Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everybody knows Edward loves to fidget. It is something that will always be true. Just like the sky is blue, that the north is cold, people know that Edward likes to fidget. Everybody knows he can't last ten minutes without tapping his foot, tugging at his sleeves, or picking at the skin on his fingers.

When he was young, his fidgeting often involved other people. He would play with his mother's hair, or poke at his brother's side. He would kick at Winry’s chair during dinner with the Rockbells and grab her fingers, twisting them at odd angles. It stopped his mind from racing. It allowed him to escape, in a sense.

Back then, he didn't actively avoid physical touch. There used to be a time where he loved getting his hair ruffled and getting pat on his back. Resembool was a small town, and he knew everyone. He didn't have to worry about some stranger touching him, because - even when he was five - he knew everyone in Resembool. There was no danger. Everyone knew Trisha's boys.

That's why when she died, everyone helped the Elric brothers, embracing them with open arms.

Granny held Al as he sobbed. Winry gathered flowers to put on their mothers grave. Their neighbors invited them over for dinner. Mr. Robins always set aside part of his crop for Ed, who'd always help him bring it back to Al. Mrs. Lloyd made the boys blankets whenever the winter nights were freezing, and gave them sweaters when a fire wasn't enough to keep warm.

Trisha Elric may have died, but the town's love for her did not. Everyone helped the Elric brothers, knowing it had been Trisha's last wish.

It wasn't enough.

The money that was left slowly ran out, despite Ed's best attempts at budgeting it. He tried his best to save it - they ate at the Rockbells whenever they could, he asked the local markets for a discount or leftover products, and learned to sew the holes in their clothes. He traded his alchemy in exchange for anything they needed, whether it was clothes or food. He tried his hardest to step up for Al, to do everything possible to survive.

His efforts weren't enough.

Edward slowly started eating less. He rationed his food, to make it last as long as he could. The piles of food on his plate slowly diminished, and the only time he got a good meal was when Granny Pinako was cooking. His plate grew smaller, so that Al could keep food on his. He couldn't bring himself to pick one grain of rice off of his brother's.

He couldn't watch Al suffer even more than he already was.

Ed resorted to doing favours for people in town. He'd wash the floors for Mr. Winston or clean the sheep pens for the Smids. Nobody needed his alchemy. He'd already fixed all that he could.

So when Ed turned seven and the war in Ishval worsened, nobody had anything to spare. No leftover crops, no blankets, no clothing, and certainly no medicine. Even their dinners with the Rockbells stopped. Nobody could afford automail, and business for them was as slow as ever.

Ed understood, even though he'd always complain to Al about it. Granny promised to take care of Winry,  and she was prioritizing her promise over taking care of them. Al didn't understand because he didn't have anyone to care for. Ed did.

If their positions were reversed, Ed would do the exact same thing. Hell, he'd starve himself just so Al wouldn't be hungry. 

Al coughed, a noise that brought Ed out of his trance. He glanced at his brother who was bundled underneath a pile of blankets, his alchemy book long forgotten.

Al looked sickly. His eyes were baggy and his skin had a greenish hue. He looked like their Mom did, days before she passed away.

“Brother, I don't feel good…” he whined, and Ed wished that he'd never hear his brother sound so weak again.

“I know, Al,” he ruffled Al’s hair, in some hope of his brother being comforted, “I know.”

Trying not to startle his brother, he got up and walked towards the door. 

“Where are you going, brother?” Ed turned around, to find his brother struggling to sit up.

“Out,” Ed replied, opening the door. “I'm going to get you some medicine.”

***

“Brother, wake up.”

Instinctively, Ed swatted his left hand around beside him. “Five more minutes, Al.”

“You told me to wake you up when we reached East City. I'm just doing as you asked, brother.” If Al's armor could wear a face, he'd be wearing a dumb smirk just like Colonel Mustang. Ed thought that Al and the dumb Colonel shouldn’t show any similarities, because Al disnt deserve to be compared to him.

“Yeah, yeah, don't get all smug like Colonel Bastard on me,” Ed rubbed his eyes and slowly started to gather his luggage. “Dammit that reminds me, I have a meeting with him after we stop at the dorms.”

Al helped him gather his belongings from the overhead compartment (he wasn't short, Al was just massive!) before they both got off the train. Ed started to walk, as Al carried all of his things.

“So, Brother, were you dreaming?” Al asked excitedly. He did this thing where he'd always have Ed describe his dreams - if they were pleasant - and he'd listen intently, always asking for every little detail. Sometimes, even if Ed didn't dream, he'd tell Al he did and make up all kinds of stories. Imagination and stuff.

“Yeah, I was.” He knew Al's favourite part was asking what his dreams were about, so even though he knew exactly what Al would say, he'd play along. 

“What was it about?” 

Ed scratched the back of his neck, as he watched the cars speed by them.

“Well, I'm not really sure, but it was more like a memory? Yeah, an old memory.” The memory wasn't entirely pleasant, but he didn't mind sharing it with Al.

“Oh! When was it? Was it one of our missions?” 

“Nah, it was from when we were kids,” Ed said vaguely. There was no nice way to describe it. Saying “Oh yeah, I had a dream about when we were kids and almost starved to death, and on top of all that, you got extremely sick!”  just didn't sound right.

“Was it one with mom?” Al asked hopefully.

“No… it was from the winter of 1906. You wouldn't remember it anyways, it's kind of random.” 

“What happened during the winter of 1906? All I remember is that the Ishvalan War had worsened and we didn't really have much,” Al said with such innocence, and Ed wanted to tell him that nothing happened, that everything turned out okay. He wanted to say that nothing bad happened, but even now, Ed couldn't bring himself to lie.

“Not much did happen. We were starving, sick, and cold. Nobody wanted to help us. That's what happened.” He kicked a pebble as he walked, dragging his feet. Somebody did help them eventually. Just not someone Ed wanted to talk about, ever.

“Oh..” Al's voice deflated, and he curled in on himself as they walked. Ed picked at his fingernails.

“Well… it all worked out in the end. I did people some favors and got you some medicine. Eventually Granny got more customers and we didn't starve anymore,” he reassured Al. 

He knew he shouldn't have said it like that. Al was strong - stronger than almost anyone - but he was also delicate. Ed had to protect that part of him. His brother was sweet, innocent, and didn't deserve to know that the world was cruel. Ed knew that the world was out to kick asses more than most. After all, he'd been the one to shield Al from it.

They walked to the dorms in silence, accompanied only by the clanging of armor or boots scuffing along the pavement. It was awkward; the brothers always had some noise whenever they were together. Whether it was Alphonse going on a rant about the difference in breeds of cats, or Ed complaining about, well, anything, there was always noise while they were together. Even with their silence, it wasn't awkward, not like this. Ed would hum, or snap his fingers. Even while reading, there was the sound of pages being flipped. It was peaceful.

The point is, the Elric brothers never shared an awkward silence. Until now.

They reached the dorm, and dropped off their luggage before leaving for Eastern Command. The silence dragged on - and for someone like Ed who absolutely hated walking - it made time pass excruciatingly slow.

“Al, are you gonna tell me what's bothering you?” Ed asked sweetly. It was impossible for him to be sweet to anyone but Alphonse, but for times like these, he couldn't help but be nice to his brother. If it were anyone else, Ed would tell them to suck it the fuck up, but to be fair, he wouldn't be feeling guilty if it were anyone but Al.

“It's nothing, brother.”

Ed highly doubted that, but didn't want to push further. He fidgeted with his sleeve and kept walking.

***

Edward kicked the door with his right leg, and it fell down with a large crash.

“Oi, Bastard! Here's your stinkin’ report!” he yelled, the entire office's eyes finding their way towards him.

“Do you need to kick the door down everytime, Fullmetal?” Mustang asked, leaning against his door frame.

“It's an Elric specialty,” he smirked, “of course I'm going to kick the door down!”

He handed his report to the Colonel, before making his way onto the couch in Mustang's office. He sprawled across it, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of it. Al had stayed Behind to talk to the team. He was never allowed in Ed's briefings, anyways.

“Is illegible penmanship also an Elric specialty?” the Colonel glanced at his report, before tossing it on his desk.

“Shut up, Bastard,” Ed grumbled. “You wanted me here for a reason, and making fun of me for my handwriting wasn't it.”

Mustang sighed, sitting down at his desk. He gathered a large pile of files (holy fuck that was a massive pile) before doing that weird creepy thing he did with his hands. The bastard smirked smugly, and Ed knew that Mustang was gonna give him some shit job. 

“You've caught on quite fast, Fullmetal.”

That… wasn't ominous whatsoever. 

Ed huffed, and looked up at Mustang defiantly. “Quit beatin’ around the bush and just gimme my mission, dammit!” 

Despite his previous behaviour, Colonel Mustang did not look enthusiastic whatsoever. He looked like he needed a cup of coffee or ten hours of sleep, or both for that matter. He certainly didn't look excited about giving Ed his mission, that's for damn sure.

“Your mission is not exactly a happy one. I wouldn't be assigning any fourteen year old to a case this severe, but unfortunately this wasn't my decision.” Mustang was uncharacteristically vague with him, and he didn't like it. Fortunately for Mustang, Ed didn't have enough energy to argue with him, otherwise he'd have about twenty different things to say about now.

“Great… just what is it?” he asked, hoping to hop on the next train and get the hell out of the East.

“You will be tracking down a serial killer. One that seems to target mostly women and children,” he sighed, pinching at his nose bridge in a way Ed only sees him do when he's stressed. “The killer seems to take his time with his victims - to say the least - and it shows with how… mangled… the corpses are.”

Ed couldn't help but shudder. He's dealt with killers and bodies before, but if Mustang was reluctant to have him on the case, it had to be bad. He was no stranger to mangled corpses, and couldn't help but wonder if there was something more going on.

“Are they an alchemist?” the question fumbled out of his mouth before he could even process what he was saying. The killer had to be an alchemist, otherwise they wouldn't want Ed on the case! The higher ups must've known he could've solved it if there was alchemy involved.

“That remains unknown. Certain aspects of his work seem to involve alchemy, but the killings themselves don't seem to involve alchemy.”

“An accomplice, then?” Ed wondered, not missing the detail that there are probably already suspects, if they had narrowed the killer to be male.

“That's what everyone else believes.” Mustang leaned back in his office chair.  

“Wait - hold on a minute - everyone else? I swear to fuck if there's more people I have to work with on this case-” Ed swore, as he racked through his brain how to deal with more people, again. 

“Yes, Fullmetal, everyone else. It seems I forgot to mention that your case is here, in East City, and that you'll be working with us.”

Fucking hell.

Chapter Text

“I've told you, Havoc, I don't need a damn babysitter to investigate a scene,” Edward grumbled, taking the files and walking towards the crime scene.

“Unfortunately Chief, it ain’t up to me. We’re working the case together, and Mustang asked me to keep an eye on you before he comes.” Lieutenant Havoc followed Ed, sipping from a hot cup of coffee.

Ed rolled his eyes. “Still a babysitter.”

Havoc shrugged, giving a look that just screamed I’m just following orders. That look on his face told Ed to make a mental note to kick Mustangs ass, case be damned.

Ed and Havoc approached the scene, and hastily ducked under the caution tape. Usually, the sight of military officers was enough to keep curious citizens away. Now, with actual caution tape, Ed wondered just how bad it’d been.

“Now Chief, the boss told me to warn you. The bodies are super messed up, and it might be a bit hard to handle,” Havoc explained, looking around awkwardly. Ed tugged at a loose thread on his red jacket. Of course Mustang thought he was still some stupid kid who couldn’t handle seeing a dead body.

Edward has seen plenty of death, and Mustang was stupid if he thought he could shield him from it. His mother died when he was five, some of his neighbours passed from the same epidemic, then his mother died again when he was eleven (it was his fault), and that wasn’t even counting the people he saw die throughout his time in the military.

Taking a sharp breath, Ed ripped the piece of string off his jacket. “Yeah, yeah,” Ed waved him off, “it’s not going to be that bad.”

“Ed…” Havoc’s voice trailed off as a military officer approached them.

“The Fullmetal Alchemist?” He asked, looking specifically at… Havoc? Havoc?

“I’m the Fullmetal Alchemist dammit!”

The man had turned to look at him. He was greeted with Ed, arms crossed and a terrifying glare painted on his face. “Oh... right.”

“Uhm - what did you need, officer?” Havoc asked politely. He added a small smile, one that Edward saw was forced. 

After knowing Team Mustang for two years, he’d learned some of their mannerisms; he’d be stupid if he hadn’t. Havoc liked to play nice. Always acting polite and sweet, but could turn on you the instant he got all he needed. Scary… but he had a soft spot for the Elrics. Mainly Ed, to everyone’s surprise. So when Al had to stay back at the barracks, he didn’t complain like any other member of the team would. Instead, he talked about how it was their “bonding time” and dragged him out the door.

“I was just going to say - well… just follow me. The scene’s this way,” the officer said, walking back to where he came from. Havoc quickly drank the rest of his coffee, tossed it away, and followed the man, leaving Ed to tag along like a lost puppy. 

“Stupid case..” he mumbled, kicking a pebble as he quietly followed Havoc. 

It wasn’t fair. How come he got stuck with a shit case in East City - one that Team Mustang was already working nonetheless! And since it was so damn ‘important’, Al couldn’t even come along! Not even for a little bit. Ed would be lying if he said that didn’t upset him just a little, even though he knew it was safer for the both of them. 

He kicked another pebble, then another, and another.

“Hey Chief. You, uh, gonna look at the scene?” Havoc asked, hovering over his shoulder.

Ed didn’t respond, and instead walked over to where a white sheet covered a body. It was surrounded by military personnel. Some were talking around it, whereas others had their eyes glued on the sheet. Either way, Ed needed to see what was underneath it.

Crouching down, Ed slowly (reluctantly, his mind unhelpfully supplied) peeled back the sheet.

The body was… well, shit, there was simply no word to describe it. 

It was underwhelming. It was overwhelming. It was absolutely fucking horrific, but at the same time, Ed has seen much, much worse. 

The body was that of a young woman, a body that was dismembered. Every major limb was hacked off messily, as if it was done in a fit of rage. The fingers were bent and broken beyond repair, a display of bones and ripped apart nails, but that was the most normal thing about this corpse.

The corpse didn't have a face.

Unlike the carelessly dismembered limbs, the face was skinned with the utmost precision and carefully sewed onto the woman's chest, through her clothes and all. Her eyes were scooped out of their sockets and attached to her body underneath her sewn-on skin.

It was disgusting.

All throughout her torso, there were dozens and dozens of stab wounds of various shapes and sizes. Some were small, as if they'd been performed with a scalpel. Others were large, most likely performed with a butcher's knife.

Finding this killer wasn't going to be easy, but he'd already left pieces of information for them

To make matters worse, her legs were broken, and spread out in a position that could only make Ed uncomfortable. Her belt was undone, her jeans were torn, and her face was staring up at him. His breathing quickened, as her unbuttoned jeans screamed at him, alarm bells ringing.

She was assaulted, then murdered. It was clear.

Ed couldn't tear his eyes away from her jeans. 

“Jeez, looking at these corpses never gets easier,” Havoc commented, pulling out a cigarette.

He wanted to just crouch down and zip up her jeans more than anything. It wouldn't take long, just a few seconds, and then it'd put his mind at ease.

It didn't happen.

“Yeah,” the military officer sighed, “someone's gotta put an end to this filthy killer.”

She was alright. Well - not alright - but she was just dead and nothing terrible happened to her.

His finger was bleeding. The skin around it was picked away until it was raw and bloody.

It didn't happen.

He was alright.

“Ed?” 

His head snapped up, and he found Havoc giving him a curious look. He ignored it, and turned towards the military officer.

“Were all of the bodies,” he waved towards the woman's corpse, “like this?”

“Sort of, if being dismembered and skinned is what you're talkin’ about, kid.” Ed's eye twitched, but for once, he didn’t scream at the officer for his comment. This was serious.

“What do you mean? What did the other bodies look like?” He turned towards Havoc. “Were they all…?” Ed trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence.

“The Colonel is coming to the scene with pictures of the other scenes. As for the bodies, they were all skinned in some sort of way, but not all had limbs chopped off.” Havoc rolled his cigarette, as if he was contemplating something. “But… no, most of the bodies weren’t assaulted, if that's what you're asking,” 

Ed let out a breath, one that he didn't know he was holding. 

“So, all of the corpses were stabbed and skinned, but few were dismembered, correct?” Ed asked Havoc for confirmation. 

If he just acted okay - if he solved this case, then everything would turn out alright. Nobody else would die or be skinned, or stabbed or assaulted. It would be fine, he just had to be smart enough. 

"That would be correct, Fullmetal.” Ed rolled his eyes on instinct, repulsed by Colonel Mustang's voice walking up behind him. He was still pissed about working with the bastard, and he wasn't afraid to show it.

“Great… you're here,” Ed groaned in a way that screamed I don't want you here. He crossed his arms, and huffed. Despite his aggravation, he didn't miss Mustang's comment about him being right. He turned around, and was greeted by Colonel Mustang, closely followed by Lieutenant Hawkeye who was holding a seemingly important briefcase. He was glad to see her, even though she was only there because of Mustang.

“Teenagers.” Havoc shrugged, drawing on his cigarette.

“What am I going to do with you, Fullmetal?” Colonel Mustang muttered under his breath but still loud enough to be heard. Ed responded to his comment with a scowl.

“Whatever, old man. Weren't you gonna show me some pictures or some shit?”

Hawkeye held up her briefcase. “The case files are in here. All the information, crime scene photos, and pictures of evidence that we have is in this briefcase.”

Ed's first thought was: Should she really be carrying the entirety of the case in a briefcase? It could be stolen. His second thought was: Holy shit. There's not a lot to go off of if there's only a briefcase.

However, he didn't voice any of his concerns, and instead asked Hawkeye to open it.

She held the case, and unlocked it wordlessly. He promptly started grabbing piles of pictures, and analyzed each crime scene.

There were 13 deaths so far - well, 14 deaths now. Each victim was young, being roughly twenty five or younger. There were 11 girls or young women, with three boys. All appeared to have died from stab wounds in the chest, or occasionally a wound in the neck. Every victim was skinned, just as Havoc said, but it was different for each of the victims. One of the girls looked like her flesh had been taken with the skin of her stomach, whereas another woman’ skin was peeled all across her arms, as if there was a peeled scab that ran all the way up her arms.

Another thing that he noticed was the younger victims were usually the victims that had missing limbs. The removal looked done similarly for each; the killer hacked away their limbs messily. If the killer removed their limbs while angry, were the younger ones targeted because they were annoying? Were the limbs taken before the fatal stab wounds were given? 

As much as Ed wanted to know, that information wasn't going to help him find the killer. Stick to the information that'll help identify him, Fullmetal. He could practically hear Mustang's voice in his thoughts. Yuck.

“Any thoughts, Fullmetal?” Mustang's grating voice pulled his eyes off of the picture. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, or whatever.

But... what did he think?

The more he stared at the pictures, the more his brain pieced it together. The killer appears to have used various weapons to inflict the wounds. They were of varying shapes and sizes. Additionally, he must've used something precise in order to peel the skin off of the victims. Perhaps a razor, or a scalpel. The thought of the killer stripping the skin away from each of his victims sent shivers down Ed's spine. 

“Well, for starters, there must’ve been at least a dozen different weapons used throughout all of the crimes,” Ed said, turning to make eye contact with the Colonel. “He must have had a decent paying job in order to afford all of the weapons.”

Mustang shook his head. “He could've just been saving up to buy them. It could've been planned over the course of many years.”

“The killer might have found each weapon in the victim's homes. He might not have had to buy any of them.” Hawkeye said thoughtfully, and Ed found himself nodding his head.

Havoc took his cigarette out of his mouth and put it out. “None of the victims' homes had any signs of the crimes being committed. No signs of murder, no blood, and certainly not the assault.” 

“But… what if the killer still went to their home?” Ed asked on a limb. “Then he could find the weapons he'd need, and bring them to the location where he'd use them.”

“That could be,” Mustang paused, looking as if he was thinking about something, “but, the military hasn't noticed signs of a break-in at any of the victims houses.”

“Just because there weren't signs of a break-in doesn't mean there wasn't one,” Ed retorted, crossing his arms.

“Edward's right. The killer very well could've been stealthy and covered his tracks. It would've been significantly easier to do so, since at the time of their killing, each of the victims had been living alone.” Hawkeye commented. 

“Wait - living alone? Even the children?” Ed asked eagerly, looking between Hawkeye and Mustang with impatience.

“Every child's parents had been away on an overnight trip, and all of the young women lived alone,”  Mustang helpfully (for once in his life) replied.

“So that's how the victims are connected…” Ed mumbled, tugging at his sleeve. 

He hated this case. He had to deal with a stupid serial killer, who was also a disgusting human being. He wasn't just killing innocents, but he was disrespecting their bodies through his brutal killings. The sick man was violating them, and it made Ed's skin crawl.

Hearing about the killer murdering children while they were home alone made Ed long for Alphonse. It was stupid; he knew that Al was fine, that he could defend himself and was most likely not going to be targeted by the killer, but he was still worried. He wanted to go and just hug Al, to tell him everything that happened to him and get the aching weight off his chest. Instead, he just tugged at his sleeve, and continued looking through the pictures.

***

Ed clutched the coins in his hands like they were pure gold, and prayed that it would be enough. He could only scrounge up the coins in his hand to buy medicine, and he was extremely aware that it wouldn't be enough. He just hoped that perhaps someone would feel pity for them, and cover the difference. 

The clouds were grey and heavy, the air filled with humidity that stuck to Ed like a bug. He's always hated the rain, no matter how much Al tried to convince him otherwise. He would always say that rainy days were the best. Al loved dancing in the rain, feeling it fall on his face, and cuddling up in warm blankets afterwards. Ed couldn't understand why he found that so enjoyable, when all the rain did was soak their clothes and make them uncomfortable.

Ed took his time walking to the small pharmacy they had in Resembool. With the Rockbells automail shop, medicine needed to have a steady supply in the town, and some business owners thought that it would be a good investment to build a drugstore in the farming town. He thought it was convenient, but never had any reason to go. Mom always kept medicine stocked up, and they hadn't gotten sick after she passed. Until now.

He walked up to the store, a small building with a home attached onto the building behind it, and slowly pulled the door open. He stepped in, finding that there were multiple aisles filled with goods.

Truly, he'd never seen a store with so much stuff in Resembool of all places.

He walked all of the aisles, looking for any medicine that would work for Al's cold. Honestly, he didn't know what he was looking for, but he knew he needed it.

He didn't remember the bottle that Mom would always grab whenever he complained about being sick. He didn't remember what it was called, when Winry furiously complained about having to take it. He didn’t remember any of it, and he wanted to cry because of it.

It wasn’t fair that Al was sick. It wasn’t fair that Ed didn’t remember what medicine he needed to help him. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t call Granny to ask for help, and it wasn’t fair that even if he could, she wouldn’t pick up the phone.

All he knew was he needed medicine, and wouldn’t stop until he got it. He'd do anything for it. After all, it was for his brother, and he promised Mom that he'd take care of Al.

So instead of kicking the shelves or pulling his hair in frustration, he found an aisle with medicine and started reading each bottle. There were so many different things here, surely he'd find something he could use for Al. He had to.

“Cold medicine,” he mumbled, picking up a bottle, “must be it, right?”

He inspected the bottle, making sure it'd help with the symptoms his brother was showing. He couldn't justify buying it if it wouldn't help. It had to help. He couldn't lose another family member to another sickness. He wouldn't know what to do, or what he'd do.

Ed shrugged and grabbed the bottle, his coins gripped tightly in his opposite hand. It seemed like it was what he needed. He double checked the bottle to make sure, spinning it around a couple times in his hands - just to be safe. 

The store was larger than he originally thought, and he wondered (not for the first time) why Resembool needed a drugstore in the first place. He wondered how many people had to get sick to justify it, and questioned if the Rockbells came here often.

He made his way to the front, eventually finding a person who he thought was in charge. There wasn't anyone else in the pharmacy. He really didn't know how they kept in business.

Behind a counter was a tall, bearded man who was probably in his late thirties. Either that, or the stress of the Ishvalan war really got to him. Maybe he was really in his forties and Ed was being generous. He doubted it.

He seemed familiar - everyone in Resembool was - but he'd never actually spoken to the man. Never had a reason to, really. He never needed medicine until now, and this man didn't seem to leave his shop much.

The man was wiping the surfaces with a rag, and from what Ed could tell, he was the shopkeeper. There wasn't anyone else, anyway. There wasn't anyone stupid enough to be buying medicine when people could barely afford bread. There wasn't anyone except for him.

His reluctance couldn't save him now. He had to buy the medicine. Al needed it, more than Ed needed the coins clutched in his left hand. So with all his strength, and the small bit of courage he could scrounge up, he placed the medicine bottle on the counter.

Chapter Text

Ed slammed the case file shut, followed by a string of curses. 

“God fucking dammit! Why does this killer have to cover his stupid tracks!”

Al gently closed his book and looked at Ed. “Brother, please be careful with the files! I know you're frustrated, but those files are important.”

Ed frowned, wanting to defend himself, but Al had a point. Destroying annoying case files wasn't going to help him solve the case any faster. If it did, he'd get Mustang to scorch the damn things in a heartbeat.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I guess you're right, Al.”

“Of course I'm right.” Al's armor came as close as it could to a smile as he smugly replied. Ed just laughed, even though he didn't feel like laughing. Al was usually right; Ed just didn't always listen.

If Ed just listened to Al, they wouldn't be in this situation. Ed wouldn't have lost Al's body, and wouldn't have dragged him into this whole mess to find a philosopher's stone. He wouldn't have to watch his brother suffer, all because Ed decided he wanted to see Mom again.

Ed slouched and opened the file back up. The corpses of each victim stared at him, laughing at him. The bodies danced around in his mind and the pictures he was staring at were spinning. He wanted to close the file and take a nap more than anything, but then wouldn't he just be letting more innocent people die? Wouldn't he be failing his brother?

Okay Ed, focus. Just list what you know. 

The killer targets women and children. He's using multiple weapons to inflict wounds on his victims. He either has a well paying job, or is stealing his weapons. He could've saved his money like Mustang suggested, but with the nature of the killings, Ed highly doubted it.

Suck it Mustang. Needing me to do all your case work.

Ed needed to think about this. How was the killer finding his victims? Where does he find his victims?

He took out the files regarding each case’s victims, rummaging through each page with speed. Then he looked at them again. And again. And again.

What do they have in common? What made them special to the killer?

Ed leaned forward, tugging at his hair. This was useless. He was stupid and couldn't figure out anything.

“Ed,” Alphonse's voice echoed through the armor (another one of his mistakes), “why don't you tell me about the case?”

He just stared at his brother. Tell Al?

“But you're not supposed to be working the case. Mustang said.

Al giggled, of all things. “I don't have to work the case, brother. And since when did you care about what Mustang says?

Ed frowned. He doesn't care what Mustang says. He was just threatened with mine inspections for a year if Al worked the case, the man going on about not wanting to risk their secret. He's heard it all before, so he stopped listening.

“What - are you suggesting that I talk out my ideas with you?” Ed questioned with a furrowed brow. How was telling Alphonse about the case going to get him any closer to solving it.

“Yeah. It's like when we're researching Ed. We always seem to find our answers when we work on it together.” 

Bouncing ideas off each other - of course! It always worked whenever they were doing alchemy research, why wouldn't it work now?

“Okay, so basically, there have been fourteen deaths in East City, and all of them by the same killer. Each was killed in a disgusting way, but similar enough to know it was the same killer-”

“How were they killed?”’ Al asked eagerly.

“That's not important,” Ed quickly shut him down without a second thought.

Al's shoulders hunched, but he stayed quiet.

“Well…” Ed looked down at his case files, the horrifying pictures staring back at him. Al deserved to know how they died, but Ed couldn't subject him to the harsh truth of it. Sweet, innocent Al, who'd hide stray cats in his armor. He didnt need to know that women were raped, that young kids were dismembered, and every victim was skinned. He couldn't know.

“They all died of multiple stab wounds, made with a wide variety of objects,” he said, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

Al perked up a bit, his brain probably going through a million possibilities.

“Anyway, there wasn't any evidence left behind, but we assume that the killer either steals his weapons from his victims, or he has a well paying job and buys them.”

“Wouldn't it be suspicious if he was buying all of these weapons?” Al brings up, and Ed finds himself nodding.

“That's true, but if they're just stuff like kitchen knives or everyday items; nobody would suspect anything,” Ed explained thoughtfully.

Al stopped to pause for a minute. “He could've also bought them at different times. Nobody would think it suspicious, and even if they did…” 

“People in Amestris are fucking weird, and wouldn't think someone buying a weapon is odd,” Ed stated, finishing Al's thoughts. He nodded, armor clanking as he moved his head.

“So, Brother… there isn't really much to go off of, is there?”

Ed shook his head in defeat. How was he supposed to solve a case with no evidence? At least they had leads with finding the stone… This case provided nothing, and it infuriated him.

“Did the victims have anything in common?”

Al's question tugged at him. Did they? Aside from three brutal assaults and murdering, did they as people, have anything in common?

Ed didn't know. In all Truth, he didn't want to know. He didn't want to know the victims, didn't want to know anything about them. He didn't want their deaths to be on his conscious, too.

But… It was a place to start. If he knew, then he could find out why they were murdered, and find out who's going to be the next victim.

It could work.

Ed slammed his head down on the table.

“Well, fuck.”

***

“Wow, kid, you're the first person I've seen all day,” the shopkeeper said, as Ed placed the medicine down on the counter.

Ed blinked, and just stared at the older man. “Oh..?”

“Yeah, this place doesn't get much business these days,” the man sighed, looking upset. “We don't got as much as we used to, that's for damn sure.”

“You could say that again,” Ed grumbled.

The shopkeeper crossed his arms, and peered at Ed, who was innocently staring back. “Hey, aren't you Trisha's boy? Elric?”

Ed nodded, though he didn't want to. This man, though he knew his mother - everyone in Resembool had - he wasn't someone Ed knew. A familiar face, sure, but someone Ed knew? Nope. And it unnerved him.

“That's cool. Wonderful lady, she was. Came by a lot before she passed.”

Ed, who had been picking at his fingers before, suddenly looked up, a quizzical expression glued on his face.

“She came by often?”

The shopkeeper nodded, then shrugged. 

Ed never knew his mother left often, though he and Al always had their nose's stuck in an alchemy book. It made him wonder if Mom was hiding anything else before she died.

“She was always buying medicine… but it's not really my place to say,” he explained, taking the bottle from the counter.

 “Now you're here, buying medicine, and it's like deja vu. Funny, right?” he twirled the bottle around in his hand.

Ed nodded, and reluctantly placed the coins on the counter. The man seemed nice enough, and would hopefully help him find a way to pay the rest. He knew Mom, and people who knew her tended to help the Elrics. They didn't even ask why. They just did.

The man hummed, sliding the coins off of the counter. His face contorted as he counted the cenz.

“Sorry, kid. This isn't enough for the medicine,” he scratched the back of his head as Ed's face dropped. The man had to help. He had to.

This couldn't be all for nothing.

“B-but my brother is sick! I need the medicine!” Ed panicked. He was one step away from getting on his knees and begging the man to give him it, cost be damned.

The man sighed, deep in thought. Ed got as close to the counter as possible, and gave him a pleading look. He was not above giving the shopkeeper puppy dog eyes in order to get the medicine.

“Hmm… you boys are alchemists, right?”

Ed responded with a sharp nod.

“Well, why don't you come by here later tonight? I'll find some things in my house that need repairing, or something of the sort. I've heard you boys are good kids, and if your brother needs the medicine… I'm obligated to help, aren't I?” the shopkeeper explained, giving Ed a big smile.

Ed tried to smile back, but the anxious feeling in his stomach hadn't gone away quite yet. It was still gnawing at his insides, and nothing could get rid of it.

Still, he was extremely grateful for the man. He was giving him medicine - which was extremely expensive - for nothing but a few favours. The man had to be out of his mind, surely. Though, Ed didn't care as long as he could help Al.

“Thank you,” he managed to breathe out.

“Don't worry about it,” the man gave him a wink, “but, if we are to do business, I'll need your name, kiddo.”

“It's Ed.”

The man gave him a wide smile. 

“I'm Frank Harrison,” he paused, leaning forward, “but you, Ed, you can just call me Frank.”

***

Ed raised his head and rubbed his eyes as he sat in Mustang's office, listening to the man ramble on about the case. It had been two days since he got the case - two sleepless nights - and they were nowhere near finding the killer. But, supposedly, Team Mustang finished interviewing the families last night, so hopefully they'd get some additional information.

He stared at Mustang's mouth, watching as it moved back and forth without Ed actually processing his words. He was about to fall back asleep - his nap wasn't very energizing - but he had a feeling he'd be lectured if he did.

“Fullmetal, are you even listening?” 

Edward flinched before meeting Mustang's eyes, and silently cursed in his head. It seems he didn't escape a lecture, after all.

“Mhm.. Yep. Listening,” he grumbled, peeking around the office. It was still just him and the Colonel, the rest of the team nowhere to be found. How long were they going to take to get here, anyway?

“Oh, really?” Colonel Mustang questioned in his (more) annoying voice. The man was such an asshole and always annoying, but he seemed to be extra annoying whenever Ed didn't have the energy to deal with his bullshit. Typical.

“Yep,” he snapped at the man in hopes of getting him to shut the hell up.

Mustang must've understood, because he stopped talking to Ed and instead brought his attention to the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Hawkeye’s going to murder him for this. He smirked at the thought.

Bored, Ed decided to lay down on the couch, stretching his legs across Mustang's work. Five minutes of rest couldn't hurt, right? It's not like I can work on the case with no leads anyways. Might as well.

Edward flickered in and out of consciousness, his exhaustion forcing him to close his eyes, but the haunting images of corpses bringing them right back open. He couldn't last longer than five minutes before seeing a skinned body on the ground, or a woman's eyes scooped out of her sockets. 

The victims were hunting him, angry that he could not solve their case. He couldn't bring them justice.

Their bodies lunged at him, grabbing his arms and legs until he couldn't move. They roughly tugged him towards their corpses on the ground, and forced him to look. 

Each body was worse than the last, and Ed's stomach was about to expel what little food was in it. 

Eventually, the corpses dragged him to a body he hadn't seen before. The body of Alphonse.

It was exactly how he remembered; short golden hair, and eyes slightly darker than his own. It was Al, but it wasn't. It couldn't be, because Al was in the armor, and he wasn't dead.

There was Al's body, chopped up limb by limb. He looked so frail, so small. His face was hauntingly pale, as he stared up at him.

“Al!” Ed screamed, fighting against the corpses to reach his brother. 

This isn't real. Al’s skin was shredded off.

This can't be real. His arms were hacked away, and his torso mangled.

This. Isn't. Real. Al's eyes looked terrified, and his pants were unzipped.

Ed shot up and gasped for air. It took him a minute for air to fill his lungs, after he remembered how to breathe.

“Fuck,” Ed groaned, hanging his head as his brain processed everything.

He couldn't even begin to imagine if Al, sweet innocent Al, had been…

“Edward?” Hawkeye appeared beside him, her face holding a hint of concern. He looked around the office, only to find Mustang in his chair, watching the interaction.

He stares into worried caramel brown eyes, not lifeless golden ones. Her eyes stabilize him, reminding him that he is in Mustang's office, and that Al is not dead. He's not.

“Are you alright?” Hawkeye’s voice sounded worried, which was more than unusual for her. Nevertheless, he could clearly tell she was concerned. He probably started making pathetic noises in his sleep or some shit, just another thing for a certain bastard to use against him.

“Yeah,” his voice sounded small and nothing like the personality he'd made for himself as the Fullmetal Alchemist. “Yeah, it was nothing.”

Hawkeye wasn't convinced, but didn't push him on the matter. 

“What time is it?” Ed's voice was raspy, but it didn't stop him from asking. He swallowed, trying to stop his throat from being so dry, but it didn't help much.

“It's well past 5pm. You slept through the meeting, Fullmetal.”

Shit. Ed coughed, and looked anywhere but Mustang's face.

“Well… what did I miss anyway?”

“You missed the team's explanation for the victims' relationship. In short, they all lived in the south end of the city, and they were all described as introverted.” Hawkeye stepped in to explain. Ed was just grateful it wasn't the Colonel; he'd probably be dodgy as hell and take 20 minutes to lecture him before explaining.

“Thanks, Hawkeye. Was there anything else that we learned about the killer?”

“I mean, if you wanted a better explanation, maybe you shouldn't have slept through the meeting.”

Edward scowled at Mustang.

“You could've just said no, Bastard,” he mumbled, crossing his arms in the process.

“And you had no excuse to sleep through the meeting.”

“Colonel,” Hawkeye sighed, and it put an end to his eventual lecture. Ed silently thanked her.

The office became awkwardly silent after Hawkeye's comment - Mustang, in fear of Hawkeye, and Ed, not wanting to deal with his superior officer's bullshit. They were caught at a standstill, yet neither of them wanted to break the silence.

“Soo… am I good to just go?” Ed eventually asked.

Before Mustang could open his mouth, Hawkeye spoke. “Yes, Edward, you can leave. Make sure to get some rest and work on the case afterwards.”

Mustang gave her a look, but didn't say anything more. Edward was, once again, extremely grateful for her presence. He hopped off the couch, and gathered all of his stuff.

So all of the victims were from the south side, huh? Ed waved goodbye to Hawkeye, and gave Mustang a final glare.

Well, that's a good place to start.

Chapter Text

A flash of alchemy sparked, and the vase pieced itself back together. The cracks, once obvious, were now nothing more than mere scratches. Ed took his hands off the transmutation circle and picked up the vase.

“Here's your vase, Mr. Harrison,” he said, lifting it up towards the older man.

He smiled down at Ed, taking the vase out of the alchemist's small hands. “Thanks, kiddo, but I already told you to just call me Frank. I mean, we're making a deal as equals, right?”

Ed eagerly nodded. Frank didn't see him as some helpless kid, like the rest of Resembool did. They saw him and Al as helpless orphans, whereas Frank was willing to help them while treating him as an equal. It was nice.

Frank adjusted the vase on a high shelf (no wonder it broke) as Ed fidgeted in his seat, Frank looking back at him frequently. He wouldn't be lying if he said it wasn't awkward, but the man was helping him and he treated Ed like a person, so really, he didn't mind that much.

“Was there anything else you needed, Mr. Har- uh.. Frank?”

“Well,” Frank scratched the back of his head, “it's kind of embarrassing, but could you help me repair a photograph in my bedroom? I broke it while cleaning, and well…” he trailed off ending his sentence lamely.

Ed stood up, and walked towards Frank. “Sure, that's pretty easy. Where's your bedroom?”

Frank motioned Ed to follow him, as he led him down a hallway. His bedroom was at the very end, and it wasn't anything that Ed expected from the shopkeeper. It was very bland, and as if he just moved in, with boxes scattered everywhere. Ed wasn't one to judge - well, maybe he was, but he judged silently.

“Here,” Frank passed him a photograph of a little girl wearing a very sparkly (and ugly) dress. Who dressed her? They did a terrible job. He crossed his arms.

He's never seen this girl around, but he's not going to ask the only genuinely nice person about something that was clearly sensitive. That was just asking for trouble.

Ed grabbed his chalk and quickly drew his transmutation circle. He fixed the frame and mended the glass. The edges were a little rough, but to anyone who wasn't an alchemist, it would look like the picture was never broken.

Ed checked it over before handing it to the man, who seemed very eager to receive the fixed photograph.

“Thanks so much Ed!” Frank said, ruffling his hair. Ed smiled softly towards the man. Was that really all I had to do for medicine? I might as well come back if we need anything else. Frank seems nice enough.

Frank placed the picture by his bedside, and sat down on his bed, motioning Edward to do the same. He did, and sat on the edge, wondering if that was truly all that Frank was going to make him do.

“Is that all you needed?” he asked, voicing his concerns. Frank stayed silent for a moment, and just studied Ed's curious face.

Ed looked up to meet Frank's eyes. The man looked like he was considering something, and his eyes held a mischievous glint that was familiar to Ed. It was the same look Ed had whenever he was about to get into trouble. It was the same look that everyone associated with Edward, and the look that made everyone know to punish him. With Frank, whatever trouble he was thinking about, Ed didn't like it. It probably involved more work for him or some crazy question. Nope. Only he was allowed to cause mayhem.

“I mean, Ed, you've fixed like, three things. Do you really think that's a fair exchange for extremely expensive medicine?” Ed's heart sank at hearing the words. What else did he have to give?

Ed looked down at his hands and frowned.  

“But - I just thought…” Ed sputtered, jumping off of the bed in a panic. What if Al didn't get his medicine?

“Sorry, kiddo. The quick alchemy fix doesn't even come close to paying for it. I could've paid 5o repair those items with less than the money in your pockets,” Frank explained, rubbing Ed on the back in an attempt to comfort him. It wasn't working.

“What else can I do for the medicine?” Ed's voice was small, and it sounded nothing like him. For someone so loud and outspoken, his voice sounded foreign.

Frank smirked while continuing to rub Ed's back. “There is something you can do. It's like a game, of some sorts. I can teach you.”

Ed nodded, though he had no idea what the man was talking about. A game in exchange for medicine? Ed would gladly do anything to help Al, and this sounded easier than physical labour.

“How do I play?” he asked, his voice sounding unsure. He doesn't want to be taught how to do something by Frank. I thought we were equals. But I guess it is better than letting Al succumb to his illness. Ed quickly squashes the thought.

Frank smiled, a smile that Ed would never forget for the rest of his life. It was a sinister smile, one that is comparable to demons and psychopaths. It was something that would eventually haunt him, but now, it only brought him confusion.

“I'll teach you, Eddy. You'll have just as much fun as I do playing it.”

***

“Ed!”

He woke with a jolt, heaving for breaths as Alphonse shook him vigorously.

Hands on his skin. Whispers in his ear.

“Stop!” he violently shook his head, and Al was shaking his body. Ed was shaking and shaking, and he couldn't stop.

Ed kept gasping for air and his lungs felt like they were on fire. There wasn't enough air, or his lungs weren't working, or both. His eyes were watering and everything burned.

He couldn't even remember how to breathe.

“Ed, it's okay. It was just a nightmare.”

Al's attempt at comforting did little to ease Ed's panicking mind. He wasn't okay. It wasn't just a nightmare because it's happened before.

“Just breathe. It's okay.”

Al stopped shaking him (when did that happen?) and instead rubbed his back. It was something Ed always did for Al when he was younger, and another brutal reminder that Al didn't have his body because of him.

“Breathe, Brother.”

Ed struggled for air for what seemed like hours, before he finally caught his breath. He was fine. Everything was fine. It wasn't fine, but Al didn't need to know that.

Ed could hear thunder outside of the window, rain pouring down on East City, and his automail hurt. Everything hurt.

“Are you alright Ed?” Alphonse's voice echoed, holding a concern that Ed could only associate with Al.

With a rare sense of vulnerability, Ed shook his head.

He wasn't alright, and there was no reason to even try and hide it. His hands were still trembling, his breaths were laboured, and he could still hear his sickly sweet voice. Al would know.

Ed hated this. Hated the nightmares that plagued his sleep and his panicked behaviour when he woke up. He hated that he would always remember his desperation, and the horrors that followed.

He especially hated the pitiful stares he got after a nightmare, or how he'd feel on edge after hearing a deep voice filled with pretend care. He hated it all.

For Al, he told himself. Still tells himself. Everything was for him, and it always would be.

Having a reason wouldn't stop the nightmares from happening, so he'd just deal with it like he always has.

Ed put his head in his hands. There was nothing he wanted to do. There was nothing he could do.

Al stayed silent, and continued to rub Ed's back.

They sat there for a while. Ed's hands never left his face, and Al's never left Ed's back.

“It's alright brother. You can tell me,” he said eventually.

“I wish you would tell me,” Al whispered, but it was as if he was speaking to the air. Ed would never tell him. He couldn't. Al would only blame himself.

“I can't help unless I know what's wrong.”

Ed sighed. It was his burden to bear. “Just drop it Al. Please.”

“But brother-”

“Please, Al, just drop it.”

Al nodded reluctantly, despite Ed's inability to see it. 

The brothers both sat there, the only movement was Al's constant circles rubbing along Ed's back. There was nothing more than Ed wanted to do but disappear or forget everything, or both.

Ed stayed silent, and continued to bury his head in his hands.

***

His automail hurt. There was a heavy storm that - in Ed's humble opinion - was taking too fucking long to go away. His ports ached and his head was pounding. There was no point in even trying to work on the case; he couldn’t focus if he tried. Everything felt as if it was on fire and a drill was going through his skull. All he wanted a fucking break.

Ed sprawled along his bed, thanking every bit of Truth that he wasn't asked to come into the office today. Not even the strongest pain killers could get him through a day in Mustang's office, and he just knows the Colonel would be as annoying as ever. He would rather be laying on the shitty dorm bed than talking to Mustang any day.

The dorm felt empty without his brother's presence. He was out getting Ed medicine (thank fuck), but that didn't mean the dorm wasn't… quiet. He lacked another person, something he desperately wanted right now. Even though Al had been silent all day, his presence was loud. Ed would know in an instant if Al wasn't there, and right now the absence of Al's presence was bigger than ever.

“He's just out getting medicine,” he affirmed himself, “it's just twenty minutes.”

Quit being a baby. You're fine. 

He stretched out his leg, the ache in his port searing with pain.

You're fine, Ed. Quit being a fucking baby.

 He slowly breathed in and out, trying to grasp at something to focus on other than the pain.

It was only a storm, and he's been through worse. He could handle it. If only Al would hurry up and bring him the painkillers, his life would be so much easier.

Automail surgery was so much worse, and he didn't even have medication until after the surgery. He did it at eleven, so surely he could last a day without medicine and in a storm. 

He could, but you could bet your ass he didn't want to.

A sudden ringing noise stole his attention. It came from the phone across the room, attached on the wall, and a long ass walk from where he was laying down. Well, a long walk for someone in pain, anyway.

Ed rolled over, pulling a pillow over his head. Whoever the fuck is calling him could suck it, and wait until tomorrow for an answer. There was no way in hell he'd be answering the phone.

He let it ring and ring, until the person must've hung up on the other side. Serves them right.

Nobody would catch him getting out of bed just to answer some lousy phone call. 

Until it started ringing again.

Fuck, did this person have no life? Who the hell would be calling him, anyway?

He debated letting the phone ring again, until he realized that whoever was calling him was a relentless bastard. Probably almost as stubborn as he was. Realistically, it was most likely the Colonel calling to tell him something important. As much as Ed didn't want to talk to him, it was probably was information surrounding the case. It's either that, or the man needed him in the office.

So much for his day off.

So much for not leaving his bed to talk with Mustang.

He groaned, pulling his legs off the bed and onto the cold floorboards. Ed limped towards the phone, trying not to wince as his leg touched the floor.

Just another fucking problem to add to his list.

Ed got to the phone, angrily picking it up off of the receiver. A certain bastards voice came out of the phone

“Hello Fullmetal. I see you were enjoying your time off.”

“Oh fuck off, Mustang,” he huffed, pinching his eyebrow. Mustang sighed on the other end of the phone, loud enough for Ed to hear.

“Well, perhaps you should mind your words, Fullmetal. We are on a military phone line, and I am your superior officer.”

Ed rolled his eyes, forgetting the Colonel couldn't see him. “Just cut the crap, asshole,” he almost swore again at his cursing. “What did you want?”

Mustang stayed silent for a minute, probably debating whether or not to lecture him.

“I'm calling because there's important information about the case.”

Ed instantly perked up.

“We found something that seems like it's useless, but I suspect it's information that's going to help us solve the case.”

Ed had totally forgotten about the case. How could he be in bed, while people could be dying? 

At least there's new information. He felt like they were running around like a headless chicken trying to look for any possible leads.

The call could be for a more stupid reason. 

“No information is useless information, Colonel.”

“I agree, which is why I'm telling you, Fullmetal.”

“So, what is it?” he asked bluntly.

“Well,” the Colonel paused for a moment, “the autopsies have shown that each of the victims were sedated. Each patient was sedated with different amounts of the same drug, in accordance with their body I'd assume.”

They were sedated?

“Well, it makes sense if you think about it,” Ed eventually said.

“It only makes sense that the killer would want to sedate them while mutilating their bodies. Thrashing around would be inconvenient,” Mustang’s voice explained over the receiver.

Ed gulped, twirling around the phone cord.

Those people were awake when the killer was torturing them. They could see him hacking off their limbs. They could see him raping them. They couldn't even fight back.

It must have been horrific.

The worst part is that he can't let himself think about it if he wants to solve the case.

“As much as I hate to say it, you're right. But it isn't just about how the killer murdered his victims.” Ed scratched the back of his head.

“Oh? Please, enlighten me, Fullmetal. What else did you figure out?”

“Well, for starters, where did the killer get the sedatives?” Ed smirked.

Mustang stayed silent for a minute, probably pondering Ed's question. Then he let out a chuckle. An unnerving chuckle.

“Well, Fullmetal, you've got it all figured out, huh?”

“I'm surprised you don't, bastard,” Ed quickly retorted. “The killer is obviously some sort of doctor.”

There was shuffling on the other side of the phone, and Mustang was quiet. Ed could only assume the man was gathering things on the other side. “And what makes you so sure?”

Ed smirked. “He has access to a large amount of sedatives, and he knows how to administer them according to a person's body. A doctor has to be the killer,” he explained, playing with the phone cord. “You better be writing this down, bastard.”

“Language, Fullmetal,” Mustang sighed through the phone. Ed could hear the faint sound of scribbling on the other end. Good.

“Couldn't the killer just have access to sedatives on the black market? Or he could steal them?” Mustang eventually asked.

“We would have heard something in the papers or from the military about stolen sedatives. Plus, who the fuc - fudge.. tries to steal from a hospital?” Ed explained. Couldn't Mustang just use common sense?

“Right. Thanks for the theorizing, Fullmetal. I'll inform everyone involved with the case on our new leads as soon as possible.” Mustang hung up the phone soon after.

Edward sighed, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. There was so much shit that was terrible about this case, and even though they got a new lead, they weren't any closer to solving it.

It fucking sucks. But at least they know the killer is a doctor. Most likely a doctor, anyway. 

And the victims suffered a horrible death, which nobody aside from him seemed to fucking care about.

Ed knew it was the military. He knew what he signed up for, and he knew that all the soldiers around him joined knowing they'd have to kill people and see some fucked up shit. It was the military, and there are wars and other things that are so much worse.

That doesn't mean that they shouldn't care about women and children being mutilated and assaulted.

Some of the soldiers have probably fought in war. Why would they care about some serial killer when they were responsible for murdering countless others?

Maybe he was just naive.

Edward groaned, and stumbled back towards the bed. Whatever. Who cares if he's naive?

He plopped down and hastily pulled the blankets over his body, and stared at the ceiling.

If nobody else cares about these victims, I will. I'll find their murderer and bring them justice. If that's being naive, so fucking be it

That's a promise. 

And if that's being naive, so fucking be it.

Chapter Text

Ed tapped his pencil on his desk repeatedly, scrunching his brow in frustration.

Flip a page. Tap.

Grab a file. Tap.

Scribble something on his messily sprawled notes.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Stop that Ed,” Havoc groaned, sitting at the desk across from him. “It's getting very annoying.”

He hummed in response, and kept scrutinizing the case files. There had to be something he was missing.

The killer was a doctor, that much was clear. If he wasn't, he had to at least work in healthcare. He murdered the victims with various weapons. Each of the fourteen victims were all women or children, and the killings were fucking brutal. All of the killer's victims lived in the south side of East City, if he remembered correctly.

He scavenged through the papers, to find the one that confirmed what Hawkeye had told him that night in Mustang's office. They were all introverted, which didn't help him figure out much.

He was also introverted, but Frank found him just fine.

Ed shivered, and shook his head. Nope. Snap out of it, Fullmetal.

The victims must've been desperate like he was, if the killer had found and murdered them. He must've helped them in some sort of way in order to find them.

“The victims were his patients!” Ed exclaimed, practically leaping out of his chair.

“What?” Breda asked, walking towards Ed's desk with Falman. The whole office practically surrounded him, aside from Hawkeye and the Colonel. The sharpshooter was on her lunch break, and the Colonel was probably doing fuck all in his office.

Ed stared down at his papers, making sure he was correct. He always was.

“The victims,” he breathed, “they were connected to the killer through the hospital. They were probably his patients.”

Breda and Falman shared a look, but Ed didn't bother staying to find out what they had to say. He scooped up his papers and quickly stormed into Mustang's office, his feelings about the stupid Colonel be damned.

As much as Ed rather not talk to the man, he needed to know about the case.

He needed to know that the victims trusted the killer with their lives, and he brutally stole them from the victims in such a brutal way.

Ed was going to be sick.

He was met with a sigh. “Any reason to be barging into my room this time, Fullmetal?”

Edward opened his mouth to explain, but the bastard cut him off.

“I'm sure you have a wonderful explanation for interrupting my paperwork. What if I was on the phone? Or in a meeting? Is It really that important?” 

That fucking bastard.

Ed opened his mouth again, to spring out a wide variety of insults that the man definitely deserved, but was interrupted by Breda and Falman.

What is it with these fucking soldiers today?

“Sir, if we may. Edward was just going to explain his breakthrough in the case.”

Mustang kept his face stoic, and the only indication he had heard Falman and Breda was his eyes widening slightly. The man remained silent, glancing between Ed and the soldiers behind him.

“I see,” the Colonel eventually said. His eyes were now glued onto Ed – more specifically the case files in his arms. He gestured him over to his desk.

 “My apologies, Fullmetal. Now, share what you've discovered about the killer.”

Ed huffed in annoyance, but spread across the files all over Mustang's desk.

This fucking bastard.

“You sure are desperate, Colonel Bastard,” Ed commented, putting the last of the pictures down.

“It's hard not to be, when the higher ups are pressuring me for results. Now, spill.” Mustang crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. 

Ed rolled his eyes. “You'd see more results if your lazy ass didn't slack off! And if more people were working on this godforsaken case!”

Colonel Mustang scoffed at his response. “You really think that we aren't all busy? Our lives don't revolve around the case, Fullmetal.” His words were sharp and held a warning. Don't push it further, Fullmetal.

“Now, results.”

Ed took a deep breath, then another, and another. Anything to stop him from giving his superior officer an uppercut.

“Okay, bastard. The victims were all probably patients to the doctor. At the very least, the killer treated them as a healthcare worker. He had to have access to the anesthesia somehow,” Ed explained, pausing to grab a case file. “All of the victims were introverted and probably didn't go out of their way to talk to new people. They were treated at the hospital.”

"Hawkeye had mentioned they all lived on the South side, correct?” Mustang questioned, to which Ed responded with a nod.

“Exactly. If they all lived in the same area – which they did – they all were treated at the same hospital.”

“They must've gone to East City General Hospital,” Mustang concluded. “It's the only one on that side of town.

“Yep. That means our killer has to work there, too,” Ed added.

Mustang stood up, bringing his attention to the soldiers waiting outside his door.

“Breda, you go check all of the patient records of our victims. Tell me when they were treated and for what,” Mustang ordered.

“Yes sir!” Breda saluted the Colonel before walking out of the office.

“Falman, you go check what staff members treated the victims. Bring a list of everyone, and I mean everyone involved.

The man saluted, then exited the office.

“Havoc,” Mustang addressed the man working at his desk.

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Go interview the staff at East City General Hospital. Make a list of whoever seems suspicious, and we'll compare it to Falman’s list of who treated the victims,” Mustang demanded, a small hint of urgency in his voice.

“Got it, sir.” 

Soon enough, it was just Edward and Colonel Mustang left in the office. Ed couldn't help but notice the man (surprisingly) hasn't told him to do anything yet. It seemed unusual, for the smug bastard who loved giving him orders.

Mustang sat back down, and resumed looking at the case files Ed brought him.

“Fullmetal,” the man addressed him, picking up photos from the case.

“What do you want, bastard?”

Mustang sighed, and looked up at him. “Why don't you go run down to the cafe down the street? Get yourself something to eat.”

Ed furrowed his brows, but reluctantly nodded. He turned around and started to leave the office as quickly as the other soldiers did.

“Oh, and Fullmetal?” Ed turned around to face Mustang.

“Why don't you get me a coffee as well?”

This fucking bastard!

***

Ed glances at the information that Mustang's men have collected. There was an assortment of messily scribbled handwriting, neat spelling, and beautifully written cursive, all along the various sheets of paper and files he was brought.

“Sooo…” Ed said, dragging out the word, “what did the hospital say about all of the questions and shit?”

“They were horrified,” Havoc responded, rolling his unlit cigarette between his fingertips. “They couldn't believe that all of these murders were being caused by a staff member.”

“Most likely caused by a staff member,” Falman corrected.

Ed rolled his eyes. “You're starting to sound like Colonel bastard.”

“Falman’s got a point though. We aren't sure if the murders were caused by a staff member working at East City General, so we can't say for sure it was one of them in case it isn't true,” Breda explained. Really, it was logical, but Ed didn't want to agree with the Colonel more than necessary. He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue any further.

“Alright, Chief. You've got all your files, so what do you make of all this?” Havoc questioned as Ed picked up a file and started to read it.

All of the victims were treated at the hospital two to three days before their death. That confirms my theory, he thought as he skimmed through the reasons why the patients were treated. They went to the hospital for minor things, and didn't even suspect that it would be the reason for their deaths.

Ed gulped, and picked at his jacket. They were all dead, and all they wanted was to go to the hospital to help them live.

It was sickening.

He wanted to throw up, but all he could do was grab another file.

East City General Hospital only had 7 doctors, and three of those doctors were the ones to treat the fourteen victims. There were pictures of each doctor with the list of patients they treated. Nobody stood out, and to anyone else it would look like a coincidence.

At least there's clear suspects.

Ed grabbed Havoc’s list, which was about as short as the amount of staff at the hospital. There were 5 names, all doctors, and Ed assumed they all had no alibis. He skims through the names anyways.

Doctor Alfred Waynes. 

Doctor Charlotte Hills.

Doctor Nicholas Carlton.

Doctor Wilson Daniels.

Doctor Harry Jenkinson.

Each doctor was apparently involved in the patient's treatment, but not all of them were responsible for the patient's care. They simply just helped cover for their coworkers, or popped in to help with a diagnosis. Ed didn't want to make this case even more complicated, but it definitely wasn't going to be easy.

Fantastic.

“So, Ed, what do you make of all this?” Havoc asked, glancing over his shoulder and at the files.

“The same conclusion the rest of you probably came to. It's one of the doctors.”

“Yeah,” Breda walked over, grabbing a photo. “Like this one?”

Breda handed Ed a picture of Doctor Daniels, a middle aged man that looked eerily familiar to Ed. He reminded him of the doctor back in Resembool, who cared for his mom until her death.

“Nah,” Havoc said, grabbing another picture, “it's probably him. I mean, how sketchy can one guy look?” He tossed the picture of Doctor Jenkinson back onto the pile.

Ed scrutinized the picture that was still in his hand. Doctor Daniels was the doctor he had in Resembool. He was the one who gave his mother the medicine she took to help her illness, and he gave her the medicine that didn't do anything to prevent her death.

He was the one who refused to give him medicine for Al, despite his pleas.

“Something wrong, Ed?” Havoc asked with a concerned look in his eye.

“Nope,” he replied, setting the picture down. Havoc wasn't convinced.

The rest of the squad gathered around Ed, minus Hawkeye and Mustang who were discussing the case in Mustang's office. The team all had an expectant look on their face, one equal to the look Al would give him as a kid.

“It's just… he was a doctor in Resembool for the longest time, and he eventually left after I joined the military,” he confessed, playing with his fingers. “I just didn't expect to see him, let alone be a suspect in the case.”

“Well since you know him, do you think he did it?” Falman asked Ed, and he just shook his head.

“No… he was like Hughes - always talking about his damn kid,” he explained. “I just don't think he could be capable of doing that.”

“Alright,” Havoc grabbed a file. “We'll cross him off the list.”

“Just four left,” Breda chimed in.

Just four left.

***

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” Ed exclaimed, backing away from Frank.

“Did you not hear me? Take them off,” he sneered. His face was contorted with anger, and not one that Ed could recognize from the man he knew before.

Ed stumbled back, and fell against a closed door. A hand extended beside him, virtually trapping him face to face with Frank. The man towered over him, and that wasn't because he was short but because the man was about to pounce on him like prey.

It was fucking terrifying.

“I thought… you said we'd play a game!” Ed gathered every ounce of courage to look the man in the eyes and defy him. He was met with an evil glint in Frank's eyes, one that didn't seem to care.

“I told you we were playing a game. This is part of the game. If you want your fucking medicine, you better do as I say.”

He wasn't supposed to take off his clothes in front of anyone. Mom and Granny always taught him that nobody was supposed to see his private parts. It was wrong.

But Al needs medicine.

Eventually, he reluctantly nodded, and started to take his clothes off.

He avoided eye contact with Frank. He avoided thinking about what he was doing, or the way that he felt Frank's eyes wander along his body.

Al needs medicine. He needs my help.

If Ed had to do this to get Al's medicine, then it really couldn't be that bad, right?

“Underwear too, Eddie.” Ed could practically hear Frank's malicious smirk.

Ed's fingers fumbled around the band of his underwear. Why did he have to take it off?

He didn't want this. He thought Frank was being nice with his offer – and maybe he was – but Ed didn't want it. He didn't want the wandering eyes or the uncomfortableness he was feeling.

Al needs medicine, he needs my help. Suck it up for him.

Frank grabbed his waist, and tugged down his boxers, leaving Ed embarrassed and exposed.

His eyes found the flickering lamp, and focused on that. He didn't think about the uncomfortable way Frank made him feel, or the fact the grown adult was stripping in front of him. He didn't  process the man tugging him towards his bed, because he was focused on the lamp. 

The lights flickered, and brought him a sense of peace. Nothing was going on. The lamp was just acting funny.

Ed was dragged over to the bed, and Frank pushed him onto it face down. Ed's face was practically smothered with pillows.

“What are you doing?” his question came out small and muffled, and completely unheard by the shopkeeper. 

Ed couldn't see what was going on, his face clouded by the vision of the pillow. He felt Frank slowly climbing on top of him, and grabbing hold of his wrists.

Ed's breathing picked up.

“Stop! Get off me!” he started thrashing around, trying to loosen Frank's iron grip. He was kicking and screaming, and one second away from hyperventilating before the back of his head was smacked.

“Shut up!” Frank repeatedly hits the back of his head. “Quit moving kid, or I will fucking kill you.”

Ed's once rapid breaths came to a complete stop.

Kill me?

He immediately stopped moving, and laid completely still.

He can't kill me, I need to get the medicine for Al!

Will I even get medicine?

Ed started panicking again, but made no movements. Frank was going to do whatever the fuck he wanted, and Ed was helpless to stop it.

“Good boy,” Frank purred in his ear. “Just let me do what I want, and you'll get your medicine, yeah?”

He felt like throwing up, but nodded.

Something entered his private part, and he screamed. It was sticky and wet and something should definitely not be in there, and he was helpless to stop it. 

Tears came to his eyes, as it was pushed in and out at a slow pace.

“Shh…” Frank whispered, “it'll feel good eventually.”

Stop. Please. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was cry.

Get out of me! I don't want this!

It was pushed further in, and Ed yelped. He hated this feeling, hated having something inside of him where it shouldn't be, and hated the gross feeling it gave him. Worst of all, he hated that it was Frank doing it, and he hated himself for trusting him.

The pace started to pick up, and Ed wanted his mind on anything but Frank.

Human transmutation.

Once Al was feeling better, they could work on their theory for human transmutation again. All he needed was the medicine which Ed was getting him. He just had to make it through this.

Frank started to moan and thrusted harder. Ed cried out in pain, but he kept going.

Water, 35 litres.

Frank pulled on his hair, whispering in his ear.

Ammonia, 4 litres.

Everything feels sticky, and tears rush down his face.

Carbon, 20 kilograms.

“You're perfect,” Frank breathed, hot air trickling down his neck.

Lime, 1.5 kilograms.

He felt a rush of sticky liquid enter him, before Frank finally took it out. Tears stained his face, and as soon as the man was off him, he bolted towards the door.

“Not so fast, Eddie. You need your clothes, and the medicine, remember?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, squeezing his eyes shut. Didn't he already take enough?

“Oh,” his voice was quiet, and he turned around to look at the man who was lazily putting on his clothes.

“Don't worry Eddie. I'll get you your medicine,” his smile was wide and off putting. 

The man rummaged through his nightstand before walking up towards Ed. Frank gathered Ed's clothes off the ground, and placed them in Ed's arms, along with a bottle of medicine he slipped on top of the pile.

“By the way,” Frank said, bringing his attention to him, “my dear boy, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me. We can make another deal just as fun as this one.”