I love crossovers. XD

This story is set not too long after the Conqueror of Shamballa movie (which means that it follows the 2003 anime, so in case you haven't watched it and don't want to be spoiled, you may want to turn back for now).

So anyway, as the FMA Wikia tell me that the movie was set in 1923 Germany, this fic is set tentatively around 1924. We're talking about post-WWI but pre-WWII Germany, where the country had just gone through a bout of terrible hyperinflation but was on the road to recovery thanks to new policies being implemented. But unrest still remains and war looms in the horizon. And that is where our characters meet.

"Lil' young to be drinking, aren't you?"

Edward narrowed his eyes at the nosy newcomer. If there was one thing he hated, it was people commenting on his age. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of pure white hair on a man who looked just a few years older than him, and when the other turned to him again his amused gaze was crimson red. He heard Alphonse next to him suck in a sharp breath. Still he reined back his shock quickly by covering it with annoyance.

"I'm nineteen," he snapped, and took a challenging swig without breaking the other's gaze. He slammed the glass mug back down. "And even if I wasn't, I don't see how it's any of your business."

"B-Brother..." Alphonse murmured worriedly, ever-exasperated by his brother's rudeness.

But instead of taking offense, the stranger's grin widened. "I like you, kid. Old man, another round for me and the young man over here!" He leered over Edward's shoulder. "And for your brother over there as well?"

Al stuttered a little at the sudden attention. "Ah, I don't drink, but thank you very much, sir."

The man's smile turned a little kinder. "Something non-alcoholic for the boy then," he told the bartender as he came over with two beers. He waved off Alphonse's protests. "Don't worry about it, my treat. And none of that 'sir' business, I'm not that old."

They fell into a companionable silence after that, a contrast to the boisterous atmosphere around them.

And perhaps he ought not to pry, but even though Edward had resigned himself to returning here, knew that he ought to accept his fate, part of him still pined for any connection to the world he had left behind. He knew that Al felt the same, maybe even more so, for he felt the younger fidgeting in his seat, shooting curious looks at their odd new companion every now and then.

"Did you come from the Other Side as well?" he couldn't help the quiet question that passed his lips.

The man shot him a look that passed so fast he almost felt like he imagined it. The other laughed casually as he signaled to the bartender for another beer. "That supposed to be some hip code or something? Seems like I need to catch up with the times." But the eyes that watched Edward were a little too sharp and wary.

Edward decided to cut to the chase. "Do the terms Ishvalan and Amestris mean anything to you?"

"Don't have any idea what you're talking about, kid." The other man's face had turned serious, façade dropped. "And I don't know what kind of shit you've gotten involved in, but you're too young to be throwing your time away on things like this."

A dull disappointment weighed heavily in Edward's heart. From his response, he really knew nothing of their world. And now it seemed like he thought they were some left-wing activists or something. Well, he could believe what he wanted, but-

Edward's eyes narrowed again. "We're not kids."

The man snorted into his glass. "Hmm, that so? Adults, aren't you? All grown up and ready to fight the world." There was something frighteningly self-deprecating in the man's smile, and it made Edward hold his tongue for a moment.

A commotion starting nearby made the man frown and turn. "Scheiße," he muttered. "Looks like a fight."

Time to leave, then. Edward drained the rest of his beer and stood, tossing a few coins on the table. "Let's go, Al."

"Okay, brother." Alphonse obediently followed suit, but had to duck back to avoid colliding with a tipsy passerby.

"O-Oi kid, watch out!" Caught up with apologizing to a man he had bumped into, Alphonse didn't notice when one of the brawling men stumbled and lost control of the heavy glass bottle in his hand.

There was a sickening crunch of glass breaking. Edward's heart almost stopped. "AL!"

"Ow… Ow, ow, ow, verdammt, that was a stupid thing to do," the white-haired man grumbled. "Hey kid, you alright there? Come on, let's get out of here."

Without waiting for a reply from the shocked Al, he grabbed the boy's wrist and pulled him towards the door. Edward followed quickly, heart still pounding in his chest. It only began to slow as they broke out of the noisy throng onto the mercifully quiet street outside.

"Thank you for saving me," Alphonse said sincerely, a sentiment that Edward echoed.

The man just smiled and waved it off. "It's nothing, I couldn't just sit back and let a good kid like you get hurt."

In the brighter lighting of the street lamps, they could see now that the man was much paler than any Ishvalan would be, an almost translucent hue to his skin. But that was rapidly forgotten in favor of how the blood seeping rapidly from the uneven gash in his forehead was painting his face into a ghastly image.

Al, as expected, panicked. "You're bleeding!"

The man raised a hand to his head, almost as if he hadn't noticed it before. "What, this? Nah, it's nothing. I've got a harder head than you, I'll be fine."

"It's not nothing!" Alphonse protested, voice going a little high from shock. "You could have a concussion! You could bleed to death, with the rate it's going!"

Edward smiled a little as he watched his sweet worrywart of a brother fuss over the man, then frowned in concern as he took a closer look. The wound really did look rather deep. An average man should have felt at least a little woozy with that amount of blood loss, or may even have collapsed by now, but this man was just waving off Alphonse's fluttering with resigned patience.

The strange man sighed at Al's fussing. "Look, kid, if you insist I'll let you wrap some bandages around my head, alright? But it's not as bad as you think, so relax. See, it's stopped bleeding already."

And indeed it had, to the brothers' disbelief. There still was an alarming amount of blood scattered over his person, but it was clear that fresh blood no longer oozed from the gash. He waved a casual blood-stained hand. "What did I tell you? It'll heal in no time."

No. No matter what the man said to try to convince them that it had been a shallow cut, he had seen for himself that it was not. Wounds like that did not 'heal in no time'. Not for humans. But for those people… Hadn't he witness instant regeneration with his own eyes?

Edward shot a sharp look at the stranger, his form going tense. His stance shifted a little, wishing not for the first time that he still had Alchemy to draw upon. But if the need arose he could probably distract the man long enough for at least Alphonse to get away. Feeling Edward's eyes on him, the red-eyed man slowly shifted his gaze up.

The look in those blood red eyes almost made him take a step back, but he stood his ground. His brother was right next to a potentially dangerous individual and he couldn't let his guard down. But his mind couldn't help spin in thought.

Because he had seen those eyes before, on Hohenheim. They were the eyes of someone who had lived too long, seen too much. But what did this mean? How could a man like Hohenheim exist in this world of metal and machinery, where alchemy was no more than a myth?

Alphonse placed a hand on his arm. "Brother…" He sighed and relaxed his stance. This man had saved Alphonse, after all. No matter what he really was, he had displayed nothing but kindness to them so far.

The man's slightly scratchy voice cut through their silent exchange. They looked over to see him attempting to mop up some of the blood with his sleeve. "You two aren't actually from around here, are you?"

The brothers glanced at each other again, uncertain. That seemed to be answer enough for the man.

"Thought so. I don't know where you're from or what you're doing here, but I can tell you don't belong in this place." He paused, and suddenly he looked much older and weary. "I don't really want to say this, but listen, if you'd be willing to take some advice, I say get out of here while you can. And by that I mean out of this country. Sure, everything looks all fine and dandy now, 'Goldene Zwanziger' they're calling it," (a derisive snort told them that he held no stock by the name), "But I'll be honest with you here. Something stinks in Europe, and I wouldn't advise sticking around for it. Get to America if you can, otherwise Switzerland. Knowing that stubborn Swiss bastard, they'll stay neutral no matter what happens."

There was something strange about the way he had said that last bit, but the brothers ignored it. They had enough secrets of their own to know better than to pry into others'.

"How about you?" Because Al had a feeling that if they left this person behind, something terrible would befall on him. And when he saw something in the man's eyes change, it was clear that he knew it himself and it was reflected in the wryness of his smile.

"Not me, I can't leave. But you two, you're not tied to anything here. You don't deserve to be caught up in a mess not of your making." His gaze was sincere. "You don't have to do as I say. I just wanted to make sure you know that you have a choice."

The Elric brothers shared another glance before Alphonse turned back to the stranger. "We'll think about it. Thank you."

He gave them a small, rather tired smile. "That's all I expect from you right now." He straightened and stretched. "Well, the awesome me shall be off now! Places to go, people to meet, you know!" They could help but smile. The cockily smirking man who had met them at the bar was back at full throttle. "Oh wait." The man rummaged in his pockets for something. "Here, take this."

Edward stared at the coin pouch that had been placed in his hand. "This - ! We can't accept something like this!"

Alphonse nodded beside him, eyes wide. "You've done so much for us already!"

The man shook his head as the blond tried to give it back, grinning roguishly. "Another piece of advice: don't question when people give you things. Prussian generosity ain't easy to gain, mind."

"But why? Why are you helping us?"

The older man rolled his eyes. "Didn't I just tell you not to question it? But if you must know, I have a little brother too. You guys just reminded me of him."

"I… Thank you. Really."

The red-eyed man's smile had gained a fond tinge. "That's the way. Wasn't too hard, was it?" He ruffled Alphonse's hair casually with his clean hand, and laughed aloud when Edward swatted the hand away from his own head half-heartedly. The man turned and strolled away, hands in pockets. He was almost at the end of the street before the brothers recalled something.

"Hey!" Edward yelled after him. "We didn't get your name!"

"Didn't give it!" was the cheeky reply. "Good luck, kids!" With a jaunty wave the man was gone in the distance.

They did leave for America after that, using the money the man gave them to pay their fare. They heard of the War from across the seas, but decided mutually not to get involved even when their new home called men to arms. They had found a place as mechanics in a small town, and even though it wasn't exciting like their adventures had been, it was peaceful and they appreciated that.

"I wonder if that man is alright."

Edward pretended to be nonchalant as he unscrewed a broken radio to open it up, but he also felt the same worry as his brother about their wayward benefactor. "I'm sure he's fine. He didn't look like the type who would go down without a fight."

"I know…" Alphonse sighed as he turned to stare blindly out of the window at the grey skies. Sometimes he felt like he could hear the fighter jets whizzing across overhead, and wondered what it was like in Berlin. "And that's what I'm afraid of."

They returned to Germany briefly after the war, many years later, but never saw the red-eyed man ever again.

All they found was a crumpled blond man sobbing against the wall that had cut through his heart.