Hellbound || Fᴜʟʟᴍᴇᴛᴀʟ Aʟᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛ Bʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀʜᴏᴏᴅ

Chapter 3 : Familiarity and Fright

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

"You might as well give up, Scar, you're not getting away." Mustang could be heard, speaking over the sound of guns firing.

The Ishvalan just scowled and slammed his hand on the ground.

Another explosion, black smoke and debris spreading around him, covering his position, and he was gone.

—
—

The soldiers scattered around dove for cover from the explosion, coughing at the smoke, and waving their arms to try and clear it.

Alphonse stared at the hole in the ground, numbly, before his eyes shot back to the stranger, hearing a sudden thump.

The stranger had collapsed to his knees, staring blankly at what had been his arm, murmuring something under his breath, his remaining hand — gloved, just like Alphonse's, what was going on, who was this guy—? — hovering over the scraps of metal in shock.

"The bastard is in the sewers," Alphonse heard Havoc huff. Al didn't take his eyes off the stranger, but did tilt his head towards the group consisting of the Colonel's men.

"Stay put." Hawkeye ordered, and Al glanced over for a second to see the small grin tugging at Havoc's lips.

"Sure," Havoc said, breezily. "You don't have to tell me twice."

Movement, and Alphonse froze as the stranger picked themselves up, shaking off the shock, and turned to—

No.

Right by Brother, the stranger had began slowly walking towards the shattered suit of armour. Brother had started trying to drag his chest-plate away , his blown apart arm digging into his surroundings to try and scrabble away, and when that failed he started throwing small pebbles of rubble at the stranger.

Who kept walking closer.

Not Brother. If they were really in league with Scar then what were they going to do to Brother—

Alphonse forced himself to his feet, rushing and tripping over the uneven stone as he stood in front of his brother, arm out, defensively, as if he could block the other from seeing his brother, "Stay away from Brother—!"

The stranger halted, almost jolting where they stood, raising their hand in a defensive motion, "Hey, I'm not . . ."

The voice was scratchy, hoarse. Exhausted. They seemed just as ready to collapse as Alphonse himself was.

The figure paused, and suddenly leaned closer, brushing back his bangs from his face. "Wait, Alphonse?"

Alphonse stared. How could he not?

In front of him, there was a young man with golden hair tied back in a braid. Slightly lighter than Alphonse's hair — more gold in colour, too, whereas Al's had always had a touch of a darker hue. Bangs framed the male's face, and one strand of hair stuck obstinately upwards in a cow lick.

". . . Brother . . ?"

(The stranger was exactly how Alphonse would imagine Brother to look if he had a body. Though the stranger's face seemed set in stone and his hair was longer than Ed's had been back when they were kids.

But it was unmistakably Ed's face looking back at him.)

Alphonse couldn't— His mind kept stuttering, trying to keep up with what he was seeing. But he couldn't make sense of it. Ed was over there, behind him, his soul tethered to a suit of armour.