Inflorescence

by lumifern

Summary:

If this is what the bastard smells like on suppressants, then Ed can't even imagine how good he must smell normally. What would the full force of it do to Ed's body? To his psyche? It would probably feel amazing.

Ed hopes he smells half this good to other people when he presents, but knowing his luck he'll smell like dear old dad, not that he remembers what that smells like anymore. Probably it'll be some bullshit like... like... a train car when it's way too hot out. Rancid milk. Automail oil, too, even if he gets his limbs back, because there's no way he won't be cursed with this for the rest of his life. To be fair, he fucking deserves it.

Part of this whole thing has to be about acceptance, though, doesn't it? So, maybe he'll just... be what he is. For once.

Notes:

Well, friends, here we are with my first foray into ABO! I have a lot of feeling about this fic, and I hope that you all love it as much as I do. I really wanted to explore the team-as-pack dynamic and a world where designations (and all the complications that come with them) aren't inherently or exclusively sexual. Do not fear, however—our boys will still be falling head over heels for each other in due time. And there will be smut!

Please note that I do play around with the canon timeline here a bit for maximum Ed-angst impact. If events happen out of order or whatever, just roll with it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Abaxial

 

inflorescence (noun)

1.a. the mode of development and arrangement of flowers on an axis
1.b. a floral axis with its appendages (also: a flower cluster)
2. the budding and unfolding of blossoms: flowering

 

Ed remembers exactly where he was standing when he found out that Team Mustang was a pack.

He remembers the shudder that raced down his spine; he remembers gasping softly; he remembers staggering back a step into Al’s steel chest and then the feeling of Al’s large hands gripping his shoulders.

The team didn’t know Ed and Al had been just outside the office. They didn’t know they were standing there. He and Al weren’t even supposed to be back yet, but they’d managed to catch an earlier train, and they had been so eager to get back to what amounted to their second family, maybe, and…

Ed can’t help the lance of hurt that hits him, because it is clear that he and Al weren’t supposed to know.

What a stupid thing to be hurt over. A lot of packs are kept on the down low these days, especially since the military started registering and monitoring them during the Eastern Conflict, and packs within the military are almost unheard of. Ed knew it was dangerous to be out in the open, he just didn’t think the team didn’t trust him and Al enough that they would keep it secret from them. Instead he assumed that they all had packs at home, or something, and…

Whatever.

Ed’s fists clench. His hackles rise. He and Al have always been pack—just the two of them. Fuck anyone else, then.

Hawkeye’s stern voice comes through the office door. She must be standing quite close to it for Ed and Al to hear her, like she’s going to open it and walk through at any moment.

“...Pack gathering later, before the boys arrive,” she’s saying. “At nineteen hundred.”

“Brother,” Al says quietly. It’s a warning, though Ed’s too blinded by emotion to tell what kind. It’s all happening so fast and Ed doesn’t even know why he’s reacting the way he is, but there’s no denying it’s fucking visceral. He always feels everything so much, and it’s like he feels more every single fucking day of his miserable life. And there’s Al, standing at his back and not feeling a goddamned thing—not really. He can’t feel the hair rising on his arms, or the growl rumbling deep in his chest, or the pulse beating underneath his jaw.

Al tries to pull him away from the door just as Hawkeye opens it and freezes.

“Oh,” she says. Oh. That’s it? “Edward, Alphonse. We didn’t know you two would be back so soon.” She smiles. Ed decides he hates her just a little bit.

“Well we are,” Ed says, not bothering to hide his anger. She must notice, but she’s also pretty fucking used to dealing with Ed’s temper by now. She probably thinks he’s already pissed and primed for a good knock-down, drag-out fight with the bastard and nothing more.

He wishes he could smell her—maybe then he’d know what she is feeling. It’s common to use scent suppressants these days, though, so she smells clean and nice and pleasant, but not too much else, not without shoving his face into her throat, and that might read as… threatening, to say the least.

Ed doesn’t smell like much, either. He’s too young to need suppressants and probably just smells like pup and sweat and train travel. Lovely.

 Al smells like metal—rust across his tongue and copper on the roof of his mouth, blood from a split lip.

“I was about to step out, but the Colonel is free, if you’d like to give him your report and say hello.” Hawkeye stands aside so they can come into the office, where all the surprised and smiling faces of Mustang’s team sit watching them. They all look genuinely happy to see them, too, which is extra fucked up because it’s a lie. Guess he can’t blame them. Packs are sacred and intimate. Who would want two mutts like Ed and Al anyway?

Ed stomps his way inside because he likes to announce his presence. Al stomps along behind him because he’s too big and heavy to help it much.

“Heya, Boss, Al!” Havoc says. He stands and claps them both on the back. Breda keeps his distance, because he’s nervous around them for some mysterious damn reason, but Falman and Fuery come over to say hi. “How was Aquroya?”

“Wet,” Ed says.

“Really nice!” Al says. He would beam at them if he could, even though Ed can tell he’s kinda upset, too. Al’s better at hiding… everything than Ed is. “They have nice weather. We met some lovely people.”

“Did you?” Mustang’s low voice rumbles, and it surprises Ed enough that he flinches before turning to eye the bastard. The Colonel is leaning against the open door to the inner office with his arms crossed. His face is devoid of much emotion, but there’s a quirk to his brow that means he’s itching to pick a fight. “Tell me, is it true Siren’s a real ten under the mask?”

Ed’s face flushes hot.

“Fuck you, Mustang. What, so you know everything I do or something? You got spies followin’ us everywhere? Guess that means I shouldn’t bother reporting in at all, then. Oh goody. That sure does save me a trip. C’mon, Al, let’s go hit the cafeteria. I’m ravenous from all the trouble we’ve been causing.” He glares at the Colonel. “Glad we could have this fuckin’ enlightenin’ talk. Come on, Al.”

Mustang pushes away from the doorway with his palms raised before either of them can move. “Now, now, boys. No need to be hasty. Sit down, regale us with the tale of your latest adventure.” He puts a little command into his tone. “Now. Sit.”

Fucking alphas.

Ed sits on the edge of Havoc’s desk so that he’s obeying the letter of the law if not the spirit of it. His spirit is full of spite. So there.

Al sits primly in a too-tiny office chair. The arms of the chair creak ominously as they strain around the width of the armor.

“Not your dog, Colonel,” Ed spits.

“No.” Mustang’s lips twitch. “My dogs are much better trained.”

“Woof woof,” Breda says sarcastically. Ed snaps at him with his teeth. Breda shrinks back with a look like Ed terrifies him, which makes Havoc cackle.

“Fullmetal,” Mustang says. “Report, if you please.”

“Fuck, okay, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Ed can only tell that comment got to the bastard by the minute twitch of the corner of one eye. He leans back and crosses his arms, feeling triumphant already.

“It goes like this: me ‘n’ Al got to Aquroya Monday afternoon and decided to get something to eat, ‘cause train food sucks sweaty balls and—”

“Language, Fullmetal,” Mustang interrupts.

Ed scowls. “‘Cause train food is trash and I was hungry.”

“Can we hurry this along? As much as I’m sure everyone else would love to hear about your culinary adventures, I have important work to get back to,” Mustang says, pretending he’s not some lazy-ass, sleazy womanizer and like he actually gets shit done rather than making paper clip daisy chains and taking naps all day.

Hawkeye gives Mustang a look behind his back. Ed grins. Bastard may be the master of procrastination, but he’s no match for Hawkeye. Ed’s glad she stuck around for a few more minutes.

“It’s part of the story, alright?” Ed says. He inhales dramatically to jump back in where he left off, but Al decides to barrel over him, ignoring Ed’s indignant “Hey!”

“Brother got food poisoning and we had to go to the hospital, where Siren was working undercover as a nurse, and she gave Brother a shot while he wailed—”

“I did not!”

“—like a baby until she gave him a lollipop.”

The shame is sudden and horrifying, heat racing through his veins and blooming in his cheeks. It makes him want to rip something apart with his teeth.

Mustang’s eyebrows have disappeared behind his stupid bangs. “Excuse me?”

The question breaks the rapt silence the rest of them seem to be stuck in. The office explodes into a chaos.

“Chief!” Havoc whines. “Why the hell don’t I get to go on missions with sexy nurses?” while Breda says, “What kind of shot? Are you telling me these kids aren’t vaccinated? What if one of them bites me?” and tries to climb onto Havoc’s desk to get farther away from Al, while Fuery comforts Breda by saying, “One of them isn’t really capable of carrying germs and the like, you know, although probably if Alphonse bit you it would still hurt.” While Falman starts shuffling through paperwork looking for the expense report for the hospital; while Hawkeye does the Hawkeye equivalent of rolling her eyes and sighing, which is to say—she shifts her weight on her feet slightly and her fingers twitch as if she’d really like to be reaching for her gun.

Meanwhile, Al has tried his damndest to continue giving the report that Ed is now too speechless to give.

“But it turns out she was just playing a long con, you see, and she was raising money to save the hospital from demolition, only she pocketed the money for herself and the hospital was demolished anyway! And then we ran into her pulling the same scheme as a nun—”

“A nun!” Havoc cries. “A nun! Can you believe Fullmetal’s luck?”

“And also as a school teacher, which was my favorite, actually, and we set a trap for her which she escaped using some incredible alchemy, but Brother tracked her down and got a good look at the array tattooed on her bosom, and—”

At this point, Havoc’s forehead is pressed to the surface of his desk. The rest of the team starts talking over each other trying to ask Al clarifying questions. Ed tries to disappear into the oversized folds of his jacket.

“Enough!” Mustang shouts.

The room falls silent. Havoc looks up. There is ink stamped all over his forehead.

Mustang looks at Ed very seriously for one long moment…

And then he smirks.

“Why Fullmetal, I never knew you had such a way with women,” he says.

It’s mortifying. Worse than that, the jab feels much sharper than their typical antagonistic banter usually does. Hot off the trail of Mustang lying to him about Hughes’ death, this feels a bit like another betrayal.

There’s nothing Ed can say that won’t make the roiling embarrassment any worse. He stands there, aware that he’s just gaping at Mustang like a fish out of water, and that Al has stood from his chair. Everyone is looking at him.

There’s nothing he can say, so he turns around and leaves instead, Al jogging heavily behind him.

+

“The boys have been off lately,” Riza says. She doesn’t look up from the file she’s perusing.

“I don’t know how you can tell,” Roy replies. “Edward is a tangled up ball of rage most of the time, and Alphonse is so polite as to be completely unreadable.”

“You know that’s not true,” she scolds him. “And I know that you watch them both a lot closer than you let on. Edward was very upset when they came back from Aquroya. Did something happen?”

“Not that I’m aware of—nothing in particular of note, at least. They’ve run into far trickier grifters than Siren on their missions. Perhaps Fullmetal has a little crush.”

“Sir.”

Roy looks up at her. She looks disappointed in him. He sighs.

“My apologies. It’s hard not to tease the kid sometimes, though. He’s like…”

“A little brother?” she asks. Roy makes a face. “Your son?”

Roy chokes.

“No. God, no. He’s just… reactive. Like Jean. It’s fun.”

“I think he’s still a little too young to play that game with you.”

“He can hold his own,” Roy says, thinking of their usual spitfire banter. Roy has rarely met a more worthy opponent.

“It’s true that sometimes you two are on even footing, but he’s only fifteen. Making fun of him for blushing about a grown woman is hardly fair, even if Jean would react the same way. Edward hasn’t even presented yet. Leave him alone about that.”

Roy groans and puts his face in his hands, hoping she’ll forgive him for the indignity of the gesture. “God, you’re right. I forget that they’re so young.”

“They’re both very mature for their age.”

“He reminds me so much of me when I was younger.” He looks back up at her, letting a wry little smile pass across his lips. “You remember.”

“Unfortunately, I do, sir.”

“He’s going to grow up to be one hell of an alpha,” Roy muses. That’s a thought. It’s hard to imagine Edward ever being that grown up. He is at once like a changeling child and a very small, very angry cat. The idea of him coming into his own as an alpha is… intimidating, Roy will admit. When it happens, Roy wants to be sure Fullmetal is solidly on their side.

“If he presents as one,” Riza says. “Can you tell already?”

Roy leans back in his desk chair. He runs a gloved finger over his chin. “No,” he admits. “I can’t. It’s an educated guess.”

“You don’t know what their father’s designation was?”

“I don’t. I should ask Breda to poke at that adder’s nest again.”

She shakes her head. “Leave it. The boys won’t thank you for butting into their business. It’s clear they don’t want to talk about their family. If that’s what they want, we shouldn’t push, even in secret.” She gives him a look he doesn’t particularly care for—the one that usually means she knows he’s still thinking of sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Don’t hurt them.”

“They’re part of my pack, Riza. I take care of my own.”

“I know you do, sir. Perhaps you should make sure they know that.”

“You think they don’t?” That makes him feel a little ill, if he’s being honest.

She shrugs. “You’ve never told them explicitly?”

“No,” Roy says. “I assumed they could intuit it.”

“Roy, one of them is too young to properly sense bonds like that, at least not ones that are newer than from birth, and especially not ones that are actively being suppressed; and the other boy, though vastly more emotionally aware, is completely cut off from all his senses and instincts. Their intuition might be a little lacking in this regard.”

For a moment, Roy feels sickly horrified. He can’t even begin to imagine not being able to sense the bonds of his packmates, but worse than that, he couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing he has those bonds at all. It would be excruciating.

Two people does not a pack make. Ed and Al couldn’t possibly think they were alone, could they? They had the Rockbells, certainly—who they left behind, Roy is quick to remind himself—and then they had the Hugheses—who were torn apart when Maes died. Their parents are gone. Oh—god.

“Roy,” she says again.

“Dammit.” He runs a hand back through his hair. To be quite honest with himself, Roy had fully bonded with them as packmates almost as soon as they had joined the team. It had never been the Rockbells or Hugheses for them in his mind. They were his. They had to know that. He desperately needed them to know that. “I need to fix this.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Do you think that’s why they were upset?”

“I’m not sure.” She taps her pen gently on the paper in front of her. “Maybe. I think they could have heard me talking right before they walked in. That might have given them the wrong idea.”

“I’ll talk to them,” he promises.

“Let me help. If it’s my fault they found out this way, I’d like to help you fix it.”

He nods. “Ask them to come in?” he asks her.

“Let’s invite them over to your place. We should do this outside of Command. Have everyone come.”

“Alright, if you think that’s best,” he says. He still feels a little off-balance. He’s never been that good at the more emotional aspects of managing a pack, even though he is their natural leader. Riza and Kain have always been more sensitive to others’ emotional needs. And Ed and Al are especially complicated. He cares more than he probably should about Fullmetal in particular, and the thought of having to voice some of that regard makes him feel surprisingly scared, shockingly vulnerable. He’s a grown man—and an alpha—he shouldn’t feel this way.

But he’s found he feels more and more afraid these days, ever since Maes…

And that’s not to mention the rage building to a breaking point inside of him, which he’s seen more than once reflected in Edward’s eyes. In so many ways, they are the same.

Maybe that’s why Roy cares for him like this.

“See if they’re free tonight,” Roy says to her, a quiet command. She nods, and the two of them go back to their work.

+

“Why do you think Colonel Mustang invited us over?” Al asks as they walk across East City to a trendy neighborhood full of people who look around the same age as Mustang’s team. There are, like, babies in strollers and shit, and people at nice-looking restaurants, young couples going out, arms linked—alphas and betas. Ed feels wildly out of place here.

“Probably just wants to give us more shit about Aquroya or something,” Ed grouches. “Or maybe he’s got another dead-end lead for us to chase our tails with.”

“He was pretty nice about Aquroya, all things considered.”

Ed huffs, but doesn’t disagree.

Al hesitates for a moment before adding, “He’s pretty nice to us in general, Brother. You could try being more…”

“What?”

“Pleasant.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t do ‘pleasant,’ Al. It’s that one, right? Fifty-seven.” Ed points at the townhouse on the corner.

“I think so.”

Ed lets Al lead the way up the front walk and ring the doorbell. He tries to convince himself he’s not hiding behind his seven-foot-tall baby brother.

He hears the door open.

“Alphonse,” Mustang’s voice says. “Come on in. Did you bring Fullmetal with you?” Mustang leans around Al to peer down at Ed and smirks. “Ah, there he is. Didn’t see you there, Fullmetal.”

“Please don’t provoke him, sir,” Al says. “I just got him to calm down.”

“Ugh.” Ed throws his hands up in the air and pushes past both of them into Mustang’s house. Nobody’s on his fucking side anymore these days—

He comes to an abrupt stop.

The entire team is sitting in Mustang’s living room. They’re all staring at him. Ed can’t tell if it’s… friendly or not.

It feels heavy.

“What is this, a fucking intervention or some shit?”

He’s almost blindsided by the confusing rush of anger and fear that jolts through him. He starts trembling, the hairs on his left arm standing on end.

“Brother,” Al says, laying his hand on Ed’s shoulder.

Ed doesn’t shake him off, because he feels really off-balance right now and it’s freaking him out. Al’s touch is grounding, at least.

Hawkeye stands and crosses the room quickly, and Ed flinches back, but then she’s right there and she reaches out and pulls him into a hug. She wordlessly presses his head into the join of her shoulder and neck, and he…

None of them have ever touched him like this before.

“It’s alright,” she murmurs to him. She rests her head on top of his. She pets his hair a little. He desperately wants to pull away. He desperately wants to hold on tighter. “It’s alright, Alphonse.”

Ed feels his brother back off just a little, his gauntleted hand slipping from his shoulder. No one else has moved at all. It’s like the entire room is frozen except for Ed and Hawkeye, and Ed is frozen because all he can do is breathe in her scent and tremble.

Her scent. Her scent. He’s so close he can actually smell her! She smells really good—like coffee and gunpowder and Hayate’s soft, warm fur.

“Oh.” He feels the tension start to drain from his body. His arms come up to grip her shirt at the small of her back, and he feels really, really small—smaller than he usually does. Smaller than he pretends not to be.

“It’s alright, Edward,” she says again. She’s letting him smell her, become acquainted with something very personal, which she’d only do if— “We’re here. You’re pack. You both are. We won’t let you two be alone anymore.”

“Oh.”

Al’s armor groans as he shifts behind Ed. “R-really?” His voice sounds incredibly young, but also hopeful. Ed hasn’t heard him this hopeful in a long fucking time.

“Yes,” Mustang says. He’s behind them and Ed can’t see him, but still, Ed can hear the authority in it.

Hawkeye’s hand tangles more thoroughly in Ed’s braid.

“I was afraid you had heard me the other day and may have misunderstood. I am so sorry—both of you. We never meant to make you feel excluded. You’ve been part of our pack for a long time.” She sighs into his hair. She rubs the edge of her jaw against the top of his head. “We should have made sure you knew that. Please let us do that now.”

“Brother?”

Al’s asking for permission, but Ed couldn’t deny him this. He can’t deny either of them this. They want this. Al’s voice sounds high and reedy with want. It’s exactly how Ed feels even though he’s trying hard not to show it.

He’s not sure he’s that successful.

“Yeah. Yes. Okay,” Ed mumbles.

That seems to be the cue for everyone else—Mustang’s team, their pack—to move. They get up and crowd around Ed and Al both, and then hands reach out to touch their arms and Ed’s head and whatever of Al they can reach, really. Fingers run through Ed’s hair and Hawkeye’s arms loosen around him just enough that Fuery has room to nuzzle his nose into Ed’s neck, his glasses bumping against Ed’s jaw.

No one has scented him since he was a little kid, back when mom was still alive. Winry had tried once, after he and Al had done the unthinkable, but he had flinched back in horror. How dare she try to erase mom’s scent?

She never tried again.

He knows that doesn’t make sense. Mom’s scent is long gone, replaced with dust and stale flowers and an empty house. Stagnant.

Blood in the basement, sprayed across a cold stone floor.

The unique iron tang of Al’s armor. The oil Ed uses on his automail. The cheap shampoo he always forgets to pack in their suitcase.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

It’s frightening now, even though he wants it. He doesn’t even know why it’s okay for them to do it but not Winry. Maybe it’s because he didn’t think he deserved it back then—not when his sins were so fresh. He still doesn’t think he deserves it now, but… His brain is spiraling high on pheromones, so thinking that through will have to wait. He can always have an existential crisis later. What a fucking joke.

He wonders what it would be like to do this when none of his packmates are using scent suppressants. It must be a rush.

They chatter and coo over them both. When Ed turns to Al, he can almost see the happiness radiating off his little brother. Al can’t be scented, not properly, but the team is rubbing up on him anyway. He’s petting them back with his big hands and saying, “Oh gosh, oh, goodness! Thank you,” over and over.

Only one member of their pack—their pack, holy shit—stands apart.

Mustang watches from a few feet away. His face is neutral but warm as he observes his pack—because obviously he’s packleader, what else would he be? When he notices Ed looking at him, he holds eye contact and tilts his head just slightly. Somehow, Ed just knows that he’s saying, “You okay?” Ed blinks back slowly. Yes. I think.

But then Havoc pulls Ed under an arm and gives him a noogie, and suddenly Ed finds himself laughing, the tears sparkling at the corners of his eyes more from joy than pain now. He nuzzles Havoc’s chest while reaching out to brush his fingers down Breda’s arm—for once Breda doesn’t seem terrified of them. Al lifts Fuery up into the air in a big, crushing hug. Even Falman is smiling. Ed has never seen him look so soft.

“Sorry you had to find out this way, little Boss,” Havoc says. He smells like tobacco and wheat fields the color of his hair. Ed doesn’t even fucking care that he just called him ‘little.’

“We thought you knew,” Breda says. “Forgot you aren’t around enough to tell really.”

“And you haven’t presented yet,” Fuery adds. “That would have helped a little.”

“We’ve gotten good at hiding it,” Havoc says. “Chief keeps us all on top of the line scent suppressants—the kind you can only get under the table.”

“It’s the best way to protect ourselves.”

“And you kids.”

“It’s okay,” Al says. “We understand. We wouldn’t want to put any of you at risk…”

“Alphonse.” Hawkeye runs her palm down the plates of his arm. He watches closely. “There’s no risk we wouldn’t take for you—for both of you.”

Mustang finally takes a step forward and it’s like the whole pack senses his movement. They part for him, until it’s just him and Ed standing there staring each other down.

“Fullmetal,” Mustang says. He stops, slips his hands into his trouser pockets, presses his lips together for a moment, and starts over. “Edward. I was remiss in not giving you two a more formal invitation.”

“It’s alright, sir,” Alphonse says.

“No, it’s… I should have…” Mustang doesn’t seem lost for words too often. In any other circumstance, Ed would be enjoying it, but not right now.

Not right now.

Mustang makes eye contact with him again and for a moment it feels as though they are suspended there like that. It’s not a bad feeling. Something unfamiliar tugs at him. It makes him step forward until their chests are only a few inches apart. He gazes up at Mustang, waiting. He’s not even really sure for what.

Finally, Mustang leans down and gently rubs his forehead against Ed’s hair and temple. His breath ghosts across Ed’s skin. Goosebumps chase its progress underneath his collar. But he holds still. He doesn’t let himself shiver.

That feeling inside him intensifies, and it becomes more recognizable. It’s craving, isn’t it? For closeness with his…

Mustang turns his head. His nose trails down Ed’s cheek, down his jaw, down his neck, to lightly nuzzle at the part of Ed that will one day swell with heat and hormones. Even now it is powerful. Validating. Comforting. He never knew he’d want to be marked like this, not by anyone, and certainly not by…

His alpha. His packleader. The person who will protect him, so he can protect Al.

Ed stands very still, and Mustang never takes his hands from his pockets.

It seems to last forever, but it can’t be longer than a breath or two when Mustang pulls away and looks down at him, head tilting again in that oddly questioning way.

“Alright?” Mustang murmurs.

Ed swallows. “Alright.”

Many hands grab him and pull him back in for another round with the rest of the pack, and Ed goes willingly, laughing again, having already forgotten the spell he was just under.

Mustang remains at the periphery. He watches over them all in a way that projects care and responsibility and a whole host of other things Ed doesn’t understand yet but hopes he will one day when he’s older.

If he ends up being an alpha, maybe being one kind of like the bastard wouldn’t be too bad.

+

They make a night of it.

Riza calls for pizza—lots of pizza, because Edward could probably eat an entire pie by himself. Havoc even makes a run for ice cream.

Roy would love to poke fun at Ed for being so picky about milk yet so willing to eat milk products, but there has been a truce of sorts called tonight. He will honor that. He… needs to make up for some things, clearly.

This is one way to start.

Riza helped Roy furnish his townhouse a few years ago when the pack first got settled in East City. There weren’t as many of them back then, of course, so as they added new members of the team-cum-pack they had to add new furniture. There’s plenty of seating for everyone, including Edward and Alphonse.

It helps that Ed doesn’t take up much room on the couch.

Roy won’t mention that, either.

Fullmetal really is rather small for a fifteen-year-old. He shed his oversized coat earlier, and then his black jacket, as well, baring both arms by choice for once. He’s muscular, yes, but even so his arms are not very big around. The metal one casts fragments of reflected firelight around the living room. His flesh one is pressed close to Jean’s chest. Jean has his arm draped across the back of the couch around Ed’s shoulders. Riza guards the automail.

It’s amazing how quick the change was. The boys seem transformed by the revelation. They must have been on the edge of desperation, though Roy wishes it was because somewhere, somehow, the Elrics had subconsciously been absorbing the message that they belong and just needed physical confirmation, rather than it being because they thought they were alone. Regardless, it’s wonderful. Roy didn’t realize himself how much had been missing. There is a fullness now that wasn’t there before.

Roy looks at each member of his pack in turn—Riza, who wasn’t precisely pack when they first met, but who joined shortly after he and Maes had found her in that godforsaken desert. Roy and Maes had bonded just out of Academy, thinking it might be the two of them against the world until they quite literally stumbled over her where she sat huddled against the side of a torn-down building looking lost.

He hadn’t been sure about Jean at first. Another alpha joining an existing pack was rare. He came trailing behind Riza shortly after she and Roy had been stationed in East City—and Maes in Central—presumably as a potential team hire more than anything else. She said he was a decent shot—high praise, of course. It didn’t take long after that. Jean seemed like the piece of the puzzle they were missing. Despite his penchant for smoking and bad pick-up lines, he had a gentle soul. He never minded deferring to Roy as their alpha.

Breda had been assigned to their team by General Grumman. He had an arrogant temperament for a beta, which he used to his advantage. It made him an excellent interrogative officer. And then a mission gone slightly wrong cinched the deal with the rest of the pack. There is nothing quite like believing you are about to bleed to death side-by-side with a comrade for bonding. Riza has still never let them live it down.

Kain was handpicked by Roy for the team, and then Kain handpicked Hayate from a litter of pups who were otherwise destined for the pound. Riza made it clear to Roy in no uncertain terms that if he did not invite Kain into the pack, she would do it herself and Roy could look forward to many months spent kissing up to her as newly promoted pack leader, no matter her designation.

Next came Falman. He was a little gruff, and more than a little pedantic, but he complimented the rest of them so well that Roy would have been stupid to let him be poached by any of the other officers who’d wanted him. It worked out quite nicely that he was also a good fit for their pack, sweet and thoughtful and resourceful.

Other teammates had come and gone over the years, but Roy worked best when it was just his core team. It was convenient that they were also family.

And then there was Fullmetal.

The bond snapped into place almost instantaneously with Edward, and Roy has never understood why.

He has long suspected that it was that first inhale of air tainted by the smell of old blood that did him in. It awakened something deep and primal within him that he had never felt before. The urge to fight something was so strong it almost bowled him over, and that more than anything made him hesitate in the doorway to the Elrics’ basement, Riza stifling a gasp behind him when she came to see what had happened to him.

Intellectually he knew that the alchemy laid out before him was well beyond even his understanding, and that meant it was likely taboo. Part of him wanted to laugh. This was some arcane dark magic—not science. Nothing about this spoke of equivalency.

It reeked of power and the unknowable face of god.

Emotionally it rocked him to his core.

He turned, greatcoat whipping out behind him, and took the stairs up from that cursed place two at a time, Riza hurrying behind him. The rest of the house was clearly abandoned, though he couldn’t tell for how long. He had seen another house on their way in, though, which was good enough a place to start as any. If the Elrics were alive, maybe the neighbors would know where they were.

Although... Roy felt like he already knew the answer. They couldn’t have survived that. No one could.

It was only when they were within a few dozen feet of the Rockbells’ home that Roy smelled it—the decay, the dried blood, the stench of alchemy like ozone in a thunderstorm.

He burst through the front door, uncaring of anything except getting to his—

They stank of fear.

No—only the little boy did. Whatever—whoever—was in the suit of armor smelled like nothing human.

It gave him precious little peace of mind knowing the suit of armor didn’t smell inhuman, either.

And then his hand closed in the dwarfing fabric of the boy’s shirt, and Roy lifted him up, and he gazed into Edward’s eyes for the first time, and he knew that Edward was one of his own—kin.

Leaving Resembool without them was excruciating.

Roy tries to shake off all the old doubts and fears. It’s been years now since that day. Edward is fifteen, and he is here, and he is pack. That’s all that matters.

God. God. He can’t believe he’d let him think that they weren’t family.

Edward gets up from the couch and wanders out of the living room and off down the hallway, presumably to use the restroom. Roy makes eye contact with Riza just briefly before following. Once away from the rest of the group, he allows himself a moment to steady his breathing. He lets himself feel just a little of that despair and relief, and then he leans against the hallway wall outside his downstairs powder room and waits.

Ed doesn’t take long. He does startle when he sees Roy waiting for him, however. He settles into a defensive stance, though it isn’t as combative as it typically is. That’s progress, certainly.

“What do you want, Bastard?” Ed asks.

“I owe you an apology,” Roy says. He holds up a hand to keep Ed from interrupting him. “For many things, I am aware. You don’t need to remind me. Let me have this, Edward.” Ed lets his shoulders drop a little, which is tacit permission coming from him. Now Roy just has to do the hard part. “I am deeply sorry for the pain I have caused you and Alphonse. I know there may be nothing I can do to make up for it, I only ask that you give me a chance to do right by you both now. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

Edward chews that over for a moment, jaw working. He crosses his arms and leans against the door jamb.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “Sure. Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

They both know he’s lying, but Roy won’t call him out on it.

“Thank you,” Roy says. He means it. “Our relationship has not always been...”

When he trails off, Ed snorts and says, “Yeah, it’s been shit.”

Roy winces a little. “Quite. I hope to remedy that going forward, if you’ll let me.”

“Okay.” Ed shrugs. “I guess. If you want.”

“I want you to be happy,” Roy confesses. Ed’s eyes widen. “I take care of my pack. That is my promise to you. I will always take care of you and Alphonse.”

Ed’s voice shakes when he asks, “No matter what?”

“Yes. No matter what.”

Ed lets his arms drop and steps forward into Roy’s space. Then he snakes his arms around Roy’s waist and presses his face into Roy’s chest.

Roy holds him. He buries his nose in Edward’s hair. He wants to familiarize himself with Ed’s scent—what little of it there is—now that they can be close. He wants to scent him back. He wants Edward to smell of Roy and pack and home. He will never let Ed leave without knowing he’s wanted ever again.

“Are you ready to go join the others?” Roy asks, once they’ve been hugging for more than a little while.

“Yeah,” Ed says. He sighs. “Just... gimme another minute.”

Roy does.

Ed mumbles a little into his chest. “Smell good,” is all Roy is able to catch. Roy chuckles. He rubs his cheek against Ed’s head some more.

“I’m glad.”

“This is so stupid,” Ed whispers.

“It’s not, I promise.”

“You’re stupid,” Ed says next.

“That may be true.”

Edward pulls away. “I... uh... I’m only gonna say this once, Bastard, so listen up.” He looks away from Roy—towards his feet, down the hallway, up at the ceiling. “Thanks, okay?”

“You’re welcome, Ed,” Roy says, using the kid’s nickname for the first time. It’s worth it for the way Ed startles again and then starts to grin at him.

“Yeah, whatever.” Ed punches Roy’s arm lightly with the softer fist. “Is there any pizza left? I could eat another slice.”

Roy sighs and moves towards the kitchen, Ed trailing behind with an adorable little pep in his step.

“You’re not full already? You ate half a pizza by yourself and a heaping bowl of ice cream just now.” There’s no point arguing it, really. Still, Roy has to give at least a token protest. “A little greedy, Fullmetal, don’t you think?”

“Hey!” Roy feels Ed try to hit him and miss when Roy uses his superior stride length to dodge out of his reach. “Don’t call me little!”

Some things will never change. Roy doesn’t want them to.

 

Chapter 2: Sepal

Notes:

Thank you for all the love on the last chapter! Have another!

“What do you think?” Ed asks, leaning over towards Al so he can whisper. The two of them stand off to the side in the Colonel’s living room and watch as the team push furniture out of the way and then arrange a frankly fucking huge number of pillows and blankets and shit in the middle of the room. They’ve clearly done this before.

“They’re nice,” Al whispers back. It echoes inside the hollow shell of his chest.

“They’re weird,” Ed says.

“I love them,” Al admits.

“Me, too, I think.” Ed sighs and scowls a little.

He can’t bring himself to say the word ‘love’ out loud—not yet. It is there, though, sitting warmly in the center of his chest, a tiny fire he had tended without knowing all these years. The truth of it rings true. He can feel it in his bones.

“We don’t have to stay,” Al says, “if you’d rather go back to the dorms.”

“Nah, might as well crash here. Probably comfier.”

“Probably,” Al agrees, not that he can tell either way. Al has a pretty good feel for the vibes of a place, though. He’s really sensitive for someone with no senses.

“The bastard might make me breakfast. That’d be wild.”

Ed’s trying to pro and con it for himself so that it doesn’t seem like such a big fucking deal. Shit, he really doesn’t want to think about it right now—maybe not ever. He doesn’t want to touch any of it with a ten-foot pole.

He’d rather just try to enjoy it.

What’s that saying about gift horses? Ha! That’s funny. Gift Mustang.

Al notices his smirk and jabs him in the shoulder with a very spiky elbow.

“What?”

“I don’t know. You were being all jerk-y,” Al says. “On your face.”

“Hey! Don’t call your older brother an asshole.”

“I didn’t. I literally didn’t.”

Ed makes a move to climb up Al’s armor so he can give Al a piece of his mind. The Colonel yanks him back down by the back of his shirt.

“Both feet on the floor in the house, Fullmetal.” Mustang puts just enough of a hint of alpha in it that Ed’s stupid fucking instincts recognize it as a command. Fucker. “While we’re at it—boots off. Set them by the front door... nicely.”

Ed humphs and stomps away, hearing Al ask, “What about me, sir? I can’t really take off my... um... feet.”

“You’re fine, Alphonse,” Mustang sighs.

Ed snickers to himself. He toes off his boots and, after a moment of deliberation, decides to stick them in the spot where the bastard’s shoes are already lined up. He leaves Mustang’s tipped haphazardly in front of the doorway on the too-neat welcome mat. That’ll show him.

When he comes back, Mustang shoves a bundle of clothes into his arms without really making eye contact.

“What’s this?”

“You need something to sleep in, don’t you?” Mustang asks.

“Well, yeah, but—”

Ed’s mouth snaps shut before he can admit that the thought of wearing Mustang’s clothes makes him feel... funny. Instead he turns on his heel and walks straight down the hall to the bathroom. He practically slams the door behind him.

He buries his face into the clothing and inhales.

Goddamn this pheromone bullshit is next level. The smell of alpha makes his whole body relax entirely without his permission. All his muscles feel like jelly and his mind goes all fuzzy soft.

It’s not just that—it’s also Mustang’s scent specifically. He smells so much better than any alpha Ed’s had the misfortune of being close enough to take a big whiff of. He smells like alchemy, but the good kind, not the twisted stench of burning flesh Ed associates with the night they tried to bring mom back. And he smells like coffee with lots of cream. Ed wrinkles his nose a bit about that, but he can’t deny it’s still pretty good.

He smells like cinnamon and cloves and a hint of smoke, too. It reminds Ed of mom’s pecan pie and winter nights in front of their old fireplace, just the three of them under an old, crocheted blanket while mom reads to them from one of her favorite novels.

If this is what the bastard smells like on suppressants, then Ed can’t even imagine how good he must smell normally. What would the full force of it do to Ed’s body? To his psyche? It would probably feel amazing.

Ed hopes he smells half this good to other people when he presents, but knowing his luck he’ll smell like dear old dad, not that he remembers what that smells like anymore. Probably it’ll be some bullshit like... like... a train car when it’s way too hot out. Rancid milk. Automail oil, too, even if he gets his limbs back, because there’s no way he won’t be cursed with this for the rest of his life. To be fair, he fucking deserves it.

And Al will smell like sunshine and daisies and old books and maybe kittens, like he fucking deserves.

Ed lets himself smell Mustang’s clothes for another minute before pushing himself off the door and beginning to shake them out to size them up. He could transmute them smaller rather than cuff the pants and deal with a too-big t-shirt. Either way he’ll look stupid.

Part of this whole thing has to be about acceptance, though, doesn’t it? So, maybe he’ll just... be what he is. For once.

He strips off his tank and wiggles out of his belt and trousers. He leaves his socks on for the sake of Mustang’s fancy-ass hardwood floors. The flannel pants Mustang gave him are very soft and very worn, navy plaid shot through with tiny little threads of yellow. The shirt is a faded gray that reminds Ed of stuff the university kids wear around HQ. It had something printed on it once, though Ed can’t make out what the crest says anymore. Maybe it was from the bastard’s school. Did the bastard go to school? He went through the Academy, Ed knows that. He really doesn’t know that much else about him—about any of them. He should... do something about that.

Ed has never been that good at social stuff. And he knows next to nothing about pack dynamics. Part of him just didn’t want to know after mom died. After all, if he couldn’t have her and Al both, then what use was a pack at all? He’d rather walk out into the desert and starve to death than admit that he had torn apart his own family.

He knows he can’t blame himself alone—his fuck-off father exists still, probably—and Al wouldn’t let him take all the blame for what happened to them in the transmutation, either. Guilt doesn’t always fall to the greater power of logic, though.

Point is, he doesn’t know what packs are supposed to be like and he sure as hell doesn’t know how he’s supposed to behave in one. It seems like Mustang wants him anyway.

The clothes are soft and clean and a lot fucking nicer smelling than the duds he’d been traveling in the last few days. He decides to leave his dirty clothes in a little pile kicked off into the corner of the bathroom floor for later.

The house is quieter when he leaves the bathroom and pads down the hall. In the living room, some of his packmates are already snuggled down into their nest. They all must keep some of their shit here at Mustang’s. Hawkeye is wearing pajamas and an old sweater. Havoc has a toothbrush sticking out of the corner of his mouth like it’s one of his cigarettes. Will it ever not be totally fucking bizarre seeing his coworkers all dressed down? Probably not.

The weirdest thing of all is seeing Mustang like this. The Colonel trots down the stairs and he’s wearing striped socks. And other shit. But—the socks. What the fuck?

He and Mustang stop and stare at each other at the bottom of the stairs, and Ed suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he never cuffed the flannel pants he’s borrowing when Mustang’s gaze settles on his feet. Ed blushes and braces himself for the inevitable comment.

It never comes.

Instead, Mustang comes close enough to touch and kneels in front of him. He carefully pulls each trouser leg out from under Ed’s heels and then rolls them neatly until they are tucked up and out of danger of dragging on the floor. When he’s done, Mustang squeezes Ed’s flesh ankle gently and stands.

“Go on,” he says, jerking his chin towards the living room. “They’re waiting for you.”

And they are. Hawkeye gestures to the spot right in the center of the nest, which is just big enough for Ed to curl into without much margin between him and the next person. For once, Ed won’t get pissy about the comment on his size. He wants this too damn much.

Before he sits, though, he looks around the room for Al.

His baby brother is sitting up next to the fireplace at the edge of it all. When he sees Ed looking, he waves a gauntleted hand as if encouraging Ed to join in without him. Ed desperately wishes Al could be curled up there with him, his back to Ed’s chest where Ed can protect him, but he knows that isn’t realistic. Al is much too spiky, for one, and he doesn’t sleep, for another. Hopefully Mustang told Al where the books are kept in this place.

Ed picks his way across the room and sinks down in his assigned spot. The rest of the pack seem to take that as their cue. Breda wanders back in from the kitchen with a glass of water. Falman and Fuery put down whatever work file they were pouring over and tuck under their blankets. Havoc takes the spot by the living room door—on guard as usual, and maybe Al can help with that someday. Al would like that, wouldn’t he? To keep watch over them all.

Hawkeye lays down on one side of Ed and Mustang lays down on the other.

“Relax, Edward,” Hawkeye says. Her hand on his arm is soothing. It really helps. He lays down between them and allows her to pull a thick blanket up over him.

To his horror, Ed starts purring.

He feels rather than hears Mustang chuckle at his back. Hawkeye just smiles and pets his arm some more.

“Are all packs like this?” he whispers at her as Breda turns out the light. The fire is still burning low and warm, sending flecks of red and orange light across Hawkeye’s face.

“Yes and no. If you’re asking about the co-nesting in particular, that’s quite common amongst modern familial packs.”

“Oh.”

“There are not many packs like ours in the military, however.”

“Because it’s dangerous,” Ed says.

“Yes. And because the military does not like to foster this kind of closeness amongst soldiers. Soldiers are much more likely to protect each other, rather than follow orders blindly or die for their country, when they care about each other.”

“Like so much cannon fodder,” Mustang murmurs behind him.

“They have to be able to use us as they see fit, Edward. Being in a pack like ours is especially risky. Any one of us could be used as leverage against the Colonel.”

“Why...?” Ed trails off and then twists so he can see Mustang’s face in the dark. “Because you want to become Fuhrer,” he guesses.

“Yes,” Mustang says simply. He doesn’t try to bullshit his way around it or distract Ed from the answer. He just... trusts Ed with it right then and there.

“Are there others?” Ed asks. “Packs in the military, I mean.”

Hawkeye answers him. “One or two that we know of. Most of them tend to be like-minded, politically. It’s quite progressive to see your subordinates as real people.” The corner of her mouth twitches up into a wry little smile.

Ed settles into silence for a few minutes, just thinking. It’s a lot to take in. Hawkeye stops petting his arm and tucks the blanket in just a little tighter around him. She closes her eyes. Around him, his packmates still as they fall asleep. He can’t, though. His mind is too busy buzzing with all this new information it’s trying to parse through. He’s comfortable, but can’t stop fidgeting.

Finally, he turns and flips all the way around so he’s facing away from the fire and towards Mustang instead. The older man looks asleep, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. Ed always thinks of him as being so old compared to him and Al, but he’s not really, is he? He can’t be much more than thirty, if that. With his face relaxed like this, he looks even younger, even smaller, real.

Mustang’s eyes flick open.

“Sorry,” Ed whispers.

Mustang smiles a little.

“Why...” Ed swallows thickly, trying to come up with the right words for what he wants to ask. “Why Al and…” He hesitates, tries again. “Why me?”

It takes Mustang a moment to respond. Maybe he doesn’t know the right words, either, for once. “I don’t know.”

“Are you sure?” Ed asks next.

“I’ve been sure since the day we met.”

“But, how—”

“I don’t know that, either, Ed. Does it really matter? You needed me, and I needed you. Still do. Sometimes it’s as simple as that, as simple as instinct.” Mustang closes his eyes again. “Sleep,” he commands softly.

Somehow, Ed finds it’s a lot easier to drift off now than it was a few minutes ago.

+

The sound of Ed’s quiet snoring next to him is deeply comforting. For the first time, Roy has his entire pack asleep under one roof.

The way it’s supposed to be.

How could he have waited so long to ensure that Edward and Alphonse knew they were his kin?

Maes would have... He would have told him to be honest with himself.

He inhales slowly, letting Ed’s fresh pup scent become more familiar. It’s a happier, lighter scent now, too, when before there was always this pungent undercurrent of stress and distress.

Being the leader of a pack isn’t like picking up chicks at a bar, Roy, Maes had said to him once. If you’re the kind of alpha who’s going to step up, like I know you can be, you’ve got to take it seriously.

I do, Roy had argued right back. Of course I do.

Maes had just looked at him over the rim of his glasses like he liked to do.

Your track record right now is really recommending you, buddy, Maes had replied sarcastically after a moment.

That was fair. That day, Roy had been nothing short of a total asshole to Maes over something that shouldn’t have mattered. And then he’d had the gall to get into a dick-measuring contest with some other alphas at the Academy, using Maes’ status as a beta to help get one over on them. It was completely inappropriate, as well as immature. Roy hadn’t felt that much shame in years. Maes had been right to give him a dressing down for it.

Neither of us comes from much as far as families go, Maes continued. We’re both the kind of men who will have to forge our own bonds. That’s just how it works. And fine, that’s not abnormal. But let’s not become the kind of men who abuse it. And by that, I mean you. Obviously. You jerk. Don’t be that kind of alpha, Roy. It’s a damn good thing I already know you’re only a well-meaning idiot. You’re the brother I never had, buddy, so I’m going to call you out on it every time.

Roy can remember the conversation with such vivid intensity that he almost sees it playing behind his closed eyelids.

God, he misses him.

He only hopes that Maes is proud of him for owning up to yet another mistake, even if it has taken him far too long.

Ed releases a sigh of air in a little puff. He swipes at his nose in his sleep. He huddles down further into the blankets.

Roy had been afraid to admit to Edward how much he and his brother both meant to him.

Roy had been afraid Edward would reject him. Them. The pack. The team. Their goals and ideals, too.

Roy had been afraid that openly claiming Edward as one of his own would paint the target ever larger on the kid’s back. Nothing for it now but to make sure no one else ever notices it’s there.

He reaches out with one hand and combs some of the hair out of Edward’s face. It makes the boy fidget but doesn’t wake him.

It is with the familiar, soothing sounds of his pack sleeping around him that Roy finally drifts off to sleep.

+

“He still drives me nuts,” Ed says the next morning as he and Al make their way back toward Eastern Command.

“The Colonel?”

“Yeah.”

This morning Ed had woken up with his forehead pressed against Mustang’s chest and Mustang’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. It had been one of the best nights of sleep Ed had gotten in recent memory.

And then the pack made him breakfast.

“I guess that’s fair,” Al finally says. “Family does that sometimes, I think.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

“Winry drives you crazy all the time.”

Ed whirls around to snarl at Al. “She doesn’t count—” He cuts himself off.

Al stands there, worrying his hands together, looking uncomfortable. “Were you about to say she isn’t family?”

Ed forces a breath out. It hisses through his teeth. “It’s not the same with them.”

“With Granny and Winry.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Al asks.

He doesn’t know why. He turns and starts walking again. “Come on, Al.”

“Okay, Brother.”

They walk side by side in silence for a few minutes before crossing through the checkpoint at the gate and then veering left towards the barracks. They are planning to take off again in the afternoon, assuming Mustang has another lead for them. Ed hopes so. He needs some time to process everything, or, like, at least shove it down into a tiny box that he won’t have to deal with until later. Just add it to the pile. Eventually it’ll be so covered in new boxes that he’ll forget all about needing to observe this whole pack thing from every conceivable angle until he’s figured it out.

Just... roll with it, Elric. That’s all you can do.

If it feels good, then maybe it is good. Mom would probably say something like that. She was surprisingly pragmatic about life, which he only figured out once his brain had a few more years to develop. Maybe it was because she knew she was dying, or something, so she wanted to impart some final wisdom on him and Al—live, boys. Just... live. Be happy. Take care of each other. Lean into what feels right. Run like hell from everything that feels wrong.

He wishes he had made Al run the night they tried to bring her back.

There is a part of him that still wants to rebel, though. It wants to kick and bite and thrash in Mustang’s hold—against the teeth in his neck. It’s a familiar part of him, too, because he’s spent the last three years reinforcing the idea that he can’t get close to Mustang, that he owes the bastard too much already, that he can’t trust him, that Mustang hasn’t earned his respect, that he’s dangerous, and on and on.

The thing is... Mustang is worthy of his trust and respect. He lies and he cheats, and he doesn’t always treat Ed like an adult—Al would tell him that’s fair—but he’s so far held up his end of their deal every time.

But if he lets Mustang in like this, he has to acknowledge the fact that Mustang lied to him about Hughes’ death. And he has to acknowledge how much that actually...

That actually hurt.

Or how much more it hurt finding out Mustang had kept the pack a secret from them, whether he and Al were part of it or not.

Weighing that against what’s on offer now is tough. He really, really wants to just be pack and forget about the rest.

“We can let ourselves have this,” Al says quietly next to him. His helmet is pointed straight ahead, not looking at Ed. He’s probably been lost in his own thoughts this whole time.

“You think?”

“Yeah. Mom would have wanted us to have a family.”

“Mm.”

“I do wish they had told us before now, though.”

“Yeah, that’s shitty.” Ed digs around in his trouser pocket for the key to their dorm as Al lets him through the main door to their barracks first and then ducks to follow. He is too tall to walk down the hallway without scraping his head on the ceiling.

“I think I get it, though,” Al says. He sounds pretty cheerful about it. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Hey!”

“And you’re a bad liar. And you aren’t very subtle, Brother.”

“I take offense to all of this!” Ed shouts, working up to a good bluster, arms ready to wave emphatically so he can really underline his point. Al yanks the key from his hand and unlocks their dorm room door. Ed drops his arms to his side and pouts.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Al says.

Ed just pushes past him and face plants into his stupid cot, the wind going out of his sails. He groans.

Al closes the door, then sits next to him on the floor between their beds, folds his knees up, and wraps his arms around his legs.

“They were trying to protect us.”

“I know,” Ed mumbles.

“They care about us. So they made us pack. But they didn’t tell us, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Brother?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so happy.”

Ed rolls onto his side so he can see his little brother. He reaches out and rubs Al’s helmet.

“Yeah.”

Al hunkers down into his chestplate a little. Ed pretends to close his eyes and doze off so that he can turn his guilt over in peace.

Because also... Because also, it’s Ed’s fault Al hasn’t had a pack aside from Ed’s dumb ass for years.

He hopes that mom wouldn’t have been too disappointed. He hopes that, on the other side of the Gate, mom can look at him and see how sorry he is, how hard he tried.

Pack aside, he has to get Al’s body back. He won’t be able to do that laying around on his cot all day. Mustang said to swing by around fourteen hundred. They can hop on the next train outta East City at seventeen hundred.

One foot in front of the other.

As usual.

+

This time when Ed hesitates outside the door to the office, it isn’t because his whole world is about to be changed in ways he never thought possible.

Although with Mustang, shit gets unpredictable. Wouldn’t be the first time Mustang turned everything on its head.

Still, he’s better rested right now than he’s been in ages. He’d never really believed that that kinda touchy feely shit with your pack could affect you so deeply physically. It’s nuts. He understands now why people go crazy for it, why wars have been started for nothing more than a mate spurned by their lover, or whatever—shit he’s read about in some of dad’s old mythology books about Xerxes. Apparently, the desert heat made people extra horny for it or something—Ed doesn’t really know, but he’s heard Havoc talk about sex enough to kinda grasp the overall concept.

Anyway, in Xerxes, the last place omegas were really commonplace, killing someone over a pack dispute was not unheard of. Neither was taking multiple mates. And ripping apart a pack was often used as a method of warfare, or for keeping people in line, or torture, or imprisonment.

It kinda makes sense that their current military would look to that as an example. The more Ed learns about the Amestrian military, the more he thinks they might not be the good guys everyone always makes them out to be. In Resembool, folks weren’t huge fans, of course, but Ed had always thought that was because the military came in and took all their resources and then turned their backs when the train station was bombed. They were just straight up abandoned. Ed would hate them, too, he guesses, if the total destruction of their downtown and economy was what ruined his family’s prospects. But he and Al had grown up—they now know—somewhat wealthy because of Hohenheim.

They were just far enough out from town that the plume of smoke that day seemed like it was painted onto the scenery, flat and unmoving. And then mom had ushered them back inside and they never went back to school.

Ed had asked a lot about it because he was “tragically curious,” as Pinako used to put it. Mom didn’t sugarcoat things, but she made sure they knew war was no place for kids.

She would have hated this for them.

Now that they travel all over, and now that Ed’s been in some bigger cities, he knows things weren’t all sunshine and daisies for everyone else, either, during the war. He thought that city folk would be super patriotic or something, but they aren’t. So finding out that members of the military kept their packs secret was surprising. In Resembool, everyone knew who everyone else belonged to, and what each and every person smelled like.

Al nudges Ed’s shoulder a little, reminding Ed that he’s been standing outside the office door for… longer than necessary.

“I’m fine,” he says before Al can even ask. Al just humphs softly and then leans around him to open the door for them both.

He can’t smell them from this far away, but he remembers. He knows now the soft, warm scents of his packmates, and that alone makes him feel settled when they turn towards him and Al with their real, unguarded smiles spread wide across their faces.

And then Mustang comes to the doorway of the inner office as if drawn to them, and he smiles, too, and Ed feels his legs tremble a little.

“Hello, boys,” Hawkeye says. “Thanks for swinging by before you catch your train. We wanted to give you a proper sendoff.”

“And some paperwork,” Havoc interrupts, grin turning into more of a smirk. “Hawkeye’s got a thick file for ya.”

“You should get out of here before she can get her claws in you,” Breda adds. The two of them snicker while Hawkeye rolls her eyes at them fondly.

“Play nice,” Mustang chides them, though it’s clear he’s joking around, too, and not really scolding them. “Come on through, Ed. I want to brief you before you leave.”

“Okay,” Ed says, and he trails across the office and after Mustang, who closes the inner office door behind them. Ed turns to him expectantly. “So, what’s up?”

Instead of retreating to his desk, Mustang stands just out of reach and looks Ed over.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Ed scowls, ready to go on the defensive. Are they back to that already?

Mustang can apparently see right through him, because he reaches out and wraps gentle, gloved fingers around Ed’s softer bicep and then draws him over to the couch in front of the unlit fireplace. Ed slumps down onto the worn, leather cushions, eyeing the Colonel warily as he sits much more gracefully beside him.

“What?” Ed snaps.

“Are we already back to the way things were?” Mustang asks. He doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t really look like much of anything, though, which means he’s waiting Ed out. Bastard.

After a moment spent staring each other down, Ed sighs and looks down at his feet. The sole of his left boot is starting to become unglued from the leather. He should probably fix that before he and Al go running off on their next mission.

“No,” he finally grumbles.

“I’m glad,” Mustang says softly. “Not that I don’t enjoy our verbal sparring, but it would be far more pleasant if I knew we were just…”

“Just what?”

“Playing around,” Mustang says. He scrunches his nose a little, as if that wasn’t exactly the phrasing he’d wanted to use. Ed snorts. “Can we have a truce from now on?”

Ed reclines so he can tip his head back and gaze at his CO lazily. “Yeah, whatever, okay.”

“Excellent. Now, tell me, are you really alright? I know it’s a lot to take in. I know I… I should have told you sooner. I should have asked you before I… well… It’s too late now, I suppose. Will you forgive me?”

“I… Sure.” Mustang apologizing so much makes him feel uncomfortable. It also makes him feel way too warm. He chews on the inside of his cheek so he won’t say something stupid.

“Thank you.” Then Mustang leans back, too, so they are shoulder to shoulder. Mustang is a warm weight against him. It makes Ed’s chest rumble softly, which in turn makes Mustang smirk a little, but not… in a mean way—not really. “Please be careful on your mission, Edward. We worry about you both when you’re gone, you know.”

“Even Hawkeye?”

“Yes, even Riza.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me. I worry about all of my packmates.” Mustang draws a hand down his face, letting some of his exhaustion show through. “I worry constantly these days. Maes used to say I’d go prematurely gray.” When Mustang sees Ed narrow his eyes and study his hairline, his jaw drops. “Have mercy on me, Edward, god. I’m not even thirty yet.”

“I have no idea how old you are, Bastard, and I don’t really care. You’re older than twenty, so—” Ed waves a hand. He’s really enjoying the way that Mustang seems to get more worked up the more he leans into it. “Old is old.”

“You are quite cruel, do you know that?” Mustang reaches over and yanks on the end of Ed’s braid in retaliation—though not too hard. “Such a big bully for such a small package.”

Okay, well Ed can’t let that stand, even if they’ve called a truce.

“Hey, fuck you! I am not small. I am… I’m…”

But Mustang has thrown his head back, and he’s laughing with a carelessness that Ed has rarely seen. It’s very nice.

It makes Ed’s anger deflate, too.

“Fuck you,” he says again. “‘M not small. I’m just… I’ve got a lot weighing me down, okay? The automail stunts growth, you know.”

Mustang sobers up. He leans his head against the top of Ed’s. “You’re perfect just the way you are, Edward. And you have more than enough spite to compensate for your lack of inches. I admire that about you.”

“Gee. Thanks, I guess.” Mustang’s head on his feels too nice to really fight anymore. It makes him feel a little sleepy, actually. The purr he’d been trying to keep at bay increases to a slightly mortifying degree.

And then—softly, so softly—a matching rumble comes from Mustang’s chest, too. They sit together in silence for a moment and enjoy the feeling of their steadily growing bond solidifying. Ed has never felt anything like it, but now that he knows how good it is, he never wants to stop feeling it ever again.

“It’s good,” he murmurs.

“Yes?” Mustang says.

“This. Feels good.”

“I’m glad. And yes, it does. I have wanted this for a long time.”

There’s nothing Ed can say directly in response to that, so instead he says, “Wish I didn’t have to go so soon.”

“When is your train?”

“In a couple hours, but we’re all packed and everything. We’ll have time to get food after this.”

“Your priorities, as always, are in impeccable order.” Mustang draws away. “Come on. Let’s get you and Al on your way.” He stands and holds out a hand to pull Ed up from the couch. “The pack has something for you that I think you might like.”

“Yeah?” Together they head for the outer office. “What is it?”

The smile Mustang flashes him over his shoulder is back to being more like his typical mischievous smirk. Rather than annoy him like it usually does, Ed just feels warmth suffuse all his limbs. Mustang opens the door for him.

“Brother!” Al calls, drawing Ed’s attention away from the Colonel. He winds his way through the desks to him.

Al has a small pile of fabric bundled up in his gauntleted hands, which he holds out excitedly as soon as Ed is within arm’s reach.

“Look what they’re giving us for the trip.”

Ed instinctively presses the fabric to his nose before even trying to figure out what it is, because—

“Oh,” he breathes. “Smells good.”

Fuck, it smells so good. It smells like his pack, and like his alpha, and like home and safety. It smells like stale coffee, Havoc’s cigarettes, Mustang’s cologne, books, Hayate, and them. Their pack has given him and Al something to remember them by when they’re far away and can’t be comforted by physical touch.

When Ed lifts his head, the whole team is surrounding the two of them and looking expectant.

“This is…” Ed swallows. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hawkeye says. “There’s a little something from each one of us in there. We tried to keep it small so that it wouldn’t take up too much room in your suitcase.” She untangles a light scarf from the pile. “This scarf is from me.”

Ed sniffs at it a little closer. That’s definitely the thing that smells most like Hayate. It almost makes him sneeze.

“This is so nice of you,” Al says. “We’ve never had something like this. Mom’s things all started smelling like…”

Al trails off. Ed looks up at him. Maybe no one else can tell, but Ed can, and he knows that if Al could he’d cry right now. Ed shuffles closer, holding the bundle between them, and leans his head against Al’s chestplate. The team crowds in around them like they think that they can hold him and Al together. And maybe they can. Maybe this is all it would take to keep them from breaking into tiny little irreparable pieces.

“Sorry,” Al says, voice wobbly.

“It’s alright, buddy,” Havoc says. “We get it. Some of us have lost people before. It’s never easy, but you have us now to help take the edge off, okay?”

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Fuery says.

“You’re one of us,” Breda says.

Al’s chest is blessedly cool against Ed’s warm cheeks. He hides his face so that he can have a moment to pull himself together in peace. He can’t help it that Al being unable to cry always makes him want to cry. He can’t help it that all this… Well, it’s love, isn’t it? That all this love makes him feel fragile and unbreakable at the same damn time.

“The boys have to catch their train,” Mustang reminds them all gently. It’s weird hearing his voice do that. It’s probably some alpha thing, though, that he can make himself sound so fucking soothing to his packmates.

It works, too. Ed feels a little steadier already, even as the rest of the group parts to give him and Al space.

“Call as soon as you get there,” Mustang says.

“We will,” Al promises. He’s always the one who promises, and usually is the one who pushes Ed to follow through, but maybe this time Ed will call them because he actually wants to.

Fuck, is that stupid? All it took was one night and he feels completely differently about them—about the bastard. He finds himself looking forward to that phone call and looking forward to coming back around next time they’re in the East. He finds himself considering that maybe this is kinda what homesickness feels like.

It is stupid. They haven’t even left yet. Damn, he’s screwed.

The team—the pack—lets them go after a little more gentle ribbing and some still-so-new hugs. And then Ed and Al are off on another adventure.

Ed has a feeling this one will be more fruitful than the last.

 

Chapter 3: Filament

Notes:

The boys go to Liore! Things don't turn out the way they'd hoped.

Fullmetal calls them when he’s feeling homesick.

Roy knows that’s what it is, even if he knows Edward would never call it that. Ed has very little concept of ‘home,’ or so Roy has gathered. The only home the Elrics ever had they burned down, and the Rockbells’ house didn’t count.

But now… Now the boys can call their pack home.

It makes Roy’s chest warm with a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. Funny, too. He’d always considered them pack, but it wasn’t until they were fully read in that Roy felt like they were Pack. Like it was real. It was a promise, and promising, and something right had finally slotted perfectly into place in his heart.

He has always felt very protective of them, and possessive, as well, but that feeling has cemented so completely inside of him now that it would kill him to pry it out—to pry Ed and Al out.

Most likely the rest of the team feels similarly.

Anyway, Fullmetal calls when he’s feeling homesick.

Roy can tell the difference between these calls and every other time Ed had called before the night spent at Roy’s townhouse primarily because Al isn’t forcing him to do it. And although sometimes he calls when the whole pack is around, he tends to call late in the evening when only Roy is still at the office, and his voice becomes very soft when he speaks—or, at least, soft for Fullmetal.

“So, what’s been going on?” Ed asks. He sounds a little distracted tonight. He’s probably eating something. He’s always eating. It’s surprising that he’s still such a little runt, given the calories he must get in.

“Nothing too exciting,” Roy says. He’s half distracted, too, filling out paperwork that is well overdue with a lazy scrawl of his pen. His fingertips are all dyed blue with ink from a long day at work. “It’s been quiet here lately since the move to Central. That’s what happens when we don’t have you around causing trouble, Fullmetal.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ed says, but it sounds like he’s smiling. “You’re bored off your ass, aren’t you? Guess we’ll have to come by when we’re done here to liven things up a bit.”

“I suppose you will. Any idea when?”

Ed sighs, sounding tired. “Soon, I think. We’ve only been here a coupl’a days, but I already know it’s not gonna pan out. Something about this priest is fishy, all right, but it’s just alchemy and your basic, run-of-the-mill griftery. He’s not working any kind of bullshit miracles. He’s a thief and a phony, nothing more.”

“Well, tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?”

Ed snorts. “You’d be sayin’ the same damn thing if you saw him. I hate assholes like this. They’re so… sleazy. Taking advantage of good working folk like this… Did you know they turn the water in the fountain in the main square to wine? That’s just wasteful. Also, I was thirsty…” He sounds like he’s pouting.

Now it’s Roy’s turn to snort. He rarely lets himself be so uncouth, but he’s finding Ed brings it out in him.

Ed brings out a lot of things that normally Roy would keep hidden. It feels good, though, to be vulnerable, to be without his masks. It feels good to relax around Ed, like he used to be able to with Maes, and can sometimes do with the pack.

Ed is disarming. That’s all it is. He’s honest, and frank, and he doesn’t take kindly to bullshit, which is what he always calls Roy’s politicking. It’s a fair enough assessment—Roy has made a career out of manipulation. He wouldn’t be alive still if he wasn’t damn good at it.

“That sounds like paradise to me,” he says about the wine.

“Sure,” Ed agrees, “if you don’t care about the fact that people here are going hungry and thirsty and shit. I mean, it’s basically a desert town. There aren’t enough resources to go around. Everyone is fighting for less than their fair share. They have to shut the power off sometimes, did you know that?”

“I did not.” He makes a mental note to follow up on that.

“It gets so hot that they’re worried it’ll start fires. And then it’s, like, perpetually drought season, and the water gets regulated to hell and back by the local government. Cornello keeps a tight grip on it. People have to pay for it. And then he turns the natural spring into wine. What the fuck is up with that?”

“A lot of people are greedy when they’re in power, Ed, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Ed crunches on something, and it crackles over the phone line. His mouth sounds full when he says, “Can’t decide if it’s a good thing I’m still surprised every time. I guess I wouldn’t want to be jaded like your old ass.”

“Being jaded has saved my youthful, handsome ass from quite a few unfortunate events, I’ll have you know.”

“Ha! Okay, fine. Maybe you should be a little more optimistic sometimes. Just try it. It’d be good for you to smile more…”

Ed suddenly trails off, like he realizes he’s taken more than an Ed-sized step across their usually tightly held boundaries. Roy doesn’t mind it, though. He’s pack.

“You’re right,” he says, hoping Ed gets the message—you can speak frankly with me, and I won’t ever turn you away. He means it, too. “I wouldn’t want to earn wrinkles well before my time.”

That makes Ed laugh, the tension easing between them again. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. You don’t even look old enough to be a colonel, Colonel,” he admits. In the past, getting something so close to a compliment from Ed would have been like pulling teeth. Roy finds himself liking this side of Edward more and more.

“Why thank you, that’s so kind of you to say.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

Roy puts his pen down and leans his chin on his fist, unable to help smiling. “I’m twenty-nine.”

“You’re really not even thirty? Damn.”

“I will be later this year. Is that so surprising?”

“Not that you look thirty, but that they’d put you in charge. Aren’t there people still going through the Academy at your age? For, like, officer training?”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s crazy. Huh.” Ed pauses. “Like me, though.”

“Very much like you, Ed.”

“How old were you when…?”

Roy doesn’t like talking about this. He doesn’t. But it’s Edward asking…

“I was eighteen when I enlisted, twenty when the war started, after I had received my certification.”

“Damn,” Ed says again.

“I was the youngest State Alchemist, before you came along and stole my thunder.”

Ed preens for a few minutes after that. Roy endures it all with a fond sort of amusement. He didn’t used to feel that way about Ed’s bravado, but now Fullmetal’s antics are just charming. When did that happen?

“Listen,” Ed says later, after he’s sobered up a little and finished eating his dinner. “I think this guy could still have what I’m looking for.”

He doesn’t say the words out loud. They both know what he means, and the phone lines out to Liore are almost certainly tapped.

“How do you know?”

“Just a feeling. Unless he’s got some spare materials hiding up his robes, he’s getting more out of the exchange than he should. Trust me, this guy is doing something shady.” Ed pauses, inhales, exhales audibly, then says, “I’m gonna confront him tomorrow. Al and I made friends with this girl who is super fucking devout. She’ll introduce us.”

“Be careful,” Roy growls into the receiver. He tries not to give Ed the kind of orders that come with the full weight of his alpha authority behind them, but he lets a hint of it through anyway. Ed can take it.

Ed just laughs, which rather proves Roy’s point.

“Yeah, I will. Hey, I’ll call you tomorrow night to let you know how it goes.”

“Please.” Roy glances at his datebook before adding, “Call me after ten o’clock, though. I’ll be out until then.”

“Out doing what? And gimme your home number. I don’t have it.”

Roy rattles it off to Ed, knowing Ed will just memorize it if he doesn’t have his journal on hand, although he almost always has his journal on hand. Roy tries not to picture his phone number scrawled in Ed’s messy handwriting on a page otherwise full of arrays, but he can’t help it. It makes affection bloom in his chest, soft and warm.

“I have a date,” he says.

“Ew,” Ed says, voice chipper. “Gross.”

“Hey now,” Roy chides gently. “I thought we called a truce.”

“And that’s why I’m not hanging up on you because you’re being all… All…”

“All what?”

“All icky grownup.”

“Edward. You’re sixteen. You’re almost a man, and someday you’ll be just as interested in—”

“Gross!” Ed says louder. “I don’t need to hear the talk from you. You’re not my…”

Ed trails off again, the obvious word hanging between them with a breadth of unfortunate implications. Ed doesn’t have a good relationship with his real father, whether or not his father is alive—and they don’t know if he is—and Roy isn’t his father figure now. If anything, Maes could have been, but Maes is gone. It’s just him and Ed.

“I’m not. Good lord,” Roy says, trying to hide his discomfort. “Please never say that again.”

“I was joking,” Ed rasps, trying to cover up his own embarrassment. “Fuck.”

“Ha ha,” Roy says, deadpan, enunciating each syllable. “Sweet dreams, Fullmetal.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bastard,” Ed says, and the line cuts.

Roy puts his face in his hands and groans.

It stands to reason that the thought would cross Ed’s mind, whether consciously or not. At his age, the alpha of one’s pack would seem like a father figure. In another world, Hohenheim would have been Ed’s pack alpha until Ed himself was old enough to either take over or marry into another pack.

Roy finds himself considering, not for the first time, his suspicion that Ed will present as an alpha someday. It seems likely. His personality alone screams young alpha. Even Alphonse seems predisposed to it. Roy cannot see either of them taking the role of beta, or even alpha in another alpha’s pack, like Jean is for Roy. No, most likely both Elrics will be alphas, and eventually they will move on.

Eventually they will leave Roy behind, as is the natural progression of things.

He likes thinking of that even less than he likes thinking about being Ed’s father.

Oh god.

+

Liore is a bust.

It’s more than a bust. It is devastating.

He’d been so close! He could taste it. And it tasted like too-warm wine and gritty, sandy earth.

“Dammit!” He whirls and throws a fist into the alley wall. Alphonse stands guard nearby, blocking him from view as he allows himself to let out a tiny bit of the anger threatening to drown him. The alley wall can take it. This way he only hurts himself.

He presses his forehead against the wall hard enough that the brick facade hurts—a fine line running sharply across his skin and letting him focus on something other than his constant fucking failure.

He’d been so close.

Cornello was… He was a fraud all along. A fucking fraud with a fake fucking Stone. And how was that even possible? How could you have an incomplete, imperfect Philosopher’s Stone? By definition, Philosopher’s Stones are perfection—they are perfection incarnate, the magnum opus, the pivotal achievement of mankind, the embodiment of god on earth, the Great Work.

They cannot be imperfect. That doesn’t make any fucking sense!

“Brother…”

“Just a sec, Al,” Ed says. At least he’s starting to cool off. He’d almost lost his shit entirely back there. He’d almost…

He gulps, trying to get the bile to ease back down his throat. He’d rather not puke his guts out in some random, dusty alleyway in Liore. He’d rather keep his lunch and then get the hell out of here. A train back to Central City has never sounded so good.

The feeling washes over him so suddenly that it almost bowls him over.

Mustang. Mustang is waiting for him in Central City.

Relief. That’s what the feeling is, isn’t it? Relief, and a bit of desperation to get… To get home.

He straightens up, attempting to iron his expression back into something appropriate for being out in public. People usually kinda freak if they see him stalking down the street with his usual scowl on his face, let alone the full-blown, enraged one. Or maybe it’s the seven-foot-tall suit of armor following him.

“Come on, Al,” he says quietly, pushing away from the wall and pulling gently on one of Al’s gigantic forearms as he passes. Al had gone back to their hotel just around the corner to get their suitcase and check out. All that was left was two train tickets and a couple of hours on an uncomfortable bench seat. And then… Home.

“Yeah,” Al says, already knowing exactly how Ed feels—exactly what Ed must be thinking. He sounds relieved, too.

At least there’s that. At least now Al has more than just Ed waiting for him. He has more than just Ed’s guilt and constant anger to comfort him. Now there’s the pack waiting.

They head off towards the train station. If he never has to come back to Liore, it’ll be too fucking soon.

+

The phone calls become habit. They become routine. Now, if Ed doesn’t call, Roy knows something has gone very, very wrong.

But most nights, everything is fine—or, as fine as it can be when it comes to Ed.

This is not one of those nights.

“Can I just…” Ed exhales, and it is shaky. “Can you just put the receiver down on Hawkeye’s desk? Let me listen to everyone working? I need…”

He can’t finish, but Roy understands well enough. He says, “Of course, Ed,” and goes out to transfer the call to Riza’s phone, and he sets it down, and after a quick word to the team, they all go back to work, knowing that Ed is in some phone booth somewhere, possibly dozing off, listening to them and taking comfort in their voices.

Roy wishes more than ever that he could do something to protect Ed when Ed is far outside his grasp. He always has his people keeping an eye out for the boys, of course, and he could probably even guess exactly which phone booth Ed is slumped in if he wanted to, but he feels so… so impotent just sitting here holed up in his office in Central City when Ed is out there suffering and in pain.

“Where’s Al?” Riza asks him quietly, almost under her breath so Ed won’t be able to hear.

“I don’t know. Most likely nearby standing watch over his brother.”

“I can almost picture it,” she says, smiling fondly but somberly. “They’re on their way home now, though, yes?”

“Yes.” Roy checks his watch. The trains have stopped running for the evening, but the Elrics will most likely be on the first one out the following morning. Liore isn’t a well-traveled tourist destination, and it takes more than a few trains to get there. Ed and Al had to stop in New Optain for the night. If Ed couldn’t even stand to speak during their call, then things in Liore must have gone worse than his initial verbal report had stated. Roy is anxious to hear about it from Ed directly, with no threat of eavesdroppers holding their tongues. “They should be in by tomorrow afternoon, if I had to guess.”

“We should pick them up, make a night of it.”

Roy gives her a little smirk. “Are you suggesting we all take the afternoon off, Lieutenant?”

Riza uses the clipboard she’d been scribbling on to whack him sharply on the arm, right on his shoulder bar.

“Yes,” she says, though. “Just this once.”

Excellent. They rarely get off early. And it’s a Thursday evening. Going home before seventeen hundred tomorrow night will make for a wonderful start to his weekend.

And Ed and Al will be home.

Some hours later, Al’s tinny voice comes across the receiver.

“Ed fell asleep,” he says. The office crowds around so they can all hear him and whisper their goodnights and wishes for safe travel tomorrow. “Thanks,” Al says. He sounds tired—as much as an unsleeping, inexhaustible suit of armor can be tired—but happy to hear them. “I’m going to hang up now and take Ed to the hotel.”

“Goodnight, Alphonse,” Riza says on behalf of them all once more. She hangs up the receiver when the line goes dead, then turns to address them. “Thank you all for staying late tonight. I’m sure the boys appreciated the company.”

“No problem,” Jean says. “It’s what we’d do for any of the rest of us, isn’t that right?”

They all nod their agreement, and Roy feels an overwhelming sense of pride swell in his chest. He loves each and every one of them, and they have made him a better commanding officer, a better man, and a better alpha.

+

Ed is surprised to see the Colonel waiting for them on the platform when they hop down from their train car. Surprised… and then, he’s horrified to realize, he starts blushing about it. What the fuck?

Al elbows him while they wind through the crowd over to him.

“Be nice,” Al hisses.

“I’m nice! I’m nice!” Ed mutters back. He shoves their suitcase at Al to take it so he can give Mustang a rare salute.

“Fullmetal reporting for duty, sir,” Ed says, laying the sarcasm on thick so that Mustang will roll his eyes. Mustang doesn’t disappoint, and he relaxes out of his own rigid posture while sliding both hands into his trouser pockets. It turns him from stoic superior officer to debonair playboy, which Ed had never really understood before, but now…

Now he kinda gets it.

“Thanks for picking us up, sir!” Al chirps, polite as always. Mustang actually smiles up at him.

“Happy to, Alphonse. Come along, boys. Dinner at my house?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Al says, sounding eager. He trails Mustang to the car waiting for them in the reserved officer’s parking spot outside the station, and Ed trails after him, wishing he could sink into the ground and disappear.

He’s noticed lately that he’s… finally… starting to go through… ugh… puberty—at least, the pre-presentation kind, although those usually follow in quick succession. He’s sixteen now, so it makes sense that it’s happening.

Part of him is horrified, because it’s mortifying on a basic level, but also because Al should be right behind him, and it’s Ed’s fault Al isn’t maturing like he should be. The guilt twists inside Ed, slimy and thick, and makes him toss and turn some nights, and sometimes he feels like he’ll vomit or run screaming into the desert if he can’t crawl his way right out of his own skin.

The prosthetics do that to him sometimes, too, though, like his body knows they aren’t quite right and thinks he should get away from them as quickly as humanly possible. It’s a bizarre sensation, second only to the phantom pains and other weird feelings he’s slowly getting used to. He has long since come to terms with the thought that, if he lives through restoring Al, which is looking like a long shot anyway, there’s no way he’ll be able to repay the toll for Al’s body and his own limbs. He’s going to be half-metal for the rest of his life.

He wishes his stupid ass brain would catch up to that fact already.

The other part of it, which is currently more distressing, is that his stupid teenage body has decided it might like to fixate all its hormonal confusion and desires on the infuriating man Ed calls his alpha—and isn’t that a mindfuck? It doesn’t help that lately they’ve gotten to know each other much better, and Ed likes the bastard beneath the bastard. It somehow makes him even more infuriating, which Ed never thought possible.

He’s discussed none of this with Al, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna bring it up with anyone in the pack, so he’s just suffering in silence, waking up with angry Mustang-boners that he has to hide from Al until they go down.

When Al gets his body back, Ed is going to absolutely torment him in exchange for all this excruciating growing up he’s had to do on his own while a way-too-observant and very meddlesome little brother constantly hovers nearby.

He uses the walk to the car to try to cool off his flaming cheeks—and not to look at the bastard’s ass—and then slips into the back seat of the car next to Al.

“I didn’t know you could drive, sir,” Al says, trying to make small talk or somethin’ Ed couldn’t care less about. Mustang gives Al a bemused smile in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t drive much these days, that is true, but I’m quite a good driver.”

That is categorically a lie, Ed and Al soon find out, when Mustang swerves away from the curb and into traffic without checking his blind spot, and people honk, and Mustang grimaces and slouches a little behind the wheel.

The other thing Ed is trying hard not to think about—ew… hard is so not the right word for this—is a recent conversation they’d had on the phone where Ed almost—jokingly, it was a joke—called Mustang his fucking dad.

It had made something new and hot slither up and down his spine in a way that his idle dreams hadn’t managed before.

Fuck, did that mean Ed had, like, fucking daddy issues on top of all the other bullshit? That would be just his luck. The universe—Truth, whoeverthefuck—took one look at Ed Elric and said: “Yeah, let’s make this kid a cripple, an orphan, probably gay, and into dad stuff.”

Maybe that was part of his punishment. It would serve him right.

He almost doesn’t realize it when they pull up in front of Mustang’s house. The lights are already on inside, casting a warm, welcoming glow in the face of the dark silhouette of the house standing before the setting sun. Someone appears in the tiny window to one side of the front door, a someone who turns out to be Havoc, who grins and then yanks the door open before Mustang has even turned off the car.

“Guess they’re happy to see us, Brother,” Al says softly.

Yeah, guess they are.

+

They’ve gone on a more than a few trips since their official welcome into the pack—that first night they’d all spent sleeping together on the floor of Mustang’s old living room—but this trip is the first one where Ed has come back in this sort of… state.

Upset. He can just admit it. He’s pissed off at a lot of things, himself most and maybe Cornello second, and frustrated at hitting another dead end, and he’s trying so hard not to lose hope.

He is so relieved to see the pack, though. He falls into their open arms with complete abandon, enjoying the nuzzling that’s happening even when they mess up his braid and Havoc starts making jokes about how he might have grown an entire millimeter while he was gone.

Ed’s blustering about that has admittedly turned pretty fucking soft, but he doesn’t mind so much. Anyway, he gives as good as he gets, and some pointed comments about Havoc’s lack of dating luck sets the man to sputtering, until Hawkeye gently breaks up their rabble rousing and ushers everyone into the kitchen, where a stack of pizza boxes sits waiting.

“Fuck yeah,” Ed says, racing to the table to grab the one off the top. He slumps down onto one of Mustang’s fancy bar stools with the box in front of him, opens it, and digs in while everyone else bothers with plates and napkins and shit.

“Gimme a slice of that,” Breda says at one point, while Ed’s got his mouth full of cheese and mushroom, and Ed growls around it a bit until Breda offers a slice of meat lover in exchange. Man, these guys are really okay, Ed thinks. He wishes he’d done this way sooner.

Unfortunately, that thought reminds him of how it had all gone down, which makes him feel a little surly again for a while. The hurt over not being truly included still stings a little even now, but only when he’s already feeling vulnerable. One day he’ll get over it.

Mustang catches his eye from across the kitchen, then jerks his head towards the open doorway through to the hall. They both get up and retreat to the living room, Ed with a slice of pizza in each hand.

“What’s up?” he asks around his bite, not caring that his mouth is still full. Mustang’s lips do a funny little thing between a grimace and a smile, which Ed finds himself liking far too much to acknowledge, so he looks away, pretending to be bored.

“Are you alright?”

Mustang’s gentle touch to Ed’s neck startles him, bringing his gaze back to the bastard’s face. He doesn’t retreat, though, even when Mustang uses a thumb to gently massage where Ed’s scent gland should be maturing.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s just… pack shit. Packs do this shit. He’s seen Mustang do it to Fuery and Breda before, now that he’s been around the pack a little more outside of the office. It’s one of Mustang’s ways of comforting his pack without words or full-on scent marking.

Fuck, that’s actually kind of a relief, now that he thinks about it. If Mustang started burying his nose against Ed’s throat right now, Ed might have something real unfortunate pop up.

“Y-yeah,” he says. He chews and swallows, takes another bite, pretends he doesn’t care about the way Mustang is touching him. He wonders if he’s actually good at hiding what’s happening to him, or if Mustang can sense the way Ed is feeling and is just being unusually kind and pretending to ignore it. Surely Ed’s immature pheromones should still be signaling something, right? Ed wishes he had paid more attention when Teacher was trying to teach him and Al about the birds and the bees. To be fair, she was also using them as target practice at the time, so Ed can’t really be blamed for being distracted.

“Liore went… poorly,” Mustang says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about,” Ed says stubbornly. “Guy was just as fucking fake as I told you he’d be.”

Something in him seems to snap, though, and he can’t help the way his throat suddenly feels too tight, or the words that start spilling from his lips.

“I just thought… I thought we were close. He had a Stone! I saw it with my own two eyes, and then I saw what it could do, and then I saw it just… fucking shatter, like it was nothing more than a cheap marble.” Ed fixes Mustang with a look. Mustang has always had all the answers before, surely he should know why this had gone so badly, right? Mustang knows everything, and Ed relies on that. “A real Stone shouldn’t do that. It’s perfect matter—unchangeable, unmalleable, almost… immortal. A real Stone wouldn’t crack into a tiny billion little pieces and disappear.”

“I don’t know, Edward,” Mustang admits, making the breath catch in Ed’s chest. “I don’t know, but we’ll find out. And I also want to know how he got one in the first place, even if it wasn’t the real thing. That strikes me as something a man of his caliber shouldn’t have access to, which means someone gave it to him. Who do you think that could be?”

Ed shakes his head—hell if he knows.

“I wonder,” Mustang says slowly, staring off at some fixed point over Ed’s shoulder while his fingers knead Ed’s skin deftly. His fingers are bare, his gloves discarded as soon as they walked through the front door. “I wonder if it has something to do with Hughes.”

That rocks Ed to his core.

“You think whoever gave Cornello a Stone could’ve killed Mr. Hughes?”

“I think it’s a possibility. Furthermore, what are the chances that a Stone suddenly appears right as the Fullmetal Alchemist is looking for one? Surely you aren’t the only alchemist who has sought it in the past, no matter how taboo, and it is improbable we kept your search that well-guarded of a secret. Does it seem convenient to you that both our gazes were suddenly turned towards Liore?”

“Huh,” Ed says. “Like a distraction?”

“Perhaps. Or a hint, maybe. Someone is pulling some very delicate strings right now, and I’m afraid you and I might be dancing precisely to their tune.”

Ed growls and shoves the rest of one of his slices of pizza into his mouth. Then he flops back onto the couch and out of Mustang’s reach so he can focus on eating and thinking, and not on his fucking dick.

“I don’t like that,” he finally admits. “I don’t like knowing someone—” He glares half-heartedly at Mustang. “—Someone other than you is yanking my chain. Feels like shit.”

Mustang’s raises his eyebrows. He sits on the coffee table across from Ed.

“Welcome to the military, Fullmetal. Surely this should be old hat for you by now. You’re not some wide-eyed enlisted kid anymore.”

“I was never a wide-eyed enlisted kid,” Ed mutters. “Besides, I knew what I was getting myself into more than most. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

Mustang allows him that, nodding his head slightly and then chuckling when Ed inhales the rest of his other pizza slice. Ed slumps back while he licks his fingers clean, uncaring whether they are flesh or metal.

“How’s your automail?” Mustang asks suddenly.

“Fine. Didn’t bang it around too bad on this trip.”

“Good. The heat didn’t bother you?”

“Eh.” Ed shrugs. “It sucked on that last leg to Liore, but on the way back we caught a lift with this nice old fella who runs the local bar. He’s Rose’s—our friend, I told you about her—adoptive grandpa, or something close enough to it. He was nice. Reminded me of Granny.” Ed smiles at the thought. “I’m glad Rose has someone like that, otherwise she’d be alone just like me ‘n’ Al.”

“Rose, hmm?” Mustang asks. “She sounds pretty.”

Ed bristles. “You can’t tell how someone looks just based on their name. That’s just… stupid.”

“Are you saying she wasn’t pretty? That’s rather cruel of you, Fullmetal.” Mustang smirks at him.

“Fuck you,” Ed says. “She was plenty… uh… pretty. I guess. Whatever, she’s, like, eighteen and had a boyfriend who died. She wasn’t gonna give me a second look.”

He doesn’t mean to admit that last part aloud.

“Edward,” Mustang says gently. “I’m sure any girl with half a brain would be sweet on you. Don’t write yourself off like that.”

“Whatever. I’m half metal and all sorts of fucked up, so… I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Ed,” Mustang says again. He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, and it makes his cheekbones suddenly stand out in a way that makes Ed’s stomach clench. “You know that doesn’t… detract from your appearance,” Mustang says slowly. “I know you know it’s about more than looks, but you are a very handsome young man. The right person won’t give a shit about the automail.”

Ed bursts into surprised laughter. Mustang looks confused and a little offended until Ed flaps a hand at him and says, “You said shit. Oh my god, that sounded so unnatural comin’ from your mouth. Did your momma not teach you to swear? Holy fuck.”

That makes Mustang look abashed. “I’ll have you know my momma taught me plenty that would make your ears steam, runt.”

“No way. Don’t even try to distract me. That was pitiful. I get what you were going for, and I appreciate the pep talk, but we’ve got to work on your cursing game. It’s like you’ve never set foot in the commissary. I’ll have to teach you. I could swear any of those soldiers under the table.”

It feels good to laugh—the fully belly kind that has tears springing to the corners of his eyes. And Mustang started laughing, too, which lights up his face in the nicest way.

“I beg your pardon—”

“I… fuckin’… beg your pardon,” Ed wheezes. “Tell me truthfully, was that the first time you’d ever said shit? I said shit when I was eight and mom had to wash my mouth out with soap.”

“Did she really? I can’t imagine your saint of a mother doing that,” Mustang says, and surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt to hear him talking about Mom. If anything, it feels like she’s there laughing with them, and tutting and shaking her head in that way she used to that always made Ed feel proud of himself. He misses her, but maybe she’d be happy he and Al have found a new family.

“My aunt, on the other hand, used to swipe my gums with cheap scotch when I said a swear. She said it was unbecoming of a young man of my decorum,” Mustang continues.

“Holy shit, your aunt would say something like that. Is everyone in your family a carbon copy of you? ‘Decorum.’ Are they all strutting around all hoity-toity with their noses in the air and a stick so far up their ass that—”

“My aunt is a classy, hard-working woman,” Mustang huffs. “And a business owner.”

“Sure, sure,” Ed says. “Whatever you say, Mustang.”

Mustang reaches over and shoves him lightly, his smile wide and open. “Shut up, Elric. You don’t speak ill of my mother, and I won’t speak ill of yours.”

“Fair enough,” Ed says. “You can say whatever the hell you like about my father, though, if you want.”

Somehow that thrums the tension between them back up to a noticeable level, and suddenly Ed doesn’t really feel like laughing so much anymore.

“Right, anyway…” He trails off awkwardly.

Mustang clears his throat. “He…”

“I don’t want to talk about him, okay?” Ed bites out, immediately regretting the tone when Mustang jerks back slightly. He takes a measured breath in, then sighs it out between his teeth, willing himself to relax. Mustang isn’t his enemy, and he isn’t his father. He’s Ed’s alpha, and maybe something like a friend. “Sorry.”

It’s hard to apologize. Ed does it anyway.

“It’s alright, Ed. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, I shouldn’t’ve gotten worked up about it. It’s nothing. He’s nothing. I shouldn’t be so… It shouldn’t still piss me off so bad. I swear, if he ever turns up, I’m gonna clock him so hard that he falls right on his ass and wishes he’d never…”

He can’t bring himself to finish the threat. He swallows, throat tight.

“It’s alright if it still pisses you off, Ed. Nobody would blame you.”

“Yeah?” Ed takes another steadying breath and eyes Mustang. “Where’re your folks, anyway?”

“Dead,” Mustang says. “Aunt Chris raised me instead, on her own, mostly. Her husband was an abusive son of a bitch.”

This time when Mustang swears, it sounds as natural as breathing. He must really mean it. Or maybe his aunt used to say it just like that, and Mustang learned it from her like it was just the no-good asshole’s name.

“He died, too, though, right around when I went to study under my alchemy teacher. I didn’t really know him well.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“Sort of.” Mustang leans back on the coffee table, propped up on his palms. “My aunt has a way of taking in strays. She’s probably the most alpha beta you’ve ever seen. Her pack is made of up of women in similar situations. You should meet them sometime. I’ll take you.”

“Okay, yeah,” Ed says. “Yeah, I’d like that, I think.”

“Good.” Mustang tilts one more smile towards Ed—Ed could get used to that—and then stands. “Come on. I bet there’s still a pizza left you can fight Breda for. I had Hawkeye order more than last time.”

“Sweet.” Ed jumps up from the couch, and he follows his alpha into the kitchen, feeling better than he has in weeks.

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading! See you soon for another chapter. <3

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