Chapter Text
Ed looked to the sky, a full moon peeking from behind a blanket of silver clouds. Snowflakes pillowed softly onto his gold eyelashes as he gazed towards the familiar pale circle.
"Yo Truth," He whispered, "Care to explain why I'm like Pride?"
He doesn't hiss out the name in the rage he used to have, but still in remembrance of what was. The kid that was Pride— Selim, his name was Selim — grew to be an actual child. He was admittedly a bit of a little shit, but ultimately was far removed from being a homunculus. It doesn't remove the old hate or the memories of clanging armor and screeches of metal being torn asunder, however.
"I'm the shadows now, you bastard. I don't got the creepy ass eyes or the teeth, thank fuck, but why?"
The moon doesn't open the gates he knows that exist, it doesn't look back with a purple-ringed eye but he can practically hear it, the bastard chuckling metaphorically while Ed tried to deny that he knew why. Still doesn't make his new plane of existence comforting, fucker.
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, "Figures Pride would be my worst sin. We both hurt Al in our own way and got our second chances. Why I'm practically an eldritch entity attached to a goddamn city is the question, when that kid got his chance over there."
However one thing he was thankful for was young Bruce. Though their colorings were the furthest from being similar, his little one reminded him so much of Al that it hurt. They were both so shy, so quiet, so polite, and so so kind.
Ed learned so when he followed the Wayne’s on one evening, a day set apart to inspect their charities and soup kitchens. Little Bruce ( precious dear one ) would hide behind his mother's skirts or his father's legs, staring at the more unfortunate as they floundered around them. That was, until someone needed help. Ed smiled warmly as he watched the kid help an old lady pick up spilled belongings, hand a cup of soup to a subdued teenager hiding in a corner, and hug a crying, lost toddler regardless of their cleanliness. It solidified their similarities when Bruce always had eyes for the animal shelters, gravitating towards squirming kittens and grouchy old cats.
"He's not you, Al, but he's also mine." Ed smirked at the sky.
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Something happened to Bruce after he fell into the well.
Alfred had almost no trouble tucking him in when he and Martha were gone for a trip after that night, saying that Bruce conked out once the lights turned off, when before he couldn’t sleep without a nightlight. They assumed it was because he was still stressed from the "incident", but he continued to sleep in the dark for nights after.
He once would cry for a lamp or his mother, but didn’t blink an eye when a power outage left the house pitch black another night. Bruce said he felt comfortable with it now, like it was a blanket that could hide him from the scary monsters from under his bed and the bad men who wanted to kidnap him.
That’s when Martha noticed and told her husband to watch.
Thomas Wayne first thought it was tricks of the light and his overprotectiveness, left over paranoia and worry from almost losing his son to an old well. Shadows seemed to grow darker wherever Bruce ran to, the shade of a tree grasping at his feet as he played without a care in the world. The fireplace would crackle less and the city ambience quiet whenever his boy began to doze off. Birds chirped brighter and others' laughter would sound when he was excited. It was quiet when he was quiet, loud when he was loud. Blurs of gray appeared in the corners of his eyes and whenever he turned to look at what could’ve moved, his eyes landed on stone gargoyles and statues.
"What was in that well?" Martha asked one night, staring into the lit fireplace with Bruce asleep on her lap.
The fire was low and seemed to move sluggishly to a nonexistent breeze, her son's shadowed face cut in half by absolute darkness.
Thomas looked away from the curling shadow by Bruce's hands, "Nothing. It was just one of those caverns under the property. Just rock and no light."
"Well then," She hummed, stroking her boy's dark hair, "I guess 'nothing' won't harm our Bruce, dear."
"Hm."
If the room grew a tad bit warmer and the shadows danced by their feet, well, they never said anything.
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Despite the boons of being nonexistent to society and its pressures, free to take naps 24/7 and prank corrupt cops without repercussions, Ed found his eldritch instincts and greed an annoyance at best and the most terrible curse at worst.
Don’t get him wrong, it was cool to slink around in the shadows, play 2D hopscotch across the pavements, create new gargoyles whenever no one was looking, and checking in with Bruce every so often, but if he had to permanently curb his desires to watch over every single Gothamite in his damn city to his peoples’ detriment, he’s gonna have to reach the Truth itself and rip it apart. Piece. By. Piece.
The first and hopefully only time he tried to physically shadow more than one person at once, which was the kid’s immediate family plus Alfred, he woke up during New Years when last he knew, it was September .
He awoke again as he did in the beginning, more than who he was, is, and ever will be. As Gotham. He’s tall skyscrapers, fog over the canals, echoing caverns, and dirt beneath numerous feet. Gargoyles shifting wings and caves sighing with his breath anew, far from being One when he is All.
But his All felt terribly wrong.
His Gothamites ( precious, mine, hurt, pain, sorrow ) had hopelessness and apathy staining their souls, heavy and heedy like a poisonous smog clinging to their inner lights. He had no mouths like Pride and yet he hissed at the cloying oil blocking his sight, hiding his precious treasures— HIS —away from his eyes. He pinpointed Ashlyn’s ( golden chain, offered and accepted ) once bright beacon of a light as it flickered feebly, drowning in the negative emotions ( hate, jealousy, greed, bad, bad, bad— ) emanating from her fellow people, herself almost becoming a source.
No!
How had this happened when he was Scattered in those few months?
What had caused his Gothamites this much pain and despair?
He gathered his All and made himself One.
Ed burst out of stone and shadow with a heaving gasp, feeling an oily bile at the back of his throat. Bending over with a dry heave, he clung to an alley wall and tried not to pass out ( Scatter ) again. He nearly came apart at that moment, wanting to crawl out of his own skin ( it’s too tight, he’s tiny, he’s too small— ), but held it together as he tried not to hurl.
“Wh-what the f-fuck?” He gasped into the air, “H-how the shi-shit did I p-pass out? I’m a city for f-fucks sake! Wh-why does everything f-feel so shitty? Fuck I n-need to check—”
Bruce .
No, no, no not Al—the kid!
He stumbled into the shadows, melting away into nothing but a streak of black darting from shade to shade in the dim moonlight. Dodging headlights and lit windows, he sped straight for Wayne Manor, crossing from the cityscape to forested ground as leaves flew in his wake. He catapulted from his kid’s favorite oak tree and into the dark home, barely noticing the lack of something— someones —important in his rush.
His shapeless shadow swirled around in confusion, peeking under doors and through windows until he double-took at the sight of a pinprick blackhole residing in the master bedroom.
Ed had to physically stop himself from tearing the impossible thing another hole as he came to a slow, horrifying realization, stepping out of the shadows next to the occupied bed in a daze.
Gotham’s All told him that this was something empty, that it would consume everything and yet never change, never would be full or satisfied. Fullmetal’s One saw a tiny child curled around his mother’s and father’s favorite clothes, attempting to meld with them in his fitful sleep.
His All felt the cool absence of two lights taken before their time. His One realized that they had died protecting what mattered most.
“Oh Bruce,” Ed shakily laid a gloved hand over a little one, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
He should’ve been there. He should’ve paid attention to the darker parts of his people. He should’ve protected his light. His little light which woke him up from his All to find his One. To find Edward Elric.
“I owed them, kid.” His fingers melted into the little one’s clenched fist, “For trying to make everyone brighter, for all that they did to make me better for my people, and for creating such a light like you. Like my Al.”
His subtly glowing eyes looked back at the kid’s soul, “Though you might have lost it… for now.”
His All says it's impossible to satisfy that emptiness, that all consuming soul. His One takes a spiritual shot, does a flip, and says ‘watch me’.