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Edward Elric limped down the dirty street, arm laden with blankets while his brother, embodied in his thick metal armor, carried the heavy items of canned food and some baked loaves.
There was a chill in the air which whipped through the streets of Central with a biting quality that conceded that winter was indeed on its way. Edward’s steps were more awkward than usual, his regular automail limbs having been destroyed in an unfortunate incident several days earlier. An illness on the part of his mechanic was the reason for the delay and until Winry was feeling better they were stuck hanging around at Central waiting.
“It’s been awhile since we’ve come by, hasn’t it?” Al spoke, making sure to keep pace with his brother’s slow and awkward pace.
“Yeah, well, we promised Ingrid we’d come by again,” Ed said dismissively.
About a year ago they had followed some investigations on the philosopher’s stone which had led them to the Ishvalan ghetto. Particular circumstances had led to them becoming involved with the community and Ed had ended up transmuting homes back into homes after they had been trashed by a huge fight, and then, due to Al’s naturally empathetic nature, they had become imbued in the Ishvalan community. It seemed fitting though, two forlorn boys with no home and having had everything torn away by life were to become welcome with a people who had no home and had had everything torn from them.
They entered the street which marked the start of the ghetto and a few white haired children came running up, crying the Elric’s names and climbing onto Al.
Ed could see his brother was happy and felt a smile of his own come onto his face. It widened joyfully as more people greeted them with smiles and kind words.
Scar blinked, surprised by the sudden appearance of such a forsaken figure in the only place he could associate with home. The red coat was tell-tale though, brushed to the side by the gold haired sinner as he crouched down and handed a blanket and a loaf of bread to a small Ishvalan child.
The abomination of metal armor was right behind the Amestrian monster, carrying items badly needed by the Ishvalan ghetto as winter approached.
“He’s such a sweet child,” the woman Linette spoke, tucking her white stranded hair behind her ear.
“They come by every so often to visit and bring gifts. Just last month little Posot was sick and their medicine made him well.”
Scar said nothing to his benefactor. The Ishvalan woman, Lisette, was a strong believer in Ishval and practiced the holy ways. She had opened her home to him, helping him whenever he passed on her doorstep. To tell her of the true nature of the creature she called a child would hurt her. He did not wish to see anymore of his people hurt.
He didn’t speak, sinking into the shadow of the doorway as the state alchemist’s head came up. Scar watched him struggle to stand, the sinner was disabled, the mechanical limbs gone and replaced by what many of the Ishvalan refugees had, basic prosthetics that had extremely limited mobility. Scar felt an opportunity rising, a chance to deliver justice.
He just needed to be patient, it would be better to corner him without the metal monstrosity in order to prevent anyone in the ghetto being injured by a fight. Soon enough, a child came running up and began tugging at the metal boy, he resisted for just a moment but soon other children joined, crying for the monstrosity to join them in play. He acquiesced and Scar watched as the two inseparable figures separated. Still, Scar waited, watching as the boy laughed, talking to a few adults. His face was flushed, cheeks red and round like a child’s. Scar stifled the thought quickly, the boy had chosen the path of evil and had forfeited his right to humanity.
Scar noticed out of the corner of his eye little Posot strapping on his sandals. Once they were on, Posot raced for the door, headed to go play with the gentle giant made of metal. Scar caught the boy by the shoulder just as he was about to head out the door. Scar knelt down on one knee, facing the child.
“Posot, I need you to do something for me,” Scar said.
The little boy gave a solemn nod. Scar gave him the instructions. Scar stood, turning to head out the back, not watching the boy go outside.
Ed turned when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Looking down he saw Posot, the little boy who had been sick.
“Big brother,” Posot said, “Lleena is crying in the alley, I don’t know what happened.”
Ed frowned. Lleena was Posot’s eleven year old sister.
“Oh, okay, thanks for telling me Posot.”
Posot grinned before turning and running off to play. Ed sighed, he wasn’t great with kids or anything, and it wasn’t like he cared or something. But Al would be upset if he heard that Lleena had been crying and Ed hadn’t done anything. Sighing, Ed hobbled to the alley that Posot had mentioned. It was a specific place that Lleena went to when she was upset. Ed moved away from the bustle of the ghetto and toward the more quiet area of the alley. Peering down the dead end, plaster walls rising on three sides, Ed frowned. He couldn’t see Lleena, but it was kind of dark and there were some boxes.
“Lleena?” He called.
There was no response. Ed’s frown deepened and he stepped into the alley, walking to the end. Something felt off.
“Alchemist.”
Ed whipped around at the unpleasantly familiar voice. The owner was who he dreaded it to be, the ‘x’ shaped scar marring the man’s face giving him away.
“Scar,” Ed bit out angrily.
His anger floundered though, especially as he took stock of the situation. He had only one arm, so no alchemy and he was hobbling around on a useless leg. Al was off somewhere and he had no one who could help him.
Scar took a step forward. Ed took a faltering step back.
“Are you ready to meet justice, to pay for your sins?” Scar said, raising his hand.
Ed gulped, terror painfully taking hold. He couldn’t die here, not now, Al didn’t have his body back, nothing had been made right.
Scar advanced and Ed backed into the wall. A hand was raised and Scar came closer.
Just as he moved to place his hand on Ed’s head, voices could be heard, the boisterous calls of children, distinct among them was the tinny reverberating sound of Al’s voice. Scar froze, knowing that Ed could call out for help and make everything much more complicated for Scar. Scar waited for it to happen, anticipating the action. It didn’t happen though. He watched as the boy looked desperately to where the voices came from, watched the calculations spin through his mind. He also recognized the scared resignation as the boy kept his mouth shut.
The voices faded, and then disappeared as the people moved away.
“You would protect that monstrosity?” Scar queried, confused and slightly amused.
Anger flared in the boy’s eyes, “He’s my brother.”
Scar said nothing. A beat passed and he moved forward. Ed awkwardly lunged to the side, his prosthetic leg hindering him. Scar’s explosive hand mainly hit the wall, ripping it apart, but part of it had hit Ed, tearing a wound into his side. He screamed in pain and Scar cursed. Despite the boy’s handicaps he had still been quick enough to dodge the attack, or at least most of it.
The dust settled, a large part of the brick wall bitten away by the explosion. The blonde haired boy had collapsed on his back, his side bloody and his face pale. Dust covered him along with debris from the wall. Scar moved to finish the job, that is until he heard voices again. He didn’t want his people to find the body, they wouldn’t understand the justice, they would just see the violent murder of a crippled child who gave them aid. It would bring them pain, something Scar did not want to make his people endure. He hesitated for a moment before he came to a decision.
Quickly sweeping the unconscious form into his arms, he moved toward the mouth of the alley. Those that had heard the explosion were still too far off. Scar headed in a direction out of the ghetto. He wouldn’t be able to kill the boy here.
Due to his life of crime, Scar knew the backways of Amestris very well. He knew the peculiar paths which obscured one from any eye which might look one’s way. At the moment he was appreciating them. Scar walked at a fast past down a side street, he was headed for a safe house he used occasionally. There was the sound of people approaching and Scar froze before backtracking and ducking into an alleyway. Pressed against the wall, Scar held his breath as the two men walked by. He glanced down at the burden in his arms. The boy was bleeding too much. Scar felt a pang of guilt and worry which was unnatural. The boy looked frail and young in his arms and it brought back a slew of memories, images of children’s bodies hurt and scarred by war coming to mind.
The men passed and Scar continued on his way. He arrived at the abandoned house several minutes later and ducked inside. Kneeling, he laid the boy out on a rough blanket he used when he stayed here.
Eyes blinked open, pained golden orbs that were glazed over and unfocused.
“Mom?” The boy bleated, voice weak.
He looked so much like a child.
“Mom, please, mom,” the boy weakly called out.
Scar placed a hand on his brow and felt a fever, most likely from infection. It had taken hold fast, meaning the boy probably didn’t have much time before he would die.
“Please, I’m sorry, don’t go! Mom!” The boy was clutching at his arm, staring past him at some figure which haunted him.
Scar pulled the child’s hand from his arm and laid it to the side, ignoring the boy’s continued cries. Mercy, something he had never been given, nor anything he had given, came to mind. He was reminded of his past, the old Ishvalan monk who had trained him in the words of the earth, speaking in a slow sonorous voice, ‘go the way of peace, leave love in your heart, work always towards the earth and crawl in the midst of mercy for mercy will lead you to Ishvala and Ishvala will lead you to the earth’.
Scar felt something stir in him which he thought he had left far behind in his past. He made a decision. Carefully he began tugging the boy’s shirt up. The wound was nasty, skin torn and flecked with the brick debris which had ripped the flesh in painful ways. Scar grit his teeth and stood up. The boy had exhausted himself and was weakly murmuring, begging for forgiveness. Scar couldn’t give him that, but he could allow him the chance to earn it.
Scar gathered water, alcohol and clean cloth, or what he had of it. It took a few minutes, but he managed to start a fire and heat the water. He began cleaning the wound, gently pulling the fragmented shrapnel from the boy’s side. He watched the child flinch, but not cry out, murmured words falling away as he became sweaty and more feverish.
Once it had been cleaned out, Scar grabbed the high proof alcohol he kept and braced the child with an arm. He poured the alcohol over the wound, the child moaned but for all of how painful Scar knew it to be the boy didn’t stir much.
Done with this he then wrapped the boy’s side. Now cleaned and looking slightly less bloody the child appeared peaceful. Scar felt content, gently easing blankets and whatever coverings he could find around the boy to pillow him. He felt the gentle ease of memories come to him, of a time when he was very young and innocent, the words of his mother as she held him in her arms coming to mind.
‘And the earth must be hallowed, her children precious as the desert rose,’ she had dipped then and kissed his head, mussing his older brother’s hair as she did so, ‘precious is the water, precious is the green which springs to the sky, but more precious are the children, for they shall walk before us, and they walk before Ishvala unblemished.’
She closed the book and leaned forward taking both of her children into her embrace.
'Never forget how precious you are my children, Ishvala looks down on you and smiles and he feels your tread and rejoices,’ she murmured this as she held her children.
'But why matr?’ he had asked, puzzled that Ishvala should care so much about him.
'Because little one, you are everything the world has to look forward to.’
Scar was pulled from his memory by the feeling of a wetness of his cheeks. His fingers brushed at them and he realized he was crying.
The boy was small, wrapped as he was, scarred and diminutive, no loud pompous words puffing him up and producing some larger than life image.
Scar looked away, struck as he had been so many times by the ferocity of this world. It took and took, yet, he glanced at the boy, it gave room for change.
The Fullmetal Alchemist would be given pardon now, because Ishvala treasured all children, even those lead astray. Scar glanced out the window, saw the lowering sun. Still, the boy represented everything he fought against. He was not a child.
Scar looked to the alchemist and knew what he would do.
Mustang had thought that a Fullmetal deprived of his prosthetics meant that he would be free from the menace and his unnatural ability to attract trouble. Of course, he underestimated the blonde haired brat. Fullmetal was missing, Alphonse had called, frantic and claimed Edward had gone missing.
Mustang had sighed, rolled his eyes but alerted his team. Fullmetal was probably sulking. That changed when Fuery had found the alleyway in the ghetto, blood staining the wall and clear evidence of alchemy. Panic had settled and Mustang had immediately called in Hughes and his team.
It was nearing midnight now and no sign of the boy had been found. Hughes suggested they stamp missing persons on it and bring in more people, Mustang just felt a frigid numbness. It was very likely Edward Elric was dead.
Alphonse was in a state of panic, he'd gone off by himself to search the streets for his missing brother.
Entering his office, Mustang began the customary paperwork, all the while trying g to think of some circumstance which would explain the disappearance and the blood while keeping intact his youngest subordinate. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Mustang bitterly faced the fact that he was indulging fantasy. There was never a happy silly little accident, only the grim reality to explain the situation.
He finished writing in the report when the phone rang. He answered it. His eyes widened, he stood abruptly with the phone still in hand as the speaker continued.
“Yes, yes, thank you.”
Mustang gulped, anxiously flexing his fingers.
“Of course, and thank you.”
The receiver was placed on the phone base with haste and in moments Mustang was pulling on his coat. He stepped out of his office.
“Bring the car, it's Ed.”
Hawkeye immediately rushed off.
Over a half hour later Mustang's group and Alphonse Elric arrived at the hospital. Edward was in an induced coma, spread across a hospital bed. The staff claimed that they'd found him at the ER doors, no one else in sight. His identification by his pocket watch allowed them to contact Mustang.
When Edward woke up in coherence, nearly three days later as infection raged through his body, he remembered nothing.
In his room he peered at a piece of obsidian with an Ishvalan character etched on it, the word peace. It had been in his coat pocket.