Hello, hello! So, this is my take on a Brotherhood 'verse Ishvalan AU!

Hope you enjoy it!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own FMA: Brotherhood.

SPOILERS: the general premise of the show, but mostly Episodes 4 & 5 of season one.

WARNINGS: Lots of canonical character death. And lots of emotions. Also, one little swear word. It's Ed's favorite name for Mustang, and I just couldn't cut it out. I normally very carefully avoid swearing in my stories, but Ed is...well, Ed. So, yeah.

Jothi Ahlrik was a beautiful woman. She was kind and compassionate and patient, well loved by all the people of Resembool. Her smile could light up the darkest day, and her laugh could ease the hearts of even the most sorrowful.

Her white hair and ruby eyes did nothing to change that.

When her sons were born with their father's coloring, she was overwhelmed with relief. She was proud—so proud—of her own heritage, but a war was building in the east, and her precious sons were worth more to her than any heritage or religion ever could be.

Their skin was just a touch darker than the other children, and Ed's hair was a beautiful shade of white-gold, but other than that—and their tendency to forget to speak Amestrian—the Elric boys were indistinguishable from any other child in Resembool.

They spoke Ishvalan at home, and she took them to visit her hometown of Valith whenever she could. The boys were well-loved and known there, and it warmed her heart to see her children loving her homeland—her heartland—as much as she did.

But then a full-on war broke out in Ishval.

Then the extermination order came down.

And Jothi Ahlrik cried when she got the letter telling her that courtesy of the Flame and Crimson alchemists, Valith was nothing more than a heap of rubble and ashes.

She went to her sons—her precious, precious sons, who could be killed now, killed for that Ishvalan blood they were so proud of—and she did not hide the truth from them.

She told them what had happened, and held them while they cried.

When little Aaaqil, just two and a half years old, looked up at her, tears still streaming from his golden-brown eyes, and asked her, "Why bad men hurt Home?" her heart almost broke.

"Because they're evil," Lahan spat, her beautiful, fierce, strong older son. Only three, but already so smart and so full of passion.

"No," she said firmly, because Ishvala help her, she would not allow the hatred flowing through this land to infect her children. "They are not evil. They are as lost and confused and scared as we are. They are being ordered to do these terrible things by men who are not kind and compassionate. The soldiers do not have a choice. Do you understand me? They are human, just as we are human, and none of us is better than anyone else."

And her Lahan's eyes got impossibly brighter as he finally succumbed to his tears at the knowledge that their heartland was well and truly gone.

So Trisha Elric dyed her hair, and wore tinted glasses, and smiled and laughed and loved.

She was a beautiful woman, inside and out, and when she died, it felt as though the very sun had gone with her.

Edward Elric stared out the window with dull eyes.

His mother was dead.

His brother was trapped in an unfeeling suit of armor.

He had lost his arm and his leg.

Ishvala forgive him, because he was certainly never going to forgive himself.

He heard the door open, and Granny's voice.

"Can I help—hey! Who do you think you soldiers are, barging in here like that?!"

Soldiers?!

He jerked in his chair, hearing Al do the same behind him.

Soldiers were bad.

Soldiers were not evil, but they had orders, and Ed and Al—Lahan and Aaaqil—were half Ishvalan. Had someone in the village told?

No, no, that was ridiculous.

This must be about something else.

Two years later, and Edward Elric—That's not my name, he wanted to scream. I am Lahan Ahlrik Jothison and I am Ishvalan and I am proud of my blood—was officially a State Alchemist, serving under the one who had burnt his heartland to a crisp. The irony was bitter.

But the truth of the matter was—ha, the Truth, that wretched, cruel thing—that he needed the supplies the military could give him. He needed the information, the research materials. He didn't care what it cost him, he was getting his brother's body back.

He'd sworn. He'd sworn on his Name to Ishvala that he would not give up, not until he was dead or he had succeeded.

Crazy?

Probably.

Nobody had ever accused Ed of thinking things through.

But where was the fun in that?

Nina was dead.

Ed and Al sat on the steps at the base of the clock, staring out at the rain.

That precious, beautiful little girl.

Gone.

"Why couldn't we save her, Brother?" Aaaqil whispered, soft and broken, and Lahan dug his fingers into his hair.

"I don't know," he rasped. "I really, really don't."

They sat in silence for a long time.

"I can't feel the rain," his little brother said, switching to Al and Amestrian.

"I know," Ed whispered, bowing his head. "I was hoping it would wash away some of this gloom. Remember how we used to run around in the rain with Mom? And jump into every puddle we could possibly find?"

Al laughed, and if it sounded more like a sob than anything else, nobody needed to know.

"I remember."

Ed reached out blindly, knocking his metal fist against his brother's chestplate.

"You're gonna feel the rain again, Al," he said quietly. "I swear to you."

Al's great hand rested lightly over his. "I know," he said. "I know."

"Are you the Fullmetal Alchemist?" asked a deep voice from in front of them.

Ed looked up wearily.

There was a tall man in front of them, in a yellow jacket and sunglasses, which was an interesting wardrobe choice considering the pouring rain, and the fact that the sun hadn't been out in almost a week. His skin was dark and his hair…was…white?!

Ed nodded absentmindedly.

Was this man a brother?

The man's hand convulsed, and then shot straight towards his face.

"Brother!" Al shouted, grabbing him and leaping out of the way.

Ed's eyes were very wide, and for a heartbeat, he couldn't move.

He's trying to kill me.

Ed's eyes hardened, and he trapped his attacker in a sphere of stone—which held him for maybe all of twenty seconds.

"Let's go, Al!" Ed yelled, yanking on the armor's arm and dragging him in the opposite direction.

"Who is this guy?" Al said, fear in his too-young voice.

"And what's his proble—AHHH!" Ed tripped as the stairs gave out beneath them, and when Ed tried to alchemize a way out, the man destroyed that, too.

They used the sloping street to gain momentum and speed as they booked it.

"What is this guy's problem?!" Ed yelled. "Making enemies isn't something that I—" he had to groan. "Okay, so maybe I don't avoid it, but still! Why's he trying to kill me?!"

"I don't know!" Al was definitely panicking.

They took a hard right and fled down an alley. But before they could reach the end, a bolt of alchemic energy ran by on the wall and blocked off their only escape.

"Who are you anyway?!" Ed shouted at the man, who was standing at the other end of the alley. "And what do you want with us?"

"As long as there are creators like you, there will be destroyers like me," he answered, his hand flexing again.

"Okay, then," Ed said grimly. "Fighting it is." He transmuted a blade for himself out of the wreckage around him, and Al settled grimly into a fighting stance.

"Gutsy one, aren't you?" the man said, a smirk curling one corner of his mouth.

"Oh, shut up, would you?" Ed growled, and they charged.

The next thing Ed knew, he was hearing the most horrible sound in his memory—the sound of splintering metal.

"AL!"

Shards of armor were everywhere, his brother was on the ground, missing a leg—he was sure there was irony in that, somewhere, but he was a little too terrified and angry to look for it—and the man was staring at him in shock.

"Nothing inside," he murmured.

"Get away from him!" Ed threw himself at the man again, but the same devastating energy ran up his arm. It had no effect on the automail, but it did knock Ed flat.

"Gahh!" he threw off his coat and transmuted his arm into the blade he was most familiar with.

"An automail arm," the man growled. "Now I understand."

"Brother, don't!" Al cried, dragging himself forward. "Just run! Run, Ed!"

"You idiot!" Ed screamed. "I'm not leaving you here!"

"You press your hands together to make a circle and then you perform transmutation," the man said, almost to himself.

Ed feinted and lunged, but the man was too fast.

"Then I shall have to start by destroying this abhorrent right arm of yours!" The man caught Ed's arm, and with one flash of alchemy, it exploded.

Pain ripped through the nerves in his port, but Ed was too stunned to even scream.

Al didn't have that problem. "BROTHER!"

"Now you will not be able to use your heretic's alchemy," the man said darkly, looming over Ed.

Ed hadn't felt this small and helpless since…

He swallowed hard and tried to crawl away, but miscalculated and fell to the street.

"I will give you a moment to pray to God," the man said, approaching him.

"Brother, RUN!" Al begged, still trying to crawl to him.

"Unfortunately," Ed managed, shaking. "I'm not much of a praying man."

His enemy stopped.

"Am I the only one you're after?" Ed took a deep breath and clenched his fist. "Or are you gonna kill my brother, too?"

"Only you, Fullmetal Alchemist," was the answer. "If he interferes, I will eliminate him. But only you receive my judgement today."

"Well, then," Ed said softly. "From Ishvala all has come and to Ishvala shall all return. To Ishvala I go."

The man let out a strangled sound of surprise, and Al screamed.

"NO! NO! Don't you dare! DON'T YOU DARE!"

The man reached down and forcefully flipped Ed over so he could see his face. "You would dare to call upon Ishvala, you filthy Amestrian?!" he roared.

Ed was still shaking, but he gave him the best glare he could under the circumstances. "I swear upon my mother's red eyes that I am no Amestrian. Alchemist, yes. State Alchemist even, yes. But this is not my heartland."

The man threw him back down on his stomach. "You are still my target," he said, fists clenching. "You, and only you."

"Even though I am one of Ishvala's children?" Ed asked him quietly. "Even though I am one of your own people?"

The man was trembling. "I cannot turn from my path now," he managed, and the boy swallowed hard.

"Then swear to me," Ed met his eyes. "Swear to me on your Name that you will leave my brother alone."

The man stiffened as Al let out a choked sound. "I have no Name," he said.

Ed's eyes got very wide. To have renounced his Name…

"Then swear to me on Ishvala," he demanded. "You will not harm my brother!"

"No," Al said. "No, no, no!"

The man bowed his head. "You have my word."

Ed nodded and laid his head back down on the pavement.

"What are you doing?!" Al screamed. "Get up! RUN!"

The man began to reach down, and Ed closed his eyes.

Mom, I guess I'll be seeing you sooner than I thought.

"Stop," Al gasped. "No, no you can't—don't touch him, don't you dare—STOP IT!"

A gunshot cracked through the air, and Ed jerked, eyes flying open.

Mustang, Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Fuery, and Falman—plus a mini army—surrounded them, every gun trained on the man above him.

"That's enough," Mustang said, and oh wow. Ed had never seen him look so furious. "You won't be killing anybody else today, Scar."

Scar.

Ed glanced up at the old wound on his would-be murderer's face, and almost snorted. That was original.

"I'm taking you into custody," Mustang growled. "Where you will answer for the murders of at least ten State Alchemists!"

What…Ed's eyes got impossibly wider, but he didn't move, not wanting to provoke Scar.

"Alchemists alter things from their natural form," Scar replied. "They profane God, the true Creator of all things. As an agent of God, I am here to hand down his judgement. If you interfere, I will eliminate you as well."

Ed stiffened. Flame Alchemist or not, Roy Mustang was a good man. Whenever anyone called him the Hero of Ishval, his fists would tighten, and he would pale. His smile would be stiff and fake, and Ed would never forget the day he'd come to the office on the anniversary of the end of the war to deliver a report…

Mustang wasn't at his desk.

"Oi, Colonel Bastard," Ed said, keeping a careful distance from the man, who was leaning against his window and staring at something Ed couldn't see.

Edward Elric didn't really have a problem with the Colonel past the fact that he was smug and annoying and insulted his height all the time.

Lahan Ahlrik Jothison on the other hand, carried a bone-deep, gut-wrenching terror of the man whose flames had swallowed his nation alive. Those fires had reached Resembool, and the death toll of this one man was staggering.

"It shouldn't be like this," Mustang said suddenly.

Ed's brows furrowed. "What?"

"They're celebrating," Mustang said, gesturing to the festival in the streets below. "They're celebrating the mindless slaughter of millions of innocent people, and they're treating it like it's something to…to…to celebrate."

He tilted his head back and took a long drink from the bottle Ed had just now realized he was holding.

"Are you…are you drunk?!"

Mustang laughed with no humor, and his hand was shaking as he took another drink. "Not nearly enough to forget." He wobbled to his deck chair and collapsed in it, head in his hands. "Did you know that it takes exactly three point one eight seconds for me to end a human life?" he mimed snapping his fingers, and Ed flinched, even though Mustang didn't have his gloves on. "Snap. Just like that. I murdered entire villages of people. They weren't soldiers. They weren't soldiers. They were just…people. People. Like me and you. And I…I killed them." He laughed again, and Ed sagged back against the wall. "I burned them."

Ed stared at him, unable to reconcile this guilt-plagued, broken, genuinely regretful man with the flaming demon of his nightmares and memories.

"Me and Kimblee…" Mustang took another swig. "There was this one village. I don't know the name of it. I remember the village elder coming out when he saw us arriving and he held out his hands and he knelt to the ground and he begged. He told us that we were welcome to search, but all of the weapons in the town had been melted down and that all the warriors had already left and there were only elders, women and children left and he begged for their lives."

Ed felt sick.

"He said his name was Poojith, and that his village was a peaceful one, and they didn't deserve to die."

Ed crashed to his knees and vomited in the waste basket.

Poojith was the elder of Valith. Their home…Oh, their people…

Undeniable proof. Mustang had killed his family.

Hatred, cold and undying and overwhelming and suffocating rose up in Ed's chest, and when Lahan stood to his feet, it was with a blade formed from his right arm.

This man deserved death.

Mustang didn't even appear to realize that Lahan was still in the room with him.

"I told him that we had our orders, and he bowed his head and Kimblee went to kill him and I stopped him and I said, 'We were ordered to clear this village by Friday. It's Thursday. I suppose we had better follow orders, hadn't we?' And I made Kimblee back off, because he knew that I would…" Mustang laughed, but tears slipped out of his eyes. "I would've killed him, probably. I don't know. I didn't know what was happening. I was nineteen. I shouldn't have been there in the first place."

Lahan paused in his approach. Mustang had…tried to help them?

"I didn't sleep that night, and I made sure that Kimblee was actually following my orders," Mustang continued, taking another deep drink from whatever was in that bottle. "But the next morning, I had my orders. So we marched into the village and everything and everyone that was still there, I burnt to ashes." His eyes were streaming with tears now, and Lahan sank to the floor at his feet.

"There was a little girl," he said hoarsely. "She couldn't have been more than eight years old. She was looking out of her window when I snapped, and I got to see just how terrified she was of me before she died, screaming in agony, because I set her on fire." He drained the bottle and flung it at the far wall of his office, watching it shatter.

"Did you know that I used to want a family someday?" the question came out of the blue, and Lahan helplessly shook his head, even though Mustang wasn't looking at him anymore.

"I used to want to get married, have children," he laughed. "I don't deserve that anymore. What right do I have to children of my own when I have ripped away the children of so many others?"

He turned to Lahan, and those sharp black eyes were dull with grief and rage and guilt and with a sickening lurch in his stomach, the boy transmuted his blade back into his arm.

"I would've liked to have a son," Mustang said quietly. "A son like you. I would be so proud if I had a son like you. I would be so very proud to call you my son."

Lahan's eyes burned with tears.

The man turned back to the window. "That was what I wanted," he said. "Not a life as a human weapon. I wanted to save people. I wanted to help people. I wanted to have a family of my own." He ran his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry," Mustang told him. "I don't know why I didn't just desert like Armstrong did. I killed so many. So many people, Ed. I'm a murderer. I'm a monster. I'm a monster. I should've let them kill me. I shouldn't have come back. I shouldn't have, Ed. I should've died."

Lahan shook his head, unable to speak. He pulled the Colonel to his feet and led him over to one of his couches. He laid him down and covered him with his coat.

Mustang's eyes were still fixed on his, but he was thoroughly drunk, and the boy seriously doubted that he would remember a lick of this tomorrow.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

Lahan lost his battle with his own tears, and he set a hand down on the man's shoulder. "You remember her," he said roughly. "And you remember that Elder. Don't you ever forget what you did, Mustang. But don't you dare let it make you give up. You're going all the way to the top, you hear me? You're going all the way to the top, and you're gonna fix this. You make this right. You can make this right." He dragged the man upright and shook him by the shoulders. "I forgive you. You hear me, Bastard? I forgive you. Got it?"

The man sagged forward and dropped his head on Lahan's shoulder. "Got it," he whispered.

"And you already have a family, you idiot," Lahan choked, wrapping shaking arms around the man. "You've got Hawkeye, and Havoc and Breda and Falman and Fuery and Al and…" he sobbed. "And you've got me, and I would…I would be proud to call you my dad. I would. You care and you're here and you don't just leave and not come back and—" he sobbed again. "I wish my real dad was more like you."

Mustang's arms came up around him, strong and warm and steady, and Lahan clung to him tightly. "Thank you," Mustang breathed. Slowly, bit by bit, he grew heavier as he slumped against the boy, giving in to the call of sleep until he was completely out, resting on Lahan's shoulder.

Lahan eased him back onto the couch and covered him again and then fled, running like all the demons of his past were at his heels. He ran until he couldn't breathe, and then he cried until he couldn't see.

Sure enough, the Colonel had forgotten the entire interaction by the next day, but Ed never had. Because Mustang was a person, just like Ed. No better and no worse, and just as tormented by the mistakes of his past. But more than that, Mustang cared. Mustang legitimately cared about Ed and his brother. The Colonel—dare he say it—loved the Elric boys like they were his own.

And blast it all, if Ed wasn't starting to care about the moron as well.

So, no, Scar killing Mustang really just wasn't gonna fly.

Mustang's jaw tightened. Then he grinned. "Oh, is that right?"

He handed his gun to Hawkeye, and she gaped at it. "Colonel Mustang, sir!" she objected sharply.

"Colonel Mustang?" Scar's mouth curled in disgust. "The Flame Alchemist? Volunteering yourself to receive judgement?"

He stepped over Ed and began to approach the Colonel.

"No," Ed murmured, staring at the Colonel. "Colonel, don't…"

"This is truly an auspicious day!" the murderer picked up his pace, and Ed scrambled desperately to his feet.

A wild grin spread over Mustang's face. "So you know who I am and you still want to challenge me?! Bad decision!"

He held out his hand to snap, but it was raining and no way was it going to work and Ed threw himself forward desperately.

He made it. Only just, but he made it.

Everyone froze.

Mustang, eyes wide as his alchemy failed him.

Scar, frozen as the boy before him, one of his own, protected the man who had murdered so many of their kind.

And Ed, chest heaving, only arm spread in defense of the one who was the closest thing he would ever have to a real father.

Scar looked around, and his face twisted with rage. Then he looked back at Ed, and hatred took it's place.

"Traitor!" he snarled. "Kin-slayer! Betrayer of our blood!"

Ed flinched hard, feeling all of the blood drain from his face.

"Fire!" Hawkeye thundered, and the soldiers let loose.

Scar dodged the bullets with what seemed to be ease until Hawkeye took up her own gun. She got him, but only enough to shatter his glasses and prove to all gathered there that Scar was indeed Ishvalan.

As soon as the guns went off, Mustang lunged forward, grabbing Ed and dragging him back, away from Scar and wrapping the boy tightly in his arms, turning slightly so he was between Ed and the Ishvalan.

The man ultimately escaped by destroying the street beneath him and fleeing into the sewers, and Mustang instantly started shouting at Ed.

"Fullmetal, you idiot, why did you do that! What were you thinking! Did he hurt you? Are you alright? Answer me, Edward!"

"I'm—I'm okay," Ed rasped, automatically clinging to Mustang's shirt as he turned to him, pressing his face into the man's shoulder.

Mustang's arms tightened around him, strong and unyielding and safe.

"You're sure you're alright?" the Colonel asked.

Ed nodded. He was shaking, he realized dimly. "He destroyed my arm," he said. "But other than that, I'm o—AL!"

He shot to his feet, tearing away from the Colonel and sprinting back to the alley.

"ALPHONSE!"

The armor was leaning against the wall, no motion or glow of the eyes.

"Al, talk to me!" Ed said, on the edge of panic. "Are you alright? Come on, Al, can you hear me?"

A giant metal fist slammed into Ed, and he yelled in shock as he was flung into the opposite wall.

"Why didn't you run when I told you to?!" Al shouted. "What kind of an idiot are you?!"

"What the—no way!" Ed shouted back. "No way am I just gonna run away and leave you behind!"

"Which is exactly why YOU'RE AN IDIOT!" Al bellowed, sending Ed flying again.

"What do you keep punching me for?!" Ed rubbed the side of his head. "If I had run, he could've killed you, you know that?!"

"And maybe he wouldn't have!" Al shot back. "Making the decision to die is something only an idiot does."

"Hey, easy on the idiot stuff. I'm still your older brother, got it?!"

"I'll say it all I want to!"

Ed's eyes went wide as Al grabbed the front of his tank top, dragging him up to eye level.

"Survival is the only way, Ed," Al said sharply. "Live on. Learn more about alchemy so you can get our bodies back and help people like Nina. You can't do that by dying! I won't allow you to abandon the possibility of hope and choose a meaningless death!"

With the crunch of corroded metal, Al's arm came off, and Ed grunted as he fell back to the ground.

"Oh, great!" Al shouted. "And now my arm's come off because my brother's a BIG FAT IDIOT!"

Ed stared at the severed limb in horror before dropping his eyes in twisted amusement and sorrow and guilt.

"We're really falling apart, aren't we, Brother?" he murmured. "We look like we belong in a junkyard."

"But we're still alive," Al said softly.

"Yeah." Ed clenched his remaining hand. "Yeah, we are."

Ed stared down at the ground until something soft landed on his shoulders. He looked up with a start to see Hawkeye's warm brown eyes, full of kindness as she wrapped her jacket around him. He smiled back, small and shaky, and she draped her arm over his shoulders, pulling him close. He didn't even pretend to fight her.

Armstrong knelt next to Al, and Havoc positioned himself in a way that shielded them from observers.

And as Ed looked around them, and saw Mustang and Hughes watching them with small, warm smiles, he knew that he'd made the right decision in protecting his family from the lost and broken man known as Scar.

My family, huh?

He remembered Roy's embrace, Riza's smile, Havoc's supporting hand on one shoulder.

Yeah. My family.

They returned to the office, and Mustang gave them all a brief history and outline of the Ishvalan War of Extinction.

"That man is an Ishvalan survivor," he finished grimly, staring at his desk. "In a sense, his revenge is justified."

"No way," Ed snapped, bolting to his feet and glaring. "No way. There's no justification for taking revenge on people who had nothing to do with it! He's just masking his desire for vengeance by claiming that he's an agent of God."

"The fact remains that he's coming at us with full force," Mustang replied. "We cannot let ourselves be killed for his cause." His eyes narrowed. "Next time, there will 0be no more talk. Got it?"

"YES, SIR!" the room chorused—with the expected exception of Ed.

"So, Ed, Alphonse," Hughes looked up at them. "What are you going to do now?"

"Before you get into that," Mustang cut in as Ed was opening his mouth. "Fullmetal."

"Yeah?" he looked up at him.

The Colonel's brows were drawn together. "What did Scar say to you?"

Ed paled, and deliberately misunderstood the question. "He called me a heretic alchemist, and said that we were creators, and he was a destroyer, or something like that. Then he busted my arm." Ed shrugged. "He wasn't really much for conversation."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Mustang swallowed. "When you were protecting me. He said something in his own tongue, and you flinched. I didn't know you spoke Ishvalan."

Ed heard Al's soft sound, and he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "We lived in Resembool," he reminded them. "We got a lot of refugees throughout the war. It was just easier for everybody if we could at least speak their language."

Mustang's jaw worked for a moment, and then Hawkeye spoke up, horribly soft. "If that's all it was, then why did he call you a blood traitor?"

Al made what would have been a gasp if he'd had his body. "Brother! He said that?!"

Ed had to stabilize himself on the table behind him.

"I didn't know you spoke Ishvalan," he mocked, feeling himself start to tremble.

Mustang looked like he was about to be sick. "Fullmet—Ed," he said, deliberately pulling off his gloves and putting them in a desk drawer. "That's a very specific term. It's a term used only among the Ishvalans, and it refers only to another Ishvalan. Not an Amestrian."

Ed tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. "You sure about that?" he asked weakly. "Could be your information is just off."

Hawkeye's face twisted, and she turned away with a hand over her mouth. Hughes looked like he was about to collapse.

"Please, please, please tell me this conversation isn't going where I think it's going," he said, pulling off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose with shaking hands.

Mustang's face was whiter than the papers on his desk, but he folded his hands together with incredible calm and finally just asked.

"Edward, are you and Al Ishvalan?"

Dead silence descended on the room, and Ed looked to Al. He gave a tiny nod, and the older boy sighed.

"No," he said, and he could see the relief in the faces surrounding him.

"We're only half!" Al finished cheerfully, and Ed gave him a rueful grin. Being brothers had its advantages: for example, having the same idea at the same time, regardless of how terrible aforementioned idea might be.

Hughes buried his face in his hands, pulling at his hair. Hawkeye's eyes got way too bright, and she closed them tightly. Mustang got so pale he was almost translucent, and he sagged back weakly in his chair. Havoc shot to his feet and strode to the wall, breathing harshly through his nose. Fuery teared up, staring straight ahead with pain and guilt written in every line of his face. Breda closed his eyes, and Falman followed Hughes's example, resting his head in his hands.

"Hey, come on, now," Ed said a little desperately. "We never would've agreed to join up if you guys hadn't seemed at least a little decent, right?!"

"Right, Brother!" Al agreed, just as frantic. "We don't blame you or anything!"

"How?" Mustang rasped. "How can you not blame us for what we did?"

For what I did, Ed heard loud and clear.

He stared at his superior, and his mouth moved without his permission.

"Because you spared Poojith," he heard himself say. "And you let them run."

Mustang's head flew up, eyes going comically wide and mouth dropping open.

Al let out a sound like a wounded animal. "Pappous?!" he cried, pain in every syllable.

"Flame and Crimson were at Valith," Ed said, still not looking away from the Flame Alchemist. "They had orders to clear it out and raze it down by Friday. But it was Thursday night when they got there. So Flame overruled Crimson and gave the village until dawn to escape."

"Ya, iilhi," Al choked, and Ed knew he would be crying if he could. "Shukraan lakum. Shukraan jazilana."

"What?" Mustang gasped.

"Thank you," Ed translated thickly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "Thank you so much."

The man staggered to his feet. "I don't—I don't understand…" he said faintly. He was shaking so hard Ed could see it from across the room. "I don't—"

"Jothi Ahlrik," Ed cut him off, voice hoarse. "Aafiyadaughter. That was our mother's name."

Mustang stared at him.

"Our heartland—our home—was the village known as Valith," Ed continued. "My mother's father was the Elder of the village, whose name was Poojith Carscison. We lived in Valith for the winter, and returned to Resembool for the summer. Ishval was our home, just as much as Amestris was."

"Poojith," Mustang repeated, all but falling back into his chair. "Your grandfather."

Ed nodded.

"You saved him," Al said, regaining his hold on both Amestrian and his emotions, though his voice still wobbled a bit. "Thank you, Colonel. Thank you so much."

Mustang looked from Al to Ed, speechless, and the older boy offered him a tiny, grateful smile. He clasped on hand over his heart and bowed in the manner of their people, and Mustang's mouth dropped open.

"Colonel," he said softly. "You gave our people a chance. The ones who did not make it…remember them. Don't you ever forget them. But do not let them defeat you, either. You have a chance to make something better. I think you can do it. But only if you are willing to stand up on your own two legs and keep moving." He met the man's eyes. "Don't stop moving," he said. "And don't forget."

Mustang's eyes were too bright, but he nodded, and Hawkeye flew to her feet and pulled Ed into a tight embrace. He hugged her back, and could see Havoc and Breda trying hard to keep a stiff upper lip while Falman and Fuery didn't even try, each man resting a hand on Al's shoulders.

Hughes caught Ed as soon as Hawkeye let go, and he cradled Ed as though he was something absolutely precious.

"You're a better man than us, Edward Elric," he murmured hoarsely. He pressed a fatherly kiss to the crown of Ed's head, and the boy clung tighter and tried not to cry. Hughes gently rubbed his back and held him for a long moment before reluctantly letting go.

Ed gave him a tearful grin and Hughes returned it before going to Al.

Havoc pulled Ed into a rough, one-armed embrace, and the others clapped him on the shoulder or back.

"Thanks, Boss," Havoc said seriously, eyes red and smile tired. "For trusting us."

Ed didn't think he could speak, so he just nodded.

"So what are you going to do now?" Hughes asked from over by Al.

Ed shot his empty port a wry look. "We're gonna go visit our mechanic and hope we survive the encounter," he said.

Al snorted. "I'll be just fine, Brother," he said smugly. "I'm not the one who broke his automail again."

"Oh, shut up!"

Mustang raised one eyebrow. "Should I be concerned?"

"No," Ed griped. "Winry's just an obnoxious gearhead who should just go ahead and marry her automail already since she loves it so much."

There was a round of laughter at that, and Mustang dismissed them all soon after.

"Edward," he called softly, just as the boy was about to leave.

He obligingly walked back over to the desk.

"Yeah?"

Mustang was looking at him weird. "Don't you forget them," he said softly. "I've heard that before. You've said that before, to me. Haven't you?"

Ed felt his eyes widen. "Nope," he said, spinning and starting to march away. "Never said it before in my life."

"I meant what I said," Mustang said softly, and Ed froze.

"What?" he croaked, twisting back around.

Mustang was looking at him weird again, all soft and warm and—and—and like Hohenheim should have.

"What I said about you, that day," the Colonel said, stepping around his desk. "Being proud of you. I meant it. And now, knowing what you are…"

Ed lowered his head, waiting for the rejection.

Knew it.

"…I am somehow even prouder."

Ed's head shot up, mouth open and eyes wide.

Mustang offered him a little smile.

"Like Hughes said: You're a better man than we are, Edward Elric." Mustang nodded to him and started to move back behind his desk, and Ed's mouth ran away without his permission again.

"Lahan," he blurted, and then could have stabbed himself in the foot.

Mustang went stiff, leading Ed to believe that he knew the weight and significance of what he'd just done.

"Lahan," the boy repeated, not sure why he wanted this man to know who he really was in a way that his own father had never wanted to.

"Lahan Jothison," Mustang said hoarsely, proving that he knew exactly what Ed had just done, how much trust he had just been given.

Ed nodded. "That's…that's my name," he said with an awkward little shrug. "That's me."

Mustang was still staring at him like he'd never seen him before. "Why me?" he asked, finally seeming to regain his wits.

Ed hesitated, then swallowed hard.

"Because I meant what I said, too," he said, holding his head high. "And you might be a smug bastard who won't leave me alone about my height, and there are days when I really just wanna hit you so hard your face comes out the back of your head, but that's beside the point. The point is you stayed. You're still here. You care." He shrugged. "And that's…" he stared at the floor. "That's more than I can say for…you know. For him."

There was silence for a long moment, and then Mustang's arms were going around him again and blast it all Ed was just holding on for dear life and trying not to cry. What was wrong with him today?!

"Who would have thought," Mustang muttered, voice thick with emotion but full of dry humor all the same. "The most prominent murderer of the Ishvalan people would end up all but adopting two Ishvalan street rats. The irony is beautiful."

"Oh, shut up!" Ed punched him, but nowhere near hard enough to make him let go. This was the safest Ed had felt in years. "We're not street rats."

Mustang laughed, low and warm, and rested his chin on the top of the boy's head.

"Whatever you say, Lahan," he said. "Whatever you say."

Jothi—one who removes darkness and brings in light

Ahlrik—as far as I know, it's not actually a legit name. I just made it up because it was somewhat close to Elric

Aaaqil—one who is wise or intelligent

Lahan—bright-headed one

Saajid—one who worships God

So, there's chapter one of my Ishvalan AU! I'll be doing...probably two more chapters of this.

Liked it, hated it, let me know!

And if you have any specific scenes in Brotherhood that you would like to see with an Ishvalan twist, let me know! I can definitely work it in.

Till next time!