A/N: If there's one complaint people have about Brotherhood, it's how Roy gets his eyesight back. I wanted to get introspective on that, but then I watched Episode 64 again. Let's just say that Dr. Marcoh's words inspired me to take a different direction. No, I did not expect to write my first semi-horror fic, but I went with the flow and it led me here. Can't say I'm disappointed.

He's alone in a single-windowed room, when he finally decides to do it.

It's been a month since Dr. Marcoh made his offer, and a little over two weeks since Havoc learned how to stand again. It was a joyous event he wishes he could have seen, although the sound of Havoc's raucous laughter, or the thuds of his feet jumping excitedly on the floor, or the small creak as he sat up from his wheelchair for the first time in months, was surely enough.

Though he did wonder what would it have been like, if he could have seen the event. He doesn't feel like he missed the important things. He heard some clicks of a camera going off, so it feels safe to assume Fuery took pictures, although he doesn't know if he smiled in the right direction. He felt some water spill on his shirt at the time, while Falman stuttered out an apology, although he knew Breda purposely bumped him because he heard him chuckle a bit. He caught a few whiffs of alcohol, although he didn't drink any, and although she was silent, he knew that Hawkeye was smiling.

But he could've seen Havoc's quivering legs as his feet touched the floor, could've seen what ridiculous statement they put on the cake they ate, could've seen what amusing, if crude, dedications Fullmetal decided to put in the card he so graciously sent from Resembool.

There were many things he could have experienced in a different way than he had to. However, he didn't, and he found himself perfectly capable of doing anything as long as Lieutenant Hawkeye was beside him. Losing his eyesight was a blow he could recover from, and he fully planned to.

The Philosopher's Stone in his hands changed absolutely everything.

Roy was a well-intentioned, though pragmatic, man at heart. It wasn't strictly a bad thing. It just meant he could do the wrong things for the right reasons. He believes that the ends will justify the needs, and everything will turn out fine as long as he soldiers on and thinks of the best. Bright eyed and full of potential was how he entered the military; he could leave it in the same manner. Maybe even literally.

Knuckles cracking, he gritted his teeth. He was a king in name. At the very least he could act like it. Just an alchemy circle and one clap of his hands was all it took. He could have his eyesight back in seconds, even less. It wouldn't be any trouble for him. He could have it all.

It would cost him nothing except extreme guilt for the rest of his life, the howling screams of the damned Ishvalans echoing in his ears.

Roy suddenly remembered Dr. Marcoh's words, right on that very day.

I have no right to say this, but if it's for the sake of reviving Ishval, I'm sure they'll-

Perhaps he's been thinking about this all wrong. Maybe he should use the stone; let the souls finally rest in peace after years of agitated waiting. Wouldn't the fulfillment of his simple wish be better than another genocide?

His hands were already stained with Ishvalan blood, he knew. Would he be willing to spill just a little more, just a few hundred more souls, just for his selfish desire to gain what he lost? To see the bluish-white of alchemy, the orange crackle of a flame, the sharp deep-brown of an expert markswoman?

"I should be a little more selfish," Roy muttered. "A politician looks out only for himself, after all."

He gripped the stone tighter, and recalled the rest of Dr. Marcoh's sentence.

-but, no. I cannot hear their voices.

He couldn't really know what those souls wanted, or, well, want, now could he?

Couldn't he be a different kind of Fuhrer? Amestris certainly needed a leader that clearly deserved the power, a leader that would be impartial and looked out for the better of his people, a leader that would serve them with all that he had. A leader that wasn't a backstabbing Homunculus, for one. Maybe even a half-Xingese man that was nothing but endlessly tired with injustice.

He didn't need more than what he had. And if he tried, if he took just one little step, he would be Fuhrer Roy Mustang in a little less than a year. He didn't need his eyesight for that. Not really.

He moved to put the stone down.

And a gate was opened.

Help us.

Avenge us.

Free us.

Use us.

Let us rest.

Let us rest.

LET US REST.

The sudden onslaught of the souls' screams proved too much for him to handle. His head felt like it was ready to burst with the noise and chaos inside his mind. Roy gritted his teeth, and scrambled for the stone on the table. He gripped it in his palm, heaving a heavy breath as he did so. The souls seemed to calm down when he did, as they quieted to form a single voice.

Please, they said. Let us help you.

Roy couldn't help a dark chuckle, despite the slight fright. It's not everyday that he hears voices in his head. "You called me to help you," he said, "now you're asking to help me? Which exactly is it?"

Their voices had simmered down to slight buzz. Sorry, said the voice of a young girl. We were hoping to be in mutual benefit.

We are souls, said the voice of an old man.

Omnipresent, added the voice of what sounded like a teenage boy. It means we're everywhere. We sense everything. We could hear you.

"Oh?" Roy couldn't help but be curious. "What exactly did I say?"

The same young girl answered him. You didn't say it. It was more of a thought, you could say? But stronger. Like your very soul was resonating with the idea of it.

Determination, as we used to call it, said the old man with a laugh. Determination to help us. Avenge us. All of Ishval. A worthy cause, if I do say so myself.

Help us, echoed a chorus of voices. Help you.

"I do plan on it, yes," Roy said. He twiddled with the stone in his hands, letting his fingers run over the sharp edges. "But it's something I don't need help with. At least, not anymore help than I already have at my disposal. You'll find that I am perfectly capable of doing my duty, with or without my sight."

Admirable, drolled the teenage boy.

The young girl's giggle echoed in his mind. You don't understand, do you? We're only useful for one more shot. Well. Two shots, technically, but...

You wished to hear us, the old man finished for her. And your wish has been heard loud and clear. We'd be delighted to serve you.

He gripped the table, knuckles white. "This isn't just servitude," he spat. "It's a sacrifice, and I may be harsh but I am not cold-hearted enough to-"

Ah, the three voices said, united. But we don't have a heart, not anymore.

Roy's breath hitched. Has the room grown colder? Or darker? Ór both? What's happening? He didn't know, he didn't know and he can't see, he can't see, for the life of him, he absolutely cannot see-

All he could smell was burning flesh-

He heard screaming, crying, but most of all he heard laughter-

And all of a sudden he understood, he understood very well, what it felt like to feel his sins crawling up his back.

YOU WANT YOUR SIGHT SO WE WILL RETURN IT, the souls screamed at him. WE WILL RETURN YOUR SIGHT AND YOU WILL SEE, YOU WILL SEE HOW MUCH ISHVAL SUFFERED, HOW MUCH YOU CAUSED IT.

Roy squeezed his eyes shut, his mind a senseless cacophony of rage. He tried to call for help, from someone, anyone, Riza-

It felt like a phantom hand was choking him, pushing him down, drowning him-

A sea of voices-

Help us.

Avenge us.

Free us.

Use us.

Let us rest.

Let us rest.

LET US REST.

Roy opened his eyes, and in a helpless, desperate try he gripped the stone so tight his hands almost bled with the effort-

A single thought in his mind-

Clap.

He blinked multiple times, shielding his eyes from the sun. He didn't remember it being so bright. Come to think of it, he didn't remember the town being so empty and quiet at this time of day. In a haze, he looked outside the window to see-

His eyes widened.

He could see.

Slowly, he uncurled his hand. He had a small puncture wound on his palm, still bleeding red. The stone, however, had disappeared.

Roy stared at his empty hand for a moment, letting the events of the afternoon rush through him. He heaved a heavy sigh. "I thought the craziness was over," he muttered.

With a swift move, he slung his suit jacket over his shoulders.

The work waits.