the boy in a dirty, stolen button-down shirt and metal hand; they were none of his concern.
There was only one thing Edward was able to find in this city on the other side of the Gate, and it was the only thing that mattered: the Public Library. And so, rubbing his eyes, to the Library Ed went.
Somewhere, there was a book that would tell him how he could get back to his world.
* * *
"He's been here all day for the last three days. Think we should send him home?"
Edward hunched over his book and pretended he didn’t hear the man an aisle over.
"Is he harming anyone?"
"Well … no. But you'd think his family would wonder …?"
"He's probably just a book-conscious boy trying to keep up with his studies while school is out. Let him alone."
"I don't know. He looks unhealthy."
"Well, if he starts coughing, send him straight to a doctor. They'll get him someplace."
Thankfully, they wandered off then. Edward turned back to his book, putting the matter from his mind.
* * *
Edward hadn't planned on staying in this other world for very long - no more than a few days at most - and so he subsisted on water. From the moment the Library opened to the moment it closed, he would not leave, reading book after book after book. Through them he learned a lot of history, but nothing that would get him back to his home. Each day saw him weaker, but he took no notice except a small note to himself. He had no time for his body; he wanted to be anywhere but here.
On the fourth day (which dawned dark and gloomy, the rain that had started the night before never letting up), Edward couldn't stand up to get out of the alleyway he had made his makeshift home. He trembled with nausea when he tried, his head spinning; he dry-heaved over the alleyway garbage pile. His hair was soaked and plastered to frozen cheeks, his skin icy - but there was nowhere else to go, and nowhere Edward could have gotten to. He curled up against the wall, futilely seeking warmth where there was none to be had.
He hated this world, he truly did. He wanted nothing more than to be out of it and home. Home, with Al, and Winly, and even that old coot Pinako - better yet, home with Mom … and, as he passed into dreams, Dad too. Alphonse is a little baby just starting to walk; Edward is being tall sitting on Dad's shoulders - Mom is happy, happy the way she never will be again, and Dad smiles.
Edward woke up wearily to a dog tugging the end of his sleeve, its fur soaked through as much as Edward's hair. The dog (which looked suspiciously like Alexander, so much so that Edward's heart twisted painfully) whined; Ed sighed and patted its head. The effort seemed monumental, and as Ed brought down his hand a second time, he didn't bother to lift it. Alexander - Edward couldn't help but name the dog in his mind - cocked its head, then slid under Ed's arm and nuzzled up to him, pressing wetly to Ed's chest. For a moment it was uncomfortable, and Ed almost pushed the dog away, until he realized he could feel the heat of Alexander's body through the wet fur and his own drenched shirt.
"Good dog," Ed said thinly, and the dog snorted in response. Edward briefly made a fist in its coat. "Keep each other warm, huh? Funny, I couldn't even do that with my kid brother," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "We c'n keep jus' this stray, Al, so st'p askin' …"
He passed into fever dreams.
* * *
Eventually the dog's heat went away, bringing Edward a brief lucid moment. A hand touched his forehead and he startled, looking up, blinking away the water in his lashes.
The blur of a face was too far up (a mile into the sky) to tell for sure, but it looked like Dad, the idiot bastard. He drew a slow breath and asked. "… Dad?"
"Easy there, son." Such a familiar voice it was, in the earliest of Ed's memories as the comfort when he fell while taking his first steps. Old memories mixed with the new and made a soupy blur, and Edward tried to get to his feet to tell his father exactly what he thought of him (he hated him loved him missed him wanted him to go away stupid idiot Dad), but everything completely refused to cooperate. Instead, he heard his father say something as he found himself being wrapped in a warm, dry coat. Strong arms lifted him from the ground.
Edward decided he could forgive this affront to his pride, just this once, before he passed out again.
* * *
One time Ed opened his eyes and found himself looking at Colonel Mustang.
A wave of horror and dizziness washed over him, and he tried to match this to the fact that he wasn't in the same world as the Colonel, he didn't think. "How the hell did you get here …?" he groaned, blinking furiously. The dizziness wouldn't go away; his vision was blurry. "Didn’t think you had the guts to do human transmutation …"
"Excuse me?" the Colonel's voice was fuzzy, but he seemed rather nonplussed, which amused Ed peripherally, in between the pounding of his skull. The last person he wanted here right now was the Colonel. Why the hell was he always there when he was half-dead, anyway? The last time he'd shown up out of nowhere he'd been missing two limbs. He didn’t want any stupid missions right now. He didn't even want to get out of bed. Everything fucking hurt, hurt worse than it had almost as long as he could remember. It hurt to think.
"Go home, Colonel Shithead," he moaned. "'m not your lapdog any more."
He rolled over (slowly, painfully) and closed his eyes. If the Colonel had anything to say about it, he didn't hear it.
It hurt to think.
* * *
The next time Edward woke up, he was warm. For a long moment he lay still with his eyes still closed - it was almost like the guest room at the Rockbell's, except that it was a little too hot. Edward sighed and opened his eyes; there was no use pretending he was home.
But where was here? A fire roared in the fireplace, and Edward had to look away - he felt ill and weak, a bit nauseous. The room was bare enough otherwise, although blankets of every imaginable pattern had been piled atop his bed.
As he looked down the bed, his eyes settled on the one chair in the room - and its occupant.
"Good morning, Edward."
Edward's eyes widened.
Then he scowled and looked away. "Oh. You."
Hohenhiem made a noise that was somewhere between understanding and disappointed. "Are you feeling better this morning?"
"I'm all right," Ed acknowledged, lying back down. So it wasn't a weird dream - his father had rescued him. (And Edward could admit, at least in his head, that it had been a rescue - even now Edward figured he was in danger of dehydration. He hadn't been thinking clearly at all - stupid, stupid, he'd nearly killed himself trying to get back to his world--!) He'd wondered, a little, where Hohenhiem was - he had declared he would die in this world, after all - but he hadn't really cared. "How long was I sick?"
"Three days, if you include the day you spent in the alley." Hohenhiem drew a breath as if to speak again, but he hesitated, and the breath came out as a sigh instead.
Edward dared a glance at his father's face and cringed at the sad, fatherly concern there. "You're not allowed to look like that," he said sharply, jerking the covers up. "You're not a real dad, so stop it."
There was a long pause before Hohenhiem replied, and his tone was stern but warm. "I cannot help worrying for you, Edward, no matter how poor a father I have been. You were … very sick."
Ed scowled and hunched himself down in his covers, and for a long time neither of them spoke. Edward broke the silence some time later, voice low. "Thanks anyway."
There was a muted sound of assent, and Edward looked to see Hohenhiem reading a book, but he looked up after a moment. "Edward," he said, in a tone Ed had never quite heard before - reproachful, but affectionate and cool and reluctant. "As long as you're here, you can stay with me, you know."
And how did he know, anyway? How did he know so goddamn well that Edward was going back home sooner or later? And how could he just pretend that those ten years he had deserted them had never happened!? "You--!" he started - but he just didn't have the strength to carry through and really yell. He settled for a disgruntled glare instead. Yet he knew he wouldn't turn down the offer - he couldn't, he knew no one and nothing, and Hohenhiem did. Ed scowled harder.
"I'll get you some soup," Hohenhiem offered mildly, marking his place in his book and standing from his chair.
So Hohenhiem was going to take the steamrolling approach, huh?
Ed would get him for that.
After the soup, anyway.
fin
comments are appreciated as always.
anyway, my contribution. now betaed! XD;;
Cannot Mend
Alter!Series fic (noncanon)
SPOILERS for the end of FMA!
companion fic to Stray
He woke up in a dark place with a start, sitting up suddenly and gasping for breath. The Gate - Al - lost--!
The smell of garbage assaulted his nose and Ed spiraled back down into himself. Reality found him again, and he sat still, resting his head back on the cool brick wall he had curled up against the night before. His breathing slowly settled. Just a dream - a recurring nightmare - and he could live with that, as long as back home, his brother was alive and well.
Home …
The thought propelled Edward to his feet, stumbling a little on the clumsy prosthetic that had replaced his automail (almost as if the Gate itself wished to preserve the barrier of discovery in this medically stunted world). He shuffled out of the alleyway and into the sunshine, into the streets full of hawkers and carriages and newspaper boys. They all avoided looking at him - at his arm - but Edward didn't care. They could stare all they wanted at the boy in a dirty, stolen button-down shirt and metal hand; they were none of his concern.
There was only one thing Edward was able to find in this city on the other side of the Gate, and it was the only thing that mattered: the Public Library. And so, rubbing his eyes, to the Library Ed went.
Somewhere, there was a book that would tell him how he could get back to his world.
* * *
"He's been here all day for the last three days. Think we should send him home?"
Edward hunched over his book and pretended he didn’t hear the man an aisle over.
"Is he harming anyone?"
"Well … no. But you'd think his family would wonder …?"
"He's probably just a book-conscious boy trying to keep up with his studies while school is out. Let him alone."
"I don't know. He looks unhealthy."
"Well, if he starts coughing, send him straight to a doctor. They'll get him someplace."
Thankfully, they wandered off then. Edward turned back to his book, putting the matter from his mind.
* * *
Edward hadn't planned on staying in this other world for very long - no more than a few days at most - and so he subsisted on water. From the moment the Library opened to the moment it closed, he would not leave, reading book after book after book. Through them he learned a lot of history, but nothing that would get him back to his home. Each day saw him weaker, but he took no notice except a small note to himself. He had no time for his body; he wanted to be anywhere but here.
On the fourth day (which dawned dark and gloomy, the rain that had started the night before never letting up), Edward couldn't stand up to get out of the alleyway he had made his makeshift home. He trembled with nausea when he tried, his head spinning; he dry-heaved over the alleyway garbage pile. His hair was soaked and plastered to frozen cheeks, his skin icy - but there was nowhere else to go, and nowhere Edward could have gotten to. He curled up against the wall, futilely seeking warmth where there was none to be had.
He hated this world, he truly did. He wanted nothing more than to be out of it and home. Home, with Al, and Winly, and even that old coot Pinako - better yet, home with Mom … and, as he passed into dreams, Dad too. Alphonse is a little baby just starting to walk; Edward is being tall sitting on Dad's shoulders - Mom is happy, happy the way she never will be again, and Dad smiles.
Edward woke up wearily to a dog tugging the end of his sleeve, its fur soaked through as much as Edward's hair. The dog (which looked suspiciously like Alexander, so much so that Edward's heart twisted painfully) whined; Ed sighed and patted its head. The effort seemed monumental, and as Ed brought down his hand a second time, he didn't bother to lift it. Alexander - Edward couldn't help but name the dog in his mind - cocked its head, then slid under Ed's arm and nuzzled up to him, pressing wetly to Ed's chest. For a moment it was uncomfortable, and Ed almost pushed the dog away, until he realized he could feel the heat of Alexander's body through the wet fur and his own drenched shirt.
"Good dog," Ed said thinly, and the dog snorted in response. Edward briefly made a fist in its coat. "Keep each other warm, huh? Funny, I couldn't even do that with my kid brother," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "We c'n keep jus' this stray, Al, so st'p askin' …"
He passed into fever dreams.
* * *
Eventually the dog's heat went away, bringing Edward a brief lucid moment. A hand touched his forehead and he startled, looking up, blinking away the water in his lashes.
The blur of a face was too far up (a mile into the sky) to tell for sure, but it looked like Dad, the idiot bastard. He drew a slow breath and asked. "… Dad?"
"Easy there, son." Such a familiar voice it was, in the earliest of Ed's memories as the comfort when he fell while taking his first steps. Old memories mixed with the new and made a soupy blur, and Edward tried to get to his feet to tell his father exactly what he thought of him (he hated him loved him missed him wanted him to go away stupid idiot Dad), but everything completely refused to cooperate. Instead, he heard his father say something as he found himself being wrapped in a warm, dry coat. Strong arms lifted him from the ground.
Edward decided he could forgive this affront to his pride, just this once, before he passed out again.
* * *
One time Ed opened his eyes and found himself looking at Colonel Mustang.
A wave of horror and dizziness washed over him, and he tried to match this to the fact that he wasn't in the same world as the Colonel, he didn't think. "How the hell did you get here …?" he groaned, blinking furiously. The dizziness wouldn't go away; his vision was blurry. "Didn’t think you had the guts to do human transmutation …"
"Excuse me?" the Colonel's voice was fuzzy, but he seemed rather nonplussed, which amused Ed peripherally, in between the pounding of his skull. The last person he wanted here right now was the Colonel. Why the hell was he always there when he was half-dead, anyway? The last time he'd shown up out of nowhere he'd been missing two limbs. He didn’t want any stupid missions right now. He didn't even want to get out of bed. Everything fucking hurt, hurt worse than it had almost as long as he could remember. It hurt to think.
"Go home, Colonel Shithead," he moaned. "'m not your lapdog any more."
He rolled over (slowly, painfully) and closed his eyes. If the Colonel had anything to say about it, he didn't hear it.
It hurt to think.
* * *
The next time Edward woke up, he was warm. For a long moment he lay still with his eyes still closed - it was almost like the guest room at the Rockbell's, except that it was a little too hot. Edward sighed and opened his eyes; there was no use pretending he was home.
But where was here? A fire roared in the fireplace, and Edward had to look away - he felt ill and weak, a bit nauseous. The room was bare enough otherwise, although blankets of every imaginable pattern had been piled atop his bed.
As he looked down the bed, his eyes settled on the one chair in the room - and its occupant.
"Good morning, Edward."
Edward's eyes widened.
Then he scowled and looked away. "Oh. You."
Hohenhiem made a noise that was somewhere between understanding and disappointed. "Are you feeling better this morning?"
"I'm all right," Ed acknowledged, lying back down. So it wasn't a weird dream - his father had rescued him. (And Edward could admit, at least in his head, that it had been a rescue - even now Edward figured he was in danger of dehydration. He hadn't been thinking clearly at all - stupid, stupid, he'd nearly killed himself trying to get back to his world--!) He'd wondered, a little, where Hohenhiem was - he had declared he would die in this world, after all - but he hadn't really cared. "How long was I sick?"
"Three days, if you include the day you spent in the alley." Hohenhiem drew a breath as if to speak again, but he hesitated, and the breath came out as a sigh instead.
Edward dared a glance at his father's face and cringed at the sad, fatherly concern there. "You're not allowed to look like that," he said sharply, jerking the covers up. "You're not a real dad, so stop it."
There was a long pause before Hohenhiem replied, and his tone was stern but warm. "I cannot help worrying for you, Edward, no matter how poor a father I have been. You were … very sick."
Ed scowled and hunched himself down in his covers, and for a long time neither of them spoke. Edward broke the silence some time later, voice low. "Thanks anyway."
There was a muted sound of assent, and Edward looked to see Hohenhiem reading a book, but he looked up after a moment. "Edward," he said, in a tone Ed had never quite heard before - reproachful, but affectionate and cool and reluctant. "As long as you're here, you can stay with me, you know."
And how did he know, anyway? How did he know so goddamn well that Edward was going back home sooner or later? And how could he just pretend that those ten years he had deserted them had never happened!? "You--!" he started - but he just didn't have the strength to carry through and really yell. He settled for a disgruntled glare instead. Yet he knew he wouldn't turn down the offer - he couldn't, he knew no one and nothing, and Hohenhiem did. Ed scowled harder.
"I'll get you some soup," Hohenhiem offered mildly, marking his place in his book and standing from his chair.
So Hohenhiem was going to take the steamrolling approach, huh?
Ed would get him for that.
After the soup, anyway.
fin
comments are appreciated as always.