Fullmetal Alchemist, Naruto 1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The terrible news that Leaf is destroyed by the Akatsuki arrives just as this joint team trudge to the walls of Sand. By the significant drooping in their shoulders, he can see that the genin of both villages are greatly saddened at the awful news. The six young ones bravely face the Kazekage as he looks over them from the great tower's balcony.

The report of the successful raid in his hand, he reads what the team leaders, both jonin, have to say of the bandit stronghold they discovered at the border. His face is as ever an expressionless mask, but even he despises what the bandits really were: slave traders.

It doesn't take him long to reach the village hospital that the group is heading to.

He watches with his arms folded over his chest as the large scroll in unrolled onto the hospital tile. The calloused hand of the lead jonin smacks onto the seal, and as the sudden poof of smoke slowly disperses, the first thing he notes is the fact that the wrists of this liberated slave are chained with a bar between, keeping the hands well apart.

He eyes the thin shivering form of a pale long haired boy dressed in a ragged pair of breaches, and he carefully notes at the many tiny, round intricate tattoos that vaguely remind him of seals.

"We found him this way, Kazekage."

Gaara nods. He can see with his own eyes why the jonin considered the boy a possible missing nin. Gaara mind whirls, assessing the dangers to Sand that this skeletal boy represents.

"Extremely low chakra." The Leaf jonin adds in a dull tone. "we suspect certain narcotics are in his blood stream, but further tests will need to be done to verify this."

"I think he struggled mightily before he was overwhelmed.." One of the genin supplies.

"Or he was tortured." Another says darkly.

Gaara narrows his eyes, watching as the boy jerks his arms forward hard as if unaware, or uncaring, that they are bound behind his back. The genin gasp, and there is a flurry of hand signs.

He watches the lids of the boy rise, revealing irises of shocking gold. No, he corrects himself, fever bright and highly unfocused.

Before any jutsu takes effect, the boy arches his back and kicks out, rolling heedlessly upon his bound limbs onto his back for a sweeps his legs at them all in a wild sort of taijustu, and all the genin, being the ones nearest, just manage to dodge out of the way of the mad strike. The boy's left foot breaks uselessly through a sturdy wall.

"Low chakra." Repeats the jonin. Gaara moves on as the mednin descend on the feverish boy. Even with his foot stuck in the wall, it takes ten to pin him. Once immobile, two attempt to tend to the limb jammed in the wall. As they pull the foot free, the dull shine of metal glints in the hospital light.

The boy struggles so wildly, so blindly, that it takes even more to move him to a proper bed for any sort of treatment. Gaara wonders if the boy has entirely lost his wits as he sees the many scars about the boy's torso. Who knew how long the slavers had him.

Gaara listens to whispers as the mednins list off the many challenges to the boy's well-being: Severely infected gashes. Puncture wounds. It takes a day for medical nins to successfully reverse the poison they had found coating a sebon embedded in a particularly long scar that snakes it's way around the right shoulder. They stab many needles into his arms, dripping charka stabilizing solutions into his bloodstream. Gaara approves of all the measures taken, knowing that they are necessary if they are to please whatever village the boy calls home.

Days pass. Gaara paces restlessly, absently reading through a chart that says the boy's chakra never seems to rise very far, as if the body is burning chakra as fast as it develops. The head mednin speculates that perhaps the boy is dying. Gaara nods and trusts them with their task.

He considers the boy a threat no longer, and he has paperwork awaiting his signature back in his tower. The village has done all that could be expected of it for such a situation.

Days later, Gaara reaches a lull in the mounds of papers. He long since assumed the boy had passed on, but could not suppress the urge to go for a simple walk. He relishes in the warm desert breeze that brushes his skin. It is one of many feelings he has now that Shukaku was violently taken from him.

The imposing building which holds the hospital goes nearly unnoticed in his pondering, and before long, Gaara wanders by the boy's door. He widens his eyes slightly at the crashing sound within.

With a glance, he sees the boy is still alive. The dripping of tubes on the floor set off all sorts of screeching alarms and ringing bells. As the red light above the bed flashes, the hall fills with the pounding of sandaled feet. Several mednins rush by Gaara, and he realizes he is staring at the spectacle.

As he watches, the blond struggles upright, working his scrawny neck and jerking halfway out of the bed in spite of the fact sturdy leather straps lie across his torso. Or rather, used to, as the boy is so thin that Gaara can see he has managed to slip from under them. Progress is only halted by the remaining tubing stuck in his arms. The boy rather resembles a proper puppet he thinks, dangling over the floor for a few breathless moments before the golden head wobbles about with a face contorted in confusion. Boney hands paw at the many tubes at first, and then one hand firmly grabs with a white knuckled fist. The mouth grimaces, and the lanky arm yanks hard.

"Oh! Lord Gaara.. Kazekage..!" Gaara gives a small wave to calm the girl who stumbled into him in her rush to help the other mednins.

"The boy lives.." Gaara prompts.

"Y-yes." The mednin stutters. "It seems that.. Um. E-even without chakra, he's stronger than he looks."

Gaara lifts is gaze to the boy. Long golden hair is dulled down to brown, and slicked down. His sweat covered face is red and twisted in fury as the boy yells out things that Gaara doesn't recognize.

The mednins yell back.

"Shut up!"

"Stop that!"

"Idiot!"

Fever bright golden eyes slide about. The boy pants. A heartbeat later he yells out something else.. vowels harsh and a great mouthful to his ears. Another language Gaara supposes.

Three mednins pin down the left leg, and Gaara hears the chilling rattle of chains, perhaps slipping under the warm blankets. The boy arches his back and squirms under the grasp of the med-nins once more as he is manhandled back under the leather straps.

During a fleeting, lucid moment, Gaara strides into the human maelstrom to stand before the foot of the bed. It takes a few moments, but the boy's bright gaze settles warily upon him, and the wildly swinging limbs slow. The mednins snap down a new strap across the boy's bandaged chest, and tentatively lift their hands. The boy scowls down at the restraint, and pants from his enormous, ultimately useless struggles. He then glares at Gaara, and waits.

The mednins back away, stepping to the wall. Some flinch as if expecting Gaara to lash out in anger with his sand, even though he is plainly not angry in the least.

"You do not understand what I am saying, do you?" Gaara says emotionlessly, arms folded across his chest.

The boy continues to glare, but Gaara watches the flickering expressions on the boy's face. Distrust wars openly with confusion and, yes, more than a bit of fear. Gaara can work with fear.

Gaara then gestures to himself, and says "Gaara."

The stranger's golden eyes focus slightly, and Gaara supposes they linger on the Kanji, "love", carved onto his forehead. With a nearly unnoticeable jerk of his chin, the boy says, "Ghaaahaaarha." As if tasting the word.

Gaara replaces his arm into his fold, and stares at the boy in expectation.

The boy swallows, and pants a few more times before passing his glare about the room with an air of displeasure. He then glares back at the Kazekage, and in a huff, grunts something the sounds like "id."

"Id-" Gaara says experimentally, adding the affectionate"- kun" to the end. It was a strange name, if it was a name.

The boy shakes his head slightly. Gaara wonders if that's a no.

"Ed." The boy says firmly.

Gaara nods.

00000

Freezing hotly so hard he shivers. The deep aches in his port cry out, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight against the onslaught of infinite knowledge spilling through his mind. Gripping grasping black hands of the gate hold him, wrap around him uncomfortably tight, and he struggles and squirms. The noise of all languages roars his ears full, but he understands none of it. It scours away who he is and he's afraid.

Alone. So alone.

Stray hands, no fists, struck the side of his face hard, and he landed on something so solid he's breathless.

Wait. This isn't right...this isn't..  
This isn't that place.

He breathes in. Breathes out. Cracks open his eyes. He is in the world, he can see that. But something's not right. A fuzzy white haze creeps into his vision.

There was a boot near his face, and he followed it upwards to the face of the bald man speaking the nonsense. Why was he speaking nonsense? There was another beside the man, one with longer hair, and he decided he didn't much like the look of that leering smile.

He hears the clinking rattle of metal on metal as he tries to curl in on himself, but something prevents him. A piece of himself rises to the muddy soup of his mind, and he briefly sees the beauty of the shining blue pattern that appeared before devastation came to the world at his command.

The earth rose in great towering spikes, and dust billowed. He couldn't see his two attackers, but he felt the single pinprick at his right shoulder before darkness took the world away. Soupy mottled gray wisps of garbed language blend with shifting lyrical voices.

He dragged his feet as he was pushed along roughly from his left shoulder, his arms prickly numb and bound apart behind his back. He can't remember ever hitting the ground, but he figures that at some point he had to have. His mouth is full of what feels like cotton.

Where?

He doesn't want to think of how much time has.. has he lost? For some reason, time seems terribly important, and his breath catches in his throat. He shifts his pounding head against the soft.

Pillow?

Light stabs pounding pain into his eyes, and he does his best to swing mad vengeance at the world. One of his fists connect with something soft, and the other strikes some thin sort of metal pole. There is a clatter he registers distantly, then a definite pounding on hard tile. Ringing bells and alarms attack his ears. He swoons his way upright anyway. Soon after, unwelcome grasping hands pin him to the board of the mattress, and he snarls his displeasure.

Swirling vertigo jumbles colors together much like a garbled language, and solidifies into a pattern of red bloody scars. The expressionless face of a boy wavers into his sight. He doesn't remember learning to read exactly, but he knows the crude tattoo on the forehead says "love". He thinks it looks very weird, and it strikes him that it's an odd thing to have carved into ones skin.

Another piece of himself rises in his exhaustion. He can't move much beyond shivering at this point, but he knows now that he has a name. It is Edward Elric.

The "love" carved "Gahraah" lingers in the room, but Ed drifts off uneasily into muddled slumber in spite of his tremendous effort to keep his eye lids open.

Days pass, marked by the rising and setting of a golden light he can see through the tiny squares high up on the thick wall. Little disturbs him here. It is peaceful and warm.

He hears and understands a few words. "Slave" seems familiar as the cotton wool of his mind knits itself into a semblance of order, and Ed mulls through what he has experienced upon returning to the world as he stares listlessly at the unkind intrusion of tubes and needles in his bound arms.

He breathes in the antiseptic smell that identifies this place as a sort of hospital, but beyond that..? Hazy recollections of the bare wood of the stage he stumbled upon, and the striking sound of the gavel give rise to a nagging horror.

That was a market. A slave market. He must have been sold as a slave. The more he thinks of it, the more it rings true. He feels the deep rage rise from his belly at the sheer indignity of not being in control over his own self.

He clenches his hands.

He watches the pattern flow around him to pass the time. The metal of the headband seems to be the only identifying real feature of any kind uniform here, and people have it on in the oddest of places while fluttering in and out of his room. Sometimes it's tied about their heads as the things was clearly intended, sometimes draped upon a belt, or wrapped about a wrist.

A girl enters the room, carrying a tray of broth. His stomach recoils from the beefy smell. He eyes her loose sleeve, and notices how oddly rigid the cotton looks. It reminds him of something, a memory of someone that is frustratingly just out of reach. He pathetically presses himself back into the furthest corner of the bed as she sets the tray on the nearby table with a falsely kind smile stretching her lips.

Like with the red scar, he doesn't know how he knows. Visions of a sharp knife, or more likely many knives, rise from the murky depths of his unconsciousness as he eyes that sleeve. That such sharp deadly things are kept handy, and well hidden upon her body while she works at hospital of all places disturbs his sensibilities. Over the hours of quietly watching, he finds that she is not the only one with such devices.

He duly notes the threat for what it is, and coolly calculates that he is too weak to try for a go. The fever has him shivering again, and he impatiently clenches his teeth to wait until the time is right.

He will not be anyone's slave. At least not for long.

00000

Gaara sits at the large round table and folds his hands before him as his most trusted advisors speak.

"On the matter of the freed nin, I believe the language barrier to be nothing but an act." The older council man says solemnly as he flips through the mednin's report. "That left leg is very like what the Village Hidden in Sound had installed in their chunin."

Gaara listens, and nods before he slides his eyes to Temari.

"Golden eyes are very rare, and the only nin known to have had them was the Snake Sannin." She says with a narrowed gaze. "Perhaps he is related in some way.."

"..or he was experimented on. Orochimaru was well known for his body modification techniques. If this child is a missing nin from there, then he would be a valuable commodity..." Interrupts their old teacher.

Gaara is expressionless as he rises to his feet, and shoulders his gourd.

"As always, I will take your concerns under advisement. " Gaara says and lifts his gaze to Kankuro. "However this matter can wait until after the Kage Summit is over."

"Yeah, I suppose that you're right. Even after all the drugs they've pumped into him, he has next to no chakra." Kankuro says with a confident shrug. "What kind of damage could he do if that poison's left him too weak to even stand, much less gather chakra?"

Gaara turns from the table, a silent action which wordlessly adjourns the meeting. He entrusts the council with the protection of the village as he accompanies his siblings to the balcony, and with chakra enhanced strength, leaps off the edge into the setting sun.

00000

His nose itches, and Ed wrinkles it up in a feeble attempt to stop the incessant tickle. By instinct his muscles twitch, and to his astonishment, his fingers scratch his irritated skin.

He awakes to dull darkness, and mindful of the many tubes in the tender skin, carefully rubs his right wrist with his left hand in wonder. He feels the rough binding on his arms, but the straps that were looped to the bedside hang loose.

He listens to the silence, and idly watches a leaf of paper fluttering on the bedside table. The paper looks anointed with many mysterious markings, and he reaches for it. His blood pounds in his ears as he lifts it to his face. In the shadows, he can make out the stained rings from someone's beverage on the forgotten sheet, but the orderly scribbles remain a mystery.

He pulls himself up to sit, and not unexpectedly, the world spins. The alarms remain silent, and the halls beyond his closed door whisper quiet nothings. With a determined grimace, he tries to swing his feet over to stand.

He tugs against something, and hears the muffled clinking of metal beneath the sheets as he scowls. He lifts the bedding and scoots down to the end. His ankles are bound, but the knots about the living flesh of his right are easy enough to untie. He then turns his attention to the chain, feels the structure with his bare hands, and looks deeper.

"Simple ...iron and aluminum.." He mutters, and touches his fingers together.

The pattern shines brightly in his mind and the tiny crackle of the discharge as he cut through the metal lights up the room for a heartbeat. He holds his breath at looks to the door.

He has no idea what time it is, but judges it is late enough to be past the night watch's last round. He grasps an irritating tube, and gently pulls the dripping needle free. By the forth one, his clumsy fingers fumble at the terrifying sight. His breath quickens as he continues the horrible, necessary task. Needles... Why always needles..?

An alarm rings out and he hunches down. He grabs a handful, just yanks, and slides to his wobbly feet. He sways as the world pounds and spins at once. He takes one step on the cold tile. Then another. The world tilts, and he bangs hard against the side table.

His gut freezes as he hears a click of metal at the door, and leans on his hands as he blearily watches the plane of wood on the wall swing inwards.

He takes a breath, slaps his hands together, and with a wild guess, slams both palms against the nearest wall. The pattern shines so brightly in his head that he grins. He has guessed correctly.

An eldritch wind rises up from below and blows his long curtain of golden hair clear off his neck. Flashes of blue lightening dance through the air, and he sees panicked faces looking on past the door. He no longer has to worry much about not being able to stand. The floor beneath him rumbles and shifts, and like a tidal wave, envelope him in the cool darkness of his own making, tunneling his way downward, towards his freedom.

00000

Baki shakes his head in dismay as he reads through the report, and then raises his gaze to the genin before him. He keeps his face still, like an unreadable stone, as he watches the young man. Baki can see the sweat beading on the smooth brow as the silence bloats the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room to intolerable levels for the young mednin currently under hard scrutiny.

"...and then he.. He just melted the wall.." The genin completes, then studies his toes sticking out of his sandals with great interest.

"Sensor nins have been searching the hospital grounds for the small golden one since his medical equipment set off alarms a day ago." One of the council members provides. "He could be out of the village by now."

Baki graces the man with a cursory glance with his one visible eye, but turns his full attention back on the young mednin.

"Is that all..?"

"..um y-yeah."

"Thank you." Baki says firmly. "You may go."

As the council door swings closed with the nin's departure, the incessant buzzing of worried whispers fills the room.

"I've seen the surveillance tapes. It looked like Lord Gaara's sand technique except for all the lightening..." A council member supplies.

"A lightening technique that manipulates sand..?" Baki hears another say incredulously. He chews his bottom lip as he considers the implications of such a notion. None of them are very good.

"So he is a missing nin after all." Baki says gravely, and feels the weight of eyes as the council's attention settles upon him. He allows the silence to stretch a few breaths as he slides his eye about the room, then folds his hands before his chin.

"To be able to combine those two elements, I think perhaps he possesses a kekkei genkai that interested Orochimaru at one time. To have the skill to hide his true chakra amounts so well as to fool even the most experienced mednin, the boy is obviously a highly skilled nin. Likely a jonin."

"A Sound jonin? I've never heard the like." On council member comments.

"Whatever he is, I for one consider him a huge security risk to the village that we can't afford to have. He needs to be found and detained. Immediately." Another says with a pounding fist on the table.

"What is your decision, acting Kazekage?"

Baki rises to his feet and says.

"I will alert the hunter nin."

00000

In an empty heartbeat, Ed starts, and jerks awake. He listens to his own panting breath, and widens his eyes to warm velvety darkness. Slowly, he works out what happened, and finds he is glad he has no eyes on him. No one needs to know that he passed out while in the midst of a dramatic escape.

His stomach knaws his spine, sending queasy dizziness to his pounding temples as he tries to move within his small... SMALL?.. Not small!.. chamber. He created it for himself, he knows. It does not make it small.

Of course you passed out. Idiot. You haven't eaten for..! How long? The answer flutters from his grasp on butterfly wings. How much time has passed anyway?

He wrinkles his nose in disgust at himself. Fool! All transmutations take their toll on the body! What use will you be for.. For...

His spinning thoughts come to an abrupt halt, grasping the name that feels as important.. No.. More important. Than even his very selfhood.

Al. Alphonse. He fists his shaking hands, forcing them to be still. The name tastes sweet on his tongue.

Where is he..?

Where am I?

He mentally kicks himself to his unsteady feet, and breathes in fresh air as he sways. He marvels that he managed to make an air hole before the embarrassing black out. It's within easy reach, as wide as two of his knuckles, and he sees light shining like a small star from it. He holds his breath and presses one of his eyes close to the life-giving opening.

All is still in the room beyond, and he can clearly see a draping cloth hanging from what looks like a hook on a smooth wall. He sniffs in the air experimentally, analyzing it carefully for any clues. He exhales his disappointment at the antiseptically clean odor.

Still in that damned hospital, then. Can't do anything right, can I?

With a self-deriding snort, he eyes the rooms beyond carefully.

His patience thins as his quivering straining muscles force him to lean on the curve of the rough sandstone ..no ..Transmuted.. sandstone wall. He sees no movement in the room, and grits his teeth to steel himself. He has no choice but to chance it, and hopes he doesn't faint from the strain of the reaction this time.

He touches his palms together, and presses his hands against the rough stone. Warmth fills his being, and the bright discharge dances harmlessly up his arms, momentarily blinding him. He holds his breath as he hurriedly blinks away the afterglow.

Icy fear grips him for a breath, and his shaking muscles tense. He darts his eyes around.

He sees a closed door in the far wall, and realizes his luck is holding. He tilts his head in silent observation of the room: smooth sticks attached to stringy masses; more draping cloth, hanging upon hooks; the odd empty bucket; bottle after bottle capped on the floor. He reasons why he is alone in this room, and allows a corner of his mouth to lift.

After all, in a hospital, who would bother to occupy a supply closet?

He shambles unsteadily towards the welcome door, but leans heavily on a wall before he turns the knob. He looks down at his hospital garments then considers the cloth hanging on the wall at his side.

They will likely be looking for a patient, he reasons, and narrows his eyes. It's best that I don't look like one. He recalls the loosely fitting garments of his captors, and pulls down a long tunic off the hook with clumsy fingers. He judges he can figure out how the strange clothes should go together.

As he peels off his thin hospital shirt, he winces at the twinge he feels throughout his right shoulder and arm. He glances down, and widens his eyes at the seeping dark stain on the large white bandages taped to his skin.

"What the shit happened to me..?" He says softly.

00000

Ed cracks the door open, and let his gaze sweep the hall beyond. He coolly observes the ebb and flow of people dressed in shades of tan and brown clustering here and there within his limited range of vision. He notes a great many gather about what looks to be a desk at the end.

He widens his eyes at weird headbands upon the foreheads of those suddenly rounding the corner, and eases himself back into the closet. A few heat beats later, he hears the rustle of paper and catches a bare glimpse of rather hurried strides. He lets out a breath.

Good. He thinks. They didn't notice me.

He swallows his bile and tastes a supremely awful flavor. He makes a face. His mind helpfully supplies that the nastiness in his mouth is from one thing. He wrinkles his nose and reasons that the tube in his nose had to have been filled with the stuff, especially if he hadn't been eating for a while. It's only logical, he thinks. Feed someone milk when they've been starved.

But... Cow juice? They fed me cow juice for how long..?

He spits the flavor out and shudders, roughly pushing the thought away as too nasty to think about. He then leans the back of his head back to rest on the wall, and winces at the painful complaint of his many wounds.

The sound of metal shattering to a hallow nothing where he feels the very real solidness of his right arm fills his ears with a ghostly whisper. He flexes his right hand and feels his nails bite into his palm over and over. Faint visions of unkind metal rods sticking through his left bicep follow, and he finds he can't breathe. As though he is pinned down, his heart flutters, then pounds in his chest, and he longs to just-move!

He takes in a startled breath at the phantom sensation of the stabbing, restraining, pain, and with a feral growl, pushes his arms free away from the flat surface at his back.

He stumbles, kicking a metal pail with an unfeeling left toe. The empty container clangs noisily against the wall, and in his panic, he backpedals past the unresisting door.

Stunned at his own stupidity, he barely manages to stay upright on his wobbly legs in the hall. He peers about its brightness with hutched shoulders. He sees startled eyes rising to meet his. The one behind the desk only lifts his gaze slightly before taking another sheet from a great pile set before him and looking to the group standing there with a blithely bored expression on his face.

He glances at his unfeeling left leg, searching the dead limb for any hint of the shine of metal through the bloody bandages. Finding none, one corner of his mouth rises.

"Bakka."

He stiffens at the venom of the tone more than the unfamiliar word.

He darts his eyes to the voice and sees a girl sitting on a bench. Her dark eyes flare coldly as she folds her arms, and she leans back against the bench. He's watching her familiar mouth frown, allows his shoulders to relax slightly. His mind supplies a name for her, and he narrows his eyes as he tilts his head.

"Sheska..?"

She says something he can't decipher- Quite a lot of something actually, said in a hushed angry whisper. He thins his lips in a brief friendly gesture and slides eyes across the weird headband tied at her neck, and feels ice wrap about his stomach. He shakes his head slightly at the nonsense filling his ears, and raises a clumsy hand to his head to adjust the draping head piece he had found in the closet back over his scalp. He breathes in, getting a nose full of the alcoholic reek soaking his own garments.

"Matsuri desu..!" She finished at last in a hiss, and he turned his attention back to the girl. He shrugs and waves a hand over his shoulder as he turns.

He is awarded with an immediate unladylike snort. By the corner of his eye, he sees the girl turn her head away and return her attention to the papers on her lap.

Satisfied with the strength of his disguise, he raises his eyes and reads the scribbles at the top of the arch down the hall. With a lurching sort of stumble worthy of a drunkard, he makes his way to the promising warmth beyond the egress.

00000

Matsuri grumbles to herself in irritation, scratching the pen hard against the visitation papers as she wrinkles her nose in disgust. She watched the weaving strides of the departing blond. Not only was the boy obviously staggering about, but his forehead protector cloth wasn't even folded properly. Instead, it was stupidly draped over the boy's head, nearly obscuring a loosely bound, long blond pony-tail.

The nerve of some nins, she thinks, falling into the vices at so young an age!

Finally, the last of the forms filled in, she rises to her feet with a great cleansing breath.

"Can't be helped. I suppose there's no man like Lord Gaara." She says softly in admiration of her teacher.

She dutifully hands the forms to the mednin at the desk as the need to report the drunkard burns hot in her belly. She schools her face into a polite smile, putting a tight rein on her raging emotions. She knows the mednin doesn't want to deal with her irate mood, and besides, she is here to cheer up her injured friend with a surprise visit.

"What room is Sari in?" She asks.

"Room 156" comes the reply.

"Thanks."

She is halfway down the hall when she realizes she can't really place where she has seen the offensive drunkard nin before. Matsuri knows very well that Hidden Sand is not that big of a place, having lived within it all of her short life. She certainly has not met all the nins residing in the village personally, as she is only a genin, but she is sure she should know the boy somehow. She puzzles over the enigma, mind turning in slow circles which revolve about the boy's briefly seen, yet distinctive features.

A step away from her recovering comrade's door, she stops with a sudden burst clarity. She takes in a sharp breath as she turns to look over her shoulder, back to where the drunkard had gone.

"Golden irises.. " She breathes. "He had golden irises...!"

00000

Icy fingers brush down his arms and tap-dance down his spine. He repeats a series of numbers in his head, followed by names that form the basis of all reality.

Twenty. Calcium...twenty steps. Ed shivers, feeling the sweat dribbling down like tears on his cheek.

Twenty one. Scandium ..steps ..of alchemy... He clutches the dull brown tunic he wears a little tighter about his body. He blinks the stabbing brightness away from within the folds of his stolen-no, borrowed- headpiece. First step.. Understanding..

A little girl, feet bare skin, quickly dances her way across his path and into the shade provided by a smooth round awning. The shrill cries of a colicky baby in a cooing mother's bare arms. Round buildings like sculpted beehives.

A desert. He's in a desert, and dully aware that he shouldn't be this cold, shivering on such an obviously warm day, in a place filled with hot sand that he can feel beneath the thin layers of cloth wrapping his right sole.

He gasps as his shoulder roughly brushes the sandstone wall on his right, and suddenly numb fingers drop the cloth. Funny bone, he thinks, as he looks down and flexes his unfeeling fingers. It's oddly comforting to not feel them. He thinks. He places his hand against the friendly warm wall, and pushes himself more upright.

Thirty four. Thirty five..

It's far easier to make his way with his hand there to steady himself, and he glances about once more, curious.

This place is utterly unfamiliar- from the people to the style of buildings to the very smell of the street food sizzling in the air.

He senses rather than sees movement along the arcing towering wall across the way, and by instinct darts his eyes at the slight movement. He expects a chance observation- the passing flight a strange bird, or perhaps even a variety of cat he has never seen leaping upon its chosen prey..

(Oh how his Al would love the soft purrs of a cat!)

He widens his eyes in alarm at the unexpected shape of the dark shadow splayed against the blazing orange of the distant rock: Outstretched arms well behind the upright torso held aloft by pumping legs.

Eyes locked to the incredible sight of a person blithely running UP the distant great wall, his heart pounds against his ribs when he sees a glint of metal on the tiny forehead.

Ed stumbles forward hurriedly and scrambles around the rounding wall. His unfeeling left foot slips on a rolling something he somehow knows is glass, and his legs give way from beneath him. He tumbles hard, breathless, landing solidly on his back.

Head pounding in time with his racing heart, he sees more of the head banded people- this time slowly WALKING up a nearby round building.

His pride balks at the strewn refuse about him, but he drags himself behind the scant shelter from view offered. He hears the wafting of their voices, and, by the way they gesture, he concludes they are in deep discussion over something. Since there are no shouts or grabbing hands directed his way, he breathes out a breath that the something they discuss is not himself.

"What the shit.. Kind of alchemy...?" He mutters, pulling up his legs to his chest. Or is it alchemy at all? The thought winds its way through his pounding skull, and in time he owlishly watches more people wander up and down the round walls as though it was a completely natural form of travel.

"Am I in Xing..?"

Ed feels his stomach gnaw incessantly on his spine, rousing his nose to search past the miasma of old piss, puke, rotting food, and stale alcohol filling his hiding place. Wafting in with that breath, something delicious and brimming with salt and grease and oh..my..

...is that beef?

His mouth waters in eagerness as he shifts his weight. He pauses as he hears the pounding of sandaled feet, and glances behind him. A girl runs off along the street in the normal sort of way, but he waits an uncertain moment. His mind spins through the many many unknown variables to this Xing place- that gravity defying mode of transport is likely the just the tip of what he hasn't seen of what his new owners are capable of. He hazily recalls two, no three, people he is sure are from this Xing, whose faces linger just beyond the grasp of his memory, and would find him with maddening ease.

His stomach grinds painfully about his middle enough that he presses his right down to quiet it. He has to eat. He has to eat. He grits his teeth and frowns. It may mean a chance of recapture, but he has to eat.

The sky glows a cheery orange when he shifts woozily back to his bandaged feet, and leaning one hand against the curved wall to hold himself properly upright, he shuffles further down the corridor. He hopes it is away from possible view.

With each step, the noise of joyful chatter fill his ears, and he widens his eyes at the crossroads of sorts that the alley's end. Brightly colored flags with bold blocky print drape over wheeled carts and wagons lined up on either side of the wide curving street. One man dressed in what looks to be a blue bathrobe hands over colorful paper notes, and a heaping plate of steaming dumplings graces his empty hands from the one with a white apron standing within the spare shelter offered by a wagon.

It is an ordinary and familiar pattern: the way of the world. Ed sighs out a breath quickly works out what is happening; equivalent exchange in action. This must be a merchant district, he reasons, and watches the thick crowd of people bumble past.

"Fast food." Ed breathes hungrily and quickly checks the buildings for the "weird" walkers before stumbling forward into the press of bodies.

One vendor drops something on his left with a harsh tone of phrase. He hears the distinct sizzling of fat on hot grills, and eyes the sudden flames flaring up, along with the hateful scowl of the man that shakes a reddening hand. He mentally notes those words down, not entire sure just what they are but liking sentiment alone.

He eyes the lettering on the flapping fabric around him and, although it is completely unfamiliar, finds he can read it.

"Shibu shibu.." He says as he stumbles to a halt, and the sizzling beef smell jumbles the words' meaning. He wonders a moment if his frequent trips through.. Something dark. Horrible. he can't.. won't ...recall.. He shakes his head and stumbles on. Maybe he's screwed. Maybe he scrambled up his mind so much that language is beyond him now. Not that it matters much.. His palms pat the no pockets at his hips, the thin hospital bloomers hiding nothing.

The fingers of his left twitch as if expecting something heavy to be chained there.. But the fact is fact: no money means he can't buy any food. That fact floating in his brain brings up a whole new problem.

The crowd pushes him along, and he scowls up at them, noticing for the first time that most tower over him by at least a foot. He pushes past at group of such freakishly tall girls at a hearty stumble, and finds himself at wagon sagging to one side. He works out that one wheeled wooden rim shattered on a rock on the furthest side.

Ed narrows his eyes at the signs which proclaim "first comfort famous ramen", and then watches the sullen looking balding vendor dressed in a white apron and paper hat as the fellow pulls down a shade that says "closed. please come again".

Wheels are broken. His mind echoes, swirling about the fluctuations of equivalent exchange and by his calculations, he may be able to make a trade for a single serving of whatever this "ramen" is. He stumbles to the wagon to stand at the vendor's side. The vendor glares down in displeasure.

The vendor says something.

Ed points to a big bowl, and because of it supposes "ramen" is a sort of soup.

The vendor repeats the same something. Ed folds his arms and makes sure he glares right back, then darts his eyes to the crowd flowing by with a raised eyebrow.

The vendor reaches for the second blind and Ed reaches up to stop him. Ed then stretches to the tips of his toes and peers over into the open flat of the wagon. This close to the inside, he can see another- yet bigger problem- likely the true reason the vendor is closing on such a busy street.

The boxy metal stove, much like the ones each of the other wagons sport, sits away in the corner, only its shape bows outward in a no longer quite boxy manner. An obvious, gaping wound on the roundest bit splays jagged metal, and finger like shards stick into the wood just below his gaze.

Ed thins his lips and slides his eyes slyly back to the vendor, jutting his chin once more towards the large bowl.

The vendor lowers his face so that his nose touches Ed's, and he growls that same phrase that Ed is now sure means something close to "go away you fool idiot".

Ed lowers his brows, and says in a low voice.

"Alchemy."

He clamors into the wagon, squirming past the vendor's reaching hands. Kneeling before the former stove, hands pressed together as if in prayer, he juts his chin firmly again towards the bowl.

The vender's brows rise as Ed splays his fingers before the blasted metal. And rise to his hairline as the light of the reaction sparks a furious blue.

0000

Matsuri adjusts the ear piece of her radio as she half jogs down the street just beyond the hospital's entrance. Eyes darting about searchingly for the unkempt long brown tunic moving amongst the milling civilians, she then grips the rope of her only weapon. The golden eyed boy is a jonin, she reminds herself, and chews her bottom lip. What chance do I have against the likes of him? I'm only a genin...

As she expected, she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes dart upwards to the tops of the surrounding buildings and she sighs at the leaping nins that walk up and down the walls in such a casual ease. And waste of chakra. She knew well that her own pool of chakra was pathetically low, and her chakra control wasn't exactly considered adequate.

If I were a jonin...why would I ever bother staying on the ground. She thinks bitterly, and let her eyes sweep the street in defeat.

A glint low to the ground catches her eye, and she lowers her brows. She rushes over to the spot, staring in disbelief.

Oh..

A nin's forehead protector, and rather than being folded properly at all, it drapes on the ground like a discarded rag. She darts her eyes about, knowing it could only be very forehead protector the boy jonin had on when she had last seen him. An empty glass bottle of sake slowly rolls out from the dark alley she is standing in front of, clinking to a stop against a wall.

So he went this way? She thinks, and peers into the alley. Nothing moves amongst the strewn garbage for several heartbeats. Or this way..? She looks up and down the street. Did he use a time-space justu or maybe used a jutsu to jump...

As her thoughts whir through all the jonin jutsu possibilities, she carefully scoops up the discarded forehead protector, and attaches it to her belt. She then hurries off down the street to a corner where she could eye the alley entrance.

...or is this a genjutsu he cast and I'm caught in..?

With that horrifying thought, she squints her eyes closed and concentrates, focusing on the flow of chakra through her body. She takes a deep breath, and says, "Release!"

She feels her muscles shudder in protest from the disrupted chakra, but nothing changes. The street remains a street. The garbage strewn alley remains a lifeless garbage strewn alley.

"Squad leader, I think I have something." She says into the radio.

"Copy." Comes the brisk reply.

"That's...! Squad Leader!" Matsuri hears over the radio in her ear, and lowers her brows as she takes in a startled breath. "Squad Leader..!"

"Go."

"Food court! He's in food court!"

"What that close..? The hell..?" Matsuri silently agrees with the sentiment as she glowers at the lifeless alley she is watching. Just the street over..? What kind of jonin does that..? "Team check in at position one! Now."

"Where?" Matsuri hears and shakes her head in disbelief. Even though she is a lowly genin, she knows where position one is at least. Gaara, the Kage himself, had assigned numbers to all the basic landmarks of Sand years ago, for the betterment of organized defense of the village, and those same numbers were drilled into all Sand academy students.

"Sigh. Hospital roof. " Comes the reply, and Mature thinks she could hear the speaker's eyes rolling. "Newbies."

"Oh.. Shut it.. Just say what it is next time ok.! Enroute."

"Enroute." Matsuri says and gathers her chakra to the bottoms of her feet. As she sprints to the top of the hospital wall as quickly as she can, she frowns. Too slow, again! she thinks as she sees the dark forms of the hastily assigned squad squat low on the flat surface, stark against the orange light of the setting sun. She wonders briefly if they have been there for hours, and counts three: two males, one female. One of the males, curiously, wears a dark green Leaf flak jacket and forehead protector.

"Explains much." Remembering the odd question she heard. Leaf nins certainly wouldn't know Sand's defensive arrangements any more than Sand knows Leaf's. She wonders why this Leaf nin is even here, considering that Leaf was destroyed a few weeks ago. Didn't they recall all their people to help rebuild?

The woman leans low by the edge, elbow on her knees with a pair of binoculars affixed to her face. Matsuri is startled to find she wears a porcelain mask, shaped to resemble a green, snarling, saw-toothed demon with a pair of sharp horns draping down from the forehead. Such a mask, she knows, is assigned to those who specialize in the violent disposing of people. Matsuri swallows a sudden lump in her throat.

She despises violence. Greatly.

"That him..? Is that the target..?" Matsuri hears the leader say over the radio as she winds the rope of her weapon, a johyo, back into place.

"Stand by." Replies the masked woman. "The light show's definitely like what was on the vid, but.."

"But what?"

"Could be nothing. It's from that soup wagon that had the explosion this morning... The one from Leaf. The merchant might just be making repairs."

"Copy." the leader squawks over the radio. "Don't want an international incident. Get a firm visual before proceeding."

"Copy." The masked woman says, "that makes this difficult." She turns the horrible mask Matsuri's way, and Matsuri swears she is being judged under her weighty gaze. She struggles to school her face into the sturdy expression a nin should have, regardless of rank.

"Matsuri!" The woman calls out.

"Hai!"

"You were the last to see him.." The masked woman begins as she rises to her feet. Matsuri tries not to look at the unnerving porcelain mask too closely, and focuses her eyes upon the woman's forehead protector tied about her neck.

"Yes." She says.

"You reported that he called you by another name, then turned away, correct?" Before Matsuri can nod, the woman says,

"Good. We have to do this quiet."

00000

I have something to do. I did something unforgivable. It's all my fault, and it's my duty to fix it.

Ed scowls as he feels a meaty hand grasp his right shoulder. He jerks his head up off the wall, and lifts his heavy eyelids. He sees a low table before him, and frowns in his confusion. When did he ever sit down? He slides his eyes to the helpful wall that had supported his head, dully recognizing its composition as wood.

He hears a male voice grumble nearby, but fumbles the meaning of the words. Groggily, he traces the sound to its source: a man dressed in a white apron and paper hat standing before the most awesome stove he has ever seen.

Overall humanoid in form, its hunched shoulders tower over the vendor. Many spikes protrude from the back, and Ed surmises they are functional smoke stacks. He watches the vendor tentatively turn one of the ten eye-like dials on the sculpted face looming above his head, moving with care to avoid touching the jagged teeth within the gaping maw, and sharply tap a ladle against the side of a great pot. The corners of Ed's mouth tug upwards as his foggy brain recalls that the demonic metal box is his handiwork.

His hands are still free. He is still free. He lets his shoulders relax. His brother Al..

He recalls golden eyes trapped in a bony thin frame.. Brother.. No..

Before he can move, a great steaming bowl filled to the brim with slices of meat, long noodles, and a delicious smelling thin broth is set before his nose.

His gamble has paid off.

He owlishly drools in delight as his stomach roars in eagerness, and, hands on either side of the soup, darts his eyes around for silverware. Finding none, his brows meet at the bridge of his nose.

"Are you supposed to eat this with your hands..?" Ed says softly at the tasty looking puzzle. Unsurprisingly, the great bowl does not reply.

Impatiently, he picks up a slice of hot! meat with his fingertips, and just as he brings the morsel to his lips, the man loudly yells out. Ed glares at the thin pair of sticks roughly shoved into his free hand, and turns the gaze to the scowl of the vendor.

The vendor says an incomprehensible mouthful as he jabs his finger at Ed's chest. Ed frowns, turns his gaze to the sticks in his hand, and narrows his eyes.

Of course. I'm in Xing. Xingese eat with sticks. Somehow. Ed thinks, and nods once at the angry vendor as he awkwardly arranges the sticks between his clumsy fingers. I wish I learned how to use these stupid things earlier.

"Ah well." Ed mutters in a grumble of his own. "Can't be helped."

A/N: . I am llothcat, btw, but unfortunately, I can't log on to my account to update any of my stories. By the wisdom of those who keep this archive, I have this new account. Anyhow. This posting is a revision of sorts, and apologies for that. I made minor changes to this work from the original, and I think it makes a better read with less typos and all. The result is topping 8000 words! omg! Working on the continuation from here, because when I reread some of the old material, I cringed when I did not get the characters right. If you know anything about me as a writer, I'm all about characters! I even made Gaara nice! Yikes!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Matsuri peers about as she enters the food court at the far side of the street across from the hospital. People mill about the wide courtyard, and she blithely notes the doors and windows of the sizable buildings which butt against the other three sides. The wagons clutter any sort a usable walking space there, unless that is, one happens to be a nin and is able to walk up the walls. She supposes that most in the courtyard do not have that option, and that creates a problem.

Lively colors printed on robes in eye catchy shapes swim amongst the more traditional garb favoring earthy tones found in the desert terrain. Conspicuous crowds clump as if clinging to every wagon, and her ears fill with shouts of merchants making attempts to cut through the general din caused by many people babbling in a relatively small space.

She decides that the green masked ABNU is correct. This would indeed be a good place to hide, especially if a nin happens to be severely low in chakra. She remembers the prominent cheek bone of the nin in the hospital, and frowns as she begins her task.

The press of bodies forces her to shuffle along, and she darts her gaze about. She vaguely recalls the outfit the missing nin had during her brief exchange with him in the hospital, and all she manages picture in her frantic mind is a brown sort of over robe, meant for travelling about the village, and the fact that much of the ends drag on the ground. Also the wide cut, soiled bandages wrapped about the nin's feet.

The over robe seemed too big for him. She thinks as she scans the crowd. The particular shade of the coat was depressingly common enough, and the stains on the cloth it was made of were more something to make it terrible to look at, rather than something more helpful which would make its wearer stand out.

She decides to skip the search for the nin, as it would be difficult to do within this crowd. Fortunately, her team does have another lead to try.

The crowd drags her along, by wagon after wagon, and she wonders how she could ever manage to spot a wagon that had suffered an explosion in this mess of people. She lifts her hand to her ear piece, and lowers her brows as she searches for any sort of wagon damage hidden behind the well placed placard or artful draping of huge swaths of fabric. Maybe there will be a wheel blown to pieces. Perhaps an entire wagon side reduced to splinters or some sort of glaring hole that rightly should not be.

…Burn marks perhaps, she thinks hopefully as she passes a particularly busy shabu shabu cart. The bright flames war with a number of eye bleeding colors in a patron's robe, and she looks away, continuing her sweep of the area.

One wagon at the end of the way sports a set of decidedly broken wheels. One leans against the side completely off the axel in fact. Nearly spoke less; it definitely looks less wheel like than it should. There was very little rim… She thinks that's what those things are called anyway. She had never bothered to learn wheel parts in the Academy. It would be a useless subject to study for a shinobi, really. Anyway. She stops walking and narrows her eyes, watching movements in the tent area of the wagon where the canopy of the tent juts against the building. The shade of that over robe could be the right sort of drab brown, and... size of a person, that tiny size could only be…

What was his name? ah… "id" was it?

She gets shoved from behind as she presses the radio button at her ear, but she manages to listen carefully to her instructions.

Oooo

Shikamaru Nara has his hands in his flak jacket pockets as he chews the inside of his cheek. The line is a long one at this particular wagon, and to him it is no mystery why. This is Ichiban's wagon, and its ramen is famous throughout all of the shinobi nations. He takes his place in the queue and flicks his gaze to the guest canopy, set up behind the heap of a wagon. That is where the many customers are seated in some cheap bamboo chairs set before equally cheap bamboo tables, and all seem to be peacefully enjoying their bowls of ramen. He coolly eyes one table in particular, set right against the wall of an adjourning building, a task made all the easier because of the genin konoichi named Matsuri.

She approaches the lone occupant rather bravely, he thinks as he scratches at the radio wire tickling his ear. She walks behind the fellow for but a moment, but it is long enough to place the marking tag at the chair back before she moves on to another, nearby table.

What a drag, he grumbles, just because I was the only Leaf nin in Suna, they rope me to do this. From what he read of his briefing, all of this effort is because this supposed shinobi, apparently named "Id" of all things, was rescued by a team composed of shinobi from the villages of Suna and Leaf. The original mission was designed in the spirit of cooperation, and that meant he could not refuse to help out on this mission, which is considered a continuation.

Basically. It doesn't change the fact that it is still a drag, though.

Shikamaru decides to skip the long line and slouches along to the canopy. He seats himself at a table near the target's, and tries his best not to attract too much attention. As he leans his elbows onto the table top, careful not to wiggle much as he reasons the table is sure to have a less than sturdy top, he lets his eyes wander. The canopy holds an easy dozen or so villagers beneath it, and most are dressed simply in desert toned tunics and breeches, much like the long haired blond that is apparently the target. Shika's eyes glide back, barely acknowledging the sand shinobi as the fellow sits across from him, and outright ignoring Matsuri shooting them both a sour look.

Too thin of a wrist peeks out beneath the long sleeve of the soiled, but brown, tunic, ending in a boney fist that holds a pair of chopsticks rather like the wooden implements were a knife. As he watches, the target stabs at the floating meat in the large bowl before him, and though Shika can't see the fellow's face, it plain by the sharp movements of that arm that the boy is getting flustered.

The sand nin across from him lifts a finger, giving Matsuri the signal that means "wait".

A moment later, Shika sees glimpses of both boney hands wielding a single chopstick in a similar, knife-like manner. Matsuri tilts her head with widened eyes as she looks at them both again, jerking her cheek to refer to the blond.

The bowl of ramen is certainly provided by the merchant willingly, otherwise, he knows the fellow would have demanded the shinobi of the village to do something. The raised finger of his companion lowers slightly, and Matsuri nods her understanding. Shika wonders little more about the merchant's silence.

Matsuri rises carefully to her feet, and glides the side Id's table. She is supposed to try to speak to him, and he sees her take a deep breath to do so.

The noise of the crowd is too loud for him to hear exactly what Matsuri says to this id, but the boy startles when her lips move. His head tilts up. Perhaps he watches her brown tresses for a long second as the radio, located in her ear, squawks to life. Shika see Id wince, and then smoothly snatch the ramen bowl with both hands before scoot hopping the chair away from the konoichi. The chopsticks clatter to the table, forgotten as the target lifts the edge of the large bowl to his mouth.

Shika's brows rise as the Id fellow gobbles down the likely hot soup like a starving animal about to get food taken away.

"I.. don't think this is going to work guys.." Matsuri's voice squawks over the radio.

"What is he? A barbarian?" The Suna nin quips quietly across from him. Shika swallows reflexively, and weaves some hand signs as Id jerks up from the chair. The golden irises land on Shika, and then the table, and then back to the Suna konoichi. The gaze lingers, but he watches as Id shuffles past Matsuri as though she isn't all that important. With some alarm, he realizes Id appears to be heading towards the very long line of villagers standing before Ichiban's service window.

Shika knows that they can't allow the stranger to endanger any villager, and lowers his brows slightly.

Matsuri yells out, "Wait." Over the radio. Shika squeezes his eyes shut in compensation to the pain in his ear.

The Suna nin across from Shika overrides her wishes with a shake of his head, and lowers the flat of his hand to the table. Shika knows this gesture orders this "Id" fellow to be taken down quickly.

Shika shrugs, and says, "I think this would be easier if we talk to the guy first."

"Not interested in your opinion, Leaf." Shika hears. He wonders how he can hear after that eardrum shattering shout through the radio, but pushes that thought aside he has other things to deal with first.

What a bother this is, he thinks, and then feeds chakra into his spell. The shadows beneath his feet deepen and stretch out, reaching across the dry ground beneath the canopy. The effect makes the dark waver and weave, visibly swirling the darker shade about for the slight shadow of his intended target. About to sew his shadow to the shadow of this Id guy, Shika narrows his eyes as the scrawny kid moves.

The boy stumbles forward, rather clumsily, with the large bowl in both hands, but the stumble is effective. Especially since, on his way, this Ed manages to knock a few chairs and tables over before he tumbles, gracelessly, to the ground. The boy lands in a heap on his behind, kicking up a poof of dust that slightly obscures the soiled rags wrapped about his feet.

The general din of the crowd fades to nothing, and the merchant behind the wagon's counter starts yelling but Shika keeps his hands together, eyeing the intact bowl still gripped in the boy's hands.

He's more skilled that he looks, Shika thinks, and meets the wondering golden irises above sunken cheeks. As the gaze seems to bore right through him, he can't help but reach the conclusion of: That stumble was deliberate.

The sand nin across from him gets up and orders the merchant to back off and shut up as he marches towards the man, but the words are not in that exact order.

Id, hutched down low to the ground as he is, darts his eyes amongst them all, searching behind the slight shelter provided by the toppled furniture. Shika doesn't like that position as he can't see what hand signs could be woven. Not that it really matters, there are plenty of shadows, Shika reasons, but I don't want to waste chakra.

The merchant waves the sand nin off, and turns back to face Id, saying something jovial like, " Ahhhh.. What can I do for you my friend?"

Id looks towards the friendly voice, but his face is skewed into worried expression as he looks about briefly once again before he gets up, still holding the empty bowl. He leans his right shoulder against the side of the wagon as looks over at the sand nin standing nearby with folded arms. Shika can see Id's profile as his brows lower into a scowl.

A heartbeat later, Id tips his chin up slightly towards the merchant, and then points a finger towards the empty bowl he places on the counter, and then to something on the ground.

"A kemi" Shika hears Id say quite clearly in a grave voice.

The merchant shakes his head, and then vanishes behind the counter. Moments pass, and he returns, holding a matching bowl, this one filled to the brim with noodles and meat, down, declaring loudly that the food is on the house.

Surprisingly, Id shakes his head, says a mouthful, but Shika hears "a kemi" again in the mess. Id then slaps his hands together before his chin, and Shika feels a familiar knot form in the bottom of his stomach as he watches Id dive down to the ground once more.

The sudden light blinds him as he gathers his chakra, and he hears the merchant yelling. He blinks quickly, by instinct, scrambling into position.

00000

Matsuri throws her johyo and manages to wrap it about Id's right forearm. He, no doubt, is trying to slip away. She yanks on the rope and holds her ground against his surprisingly strong tug. She tries to talk to him, alight, yells at him to calm down, but he whirls about, undoing the winding of the rope in another flash of lightening. She yanks her weapon back, but it is markedly lighter and very unbalanced. She sees the end of the rope, dartless? How? and barely dodges the bandaged foot flying towards her face.

She doesn't manage back of the fist that follows.

She loses sight of him in that split second she rolls with the blow, but charges after where she thinks he went. There is this curved alley that two wagons are wedged against, and it is very close. Her pounding sandals echo against the sandstone wall, and she hears a wheezing breath that is not hers. She sees a form up ahead of her that has on the dirty garment, which the guy called Id, was wearing, and pumps her legs harder. Something feels off, though, and she can't figure out what it is. She stops just short of plowing the figure down. For a heartbeat she watches the garment as it flaps a bit in the wind.

She takes a step backwards, and decides that the boy is strangely still for an upright being. She steps to the side, and then steps forward slowly, edging around for a look at the face.

She widens her eyes. Instead of the narrow jutting of living flesh, the narrow nose or even sunken cheekbone, she finds the roundness of sculpted sand. The ball, about the size of the boy's head sets atop what looks to be a small pillar. She darts her gaze about, suddenly afraid to move at all.

Lord Kankuro loves to place traps in his puppets, she thinks, maybe this Id does things much the same way? If so.. I'm as good as dead.

With nervous fingertips, she presses the button to her radio.

0000

Shikamaru looks the area over. He notices the wheel beside the damaged wagon, lying in the dirt, right about where the boy had been before the sudden fight broke out. Matsuri stands largely unhurt at the narrow curve of alley, giving a verbal report to the green demon masked woman. The genin rubs a bluing bruise at her jaw as many Suna nin listen to her account. The konoichi believes that the strange shinobi had attacked, but Shikamaru is not so sure.

This wheel in the sand is perfect, he thinks. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his flak jacket as he watches the Suna nin, his companion for this little venture, struggles to lift the wheel upright. Shikamaru looks down at the dust that remains, and narrows his eyes at what he sees. A red spot in the dust, no wider than soldier pill.

"So much for the quiet method." A man's voice calls out. Shika turns his head as sees a tall man with half of his face covered with a cloth. Baki, the acting Kazekage, looks over the wagon with his one visible eye and sweeps his gaze over the gathering crowd of curious villagers beyond those nin assigned to stand post to keep them out of the immediate area.

The green demon looks over at the sound of the man's voice, and walks over. Shika watches the woman bow, and place a fisted hand over her heart. Beyond that, he can witness no more. This is Suna, not Konoha. He turns away and finds another red spot by his right sandal. A few feet further, another lies, nearly lost in the dust. He lets his gaze follow the trail.

Shika knows both the wheel and the doll are destined to be examined by Suna's version of the Intelligence Division, and he certainly doesn't want to get roped into that. He wants something else, someone else, but she is not here.

He leans against the curved wall of the alley as two Suna nin struggle to haul the simplistic base between the two of them. Shika shakes his head at the pair as they pass, and wonders why the two do not use chakra to enhance their strength. It took a while but he is aware that they found no hidden traps or poisoned needles on the doll Matsuri discovered in this alley. In fact, the construct was what it appeared to be, a rather simplistic thing.

The doll is an effective distraction, but a distraction for what? He crouches down, and flares two fingers out, brushing dust off more of the red spots about where the base of the doll had been.

A shrill call overhead and he lifts his gaze to the sky. Just beyond a puffy white cloud, he follows the lazy circle being cut in the bright blue by a lone hawk. Even from this distance, the message scroll gripped in the creature's claws is visible.

What a bother. He thinks from long habit. I'm being called back to the village.

0000

"I refuse to believe the boy just vanished. He has to have gone somewhere." Baki begins, straightening himself to clasp his hands behind his back. "…And with this apparent ability to hide his chakra, he'll be a challenge to track for the best of our sensors…"

"As you know, our sensors are in the field, already searching for him." Green Demon says. ""Maybe he jumped..?"

Baki narrows his one eye as he looks over the round head of the doll his nins had placed on the table. The pair of eyes scowling forward at nothing, the tongue jutting out of the frowning mouth, and the thing that can only be described as an antenna bit at the top leaves an impression, he thinks.

"We found him once where we didn't expect, " Baki says aloud, and turns his gaze to Green Demon, "perhaps it is a habit of his. Search the village as well."

"Hai." Green Demon says.

Matsuri folds her arms and looks over the shallow crater in the alley. After a few steps she kicks at a stone and listens as it skitters along the ground. She was so sure he had run this way, this nothing of a nin that was a complete weakling when compared to Lord Gaara. How could she have been so wrong about something like this? She lets her eyes wander about the sandstone, now tinged orange from the setting sun. She tilts her head, and aims her sandal at a red looking stone the size of a pea.

Search the village, were her orders. The stone flies high and bounces of the far wall by a crack in the brick, and skips by a dark colored flat stone before it bounces off to who knows where. The dark stone catches her attention. It seems so out of place that she swallows. It is nearly the same shade as the crack in the brick on the far wall, and about as wide as a knuckle. She crouches low and reaches out her fingers to brush the surface.

Only. There is no surface to brush. As she lifts her fingers, the corner of her mouth stretch wide. Hurriedly she presses the radio button at her ear.

0000

Filthy and muck covered, and Ed hears his breathing. It is quick and shallow, but he stuffs his mouth greedily with what uncooked noodles he can. He crunches them with his teeth, trying his best to chew quickly. The crawl space he created behind a pile of flour bags is uncomfortable, but he thinks that it'll have to do. The flour bags are generally blocky things, stored at the top of the wagon interior across from the awesome looking stove. He only had to push them aside a little, fortunately, and did not have to transmute anything more once he crawled his way into the wagon again.

He clutches the improved knife he created from the metal bit thrown at him by that Sheska look alike, and tries to get his hand to stop shaking. It's not working. Yet. This space Is a tight fit for him. Even in his current, bone thin state, he can barely move. He figures this is a good thing. The food he ate is doing him some good, but all his limbs are shaking now. He needs more, but he has to wait.

He peers through the opening that could be a window in the wood by his arm, but the heck he knows what it really is for. The fact that it is there allows him gaze down people as they look over the stupid doll he transmuted. He shouldn't be here, watching them. He should be further along, or under the ground in the tunnel he fully intended to escape through. The only reason he is here, stupidly, is because it kept getting harder and harder to concentrate.

He knows very well why that is. He has a fever, from what he doesn't know. And, a freshly reopened wound, at his chest.

He feels wetness on his right side and presses his left fist, complete with knife, against the bandage a moment. He shuffles, wiggles really, and then reaches out to the thing he knows he needs, just hanging a bit out of his reach. By the strings he sees, he supposes it is actually an apron, but at the moment, he stretches out his thin fingertips and swipes the thing free of the hook it hangs from. He balls it up in his one free hand, twirling it about his bloody fingers mostly, and certainly not daring to drop the improvised knife in the shaking other hand for even a second. The apron will have to serve as an additional bandage.

He swallows the raw noodles dry, and grimaces in the dark at the tasteless grit on his tongue.

Dammit. They were not nearly enough.

He fists the apron turned bandage to his wound, breathing in the smell of grease and oil, and closes his eyes for just a second.

00000

A/n: I was shooting for a whopping 8000 words before I posted again, but then I realized that it has been quite a while since I updated. I only had like a couple of pages left to write, and I looked it all over again. I think that little bit would work better in the next chapter. Anyhow, thanks for reading, and enjoy!

BTW: nearly 4000 words! Woooooooo! And still a lot of material to go!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ed stares. At nothing. For how long he doesn't know. Most of the time, he shivers hotly in the too warm air, and between one blink and the next, notices that the sunlight filtering in the window has a distinct orange shade. He works out that he been sitting for a few hours at least.

He glances out the window by his arm, watching for the guy with half his face covered in a draping head cover. That guy was a tall one, and seems to be the one in charge. There were several times that he watched the man point in some random direction, and a group of no less than three sandaled tunics would jump away in the same direction as if in response. He still doesn't understand much of the mutterings, but the shouted out response of "Hai" seems to be a sort of equivalent to "SIR Yes! SIR". He's heard it often enough this afternoon as he watched the pattern of behavior.

The uniformed people were not doing much of anything towards him that afternoon, not at first anyway. It was only after he transmuted that wheel that the attacks began.

He wonders if he broke some sort of law, doing that. Could it be that Alchemy is against the law? Like in Ishval? He thinks back to some of the weird feats he saw: the walking on walls, the huge ass leaps as though it was nothing... Maybe a good number of these uniformed people were in truth, chimeras. He can name a few jumping spiders that could have been used as the basis for a blending.

He dismisses that. There is no way that a spider, combined with a human or not, would be able to walk up a wall with those funky sandals covering its feet. Now if the feet were bare, that would be completely different, but he thinks a transformation of some sort would be needed. He doesn't recall seeing super hairy legs, feet or toes that day, so…

No, some sort of Alchemy has to be in use. An Alchemy he hasn't seen nor heard a rumor of in his frantic search for the Stone.

By the reaction to such a simple transmutation, in all likelihood, Alchemy as a practice is heavily regulated here. Watched for. Secreted away like in the old times. If so, then every uniformed person could be an Alchemist.

These people search for... well, most likely, him. If he is a slave, it doesn't really matter, he supposes. It's clear that they want him alive, since he figures they could have easily killed him a dozen times over. Which means capture? Beyond that, he can only imagine. For all he knows, he could be the next one to be experimented on or something, in that hospital place. Maybe he already was experimented on, that would nicely explain how funky shit-like he feels right now. Anyway. Sure as the existence of the Truth, he's not going to cooperate.

He knows he can't fight physically, should he have to. He knows he's going to need the use of every resource he can muster.

He squeezes his eyes shut moment, looks to the plain wood surface he sits on, and then gives the wall a cursory glance. The surface seems a better choice, as it's still quite difficult to focus. If he draws the array out, he doesn't need to focus quite as perfectly.

Ed grips the knife. Wait. Carving an array in the wood will take too long, be noisy, and he's not sure he'll have the time. Carving a small one into his skin is a possibility, and he does consider the act, but for now the quickest method will be on this wall.

He lifts the apron with shaking fingers. There's a crust, but a trickle of blood will do. He picks at the dried blood, gritting his teeth. The real trick will be not passing out, but he thinks he hasn't bled all that badly, considering the wound. The apron isn't quite soaking, nor is it all but dyed his favorite color, and besides, roughly half of the greasy thing remains a vaguely white-ish hue.

Ooooo

The sun casts warm hues in the distance, and paints the dull sandstone that makes up the main landmarks of Suna garish reds and bright oranges. Shikamaru stuffs the scroll into an inside pocket of his flak jacket as he slouches his way back to the wagons of the merchants. As representatives of sorts from the other villages, they have the place of honor in Suna's yearly festival. The area has few people milling about it anymore, and before long Shika reaches the line of standing nins responsible for keeping Suna's population from getting too close.

Most of the nins faces are shaded beneath draping traditional head dresses. The nearest one gives a cursory glance at his forehead protector tied at his shoulder, and he walks by the living barrier unchallenged.

The wagon from Leaf slightly slumps to the side, apparently supported by just two wheels. He knows something chocks it somewhat upright; else the service window would be unusable. Beyond, at the end of the alley that twists away for some distance, is something not entirely unexpected. He sees five or six nin mill about the alley entrance, moving their legs as if they kick as stones. Shika watches two nin jump down from above with a shovel over each shoulder, rushing into the shadows of the narrow space between buildings.

Shika flicks his gaze to his fellow villager, the rotund owner of Ichiraku. The merchant is dressed in breeches and a simple shirt, and over which is tied a simple white apron. At the moment the man has his head down as he speaks to the Suna ABNU wearing the green demon mask.

Shika lowers his brows as his gaze wanders to the scuff of dirt before the wagon's service window.

The attack that the Id person instigated consisted of a combination of that lightening discharge, a puff of wind, and a great billowing of dust. That much Shikamaru can agree with. Matsuri is the only nin that managed to land something of a blow on the blond shinobi, and no one else in Suna was able to see as much as she as the dust was thick enough to cover the boy's moves.

They have little choice but to rely heavily on her report, but the drag of it is, the girl is but a genin. She is competent enough for her limited skill, for she also discovered something of a hole at the end of the alley. Shika recalls the drops of blood he had observed over there. He wonders if the girl had even noticed.

"I know what chakra depletion looks like!" Shika hears the merchant bellow out. Shika keeps his face carefully expressionless, finding the line of questioning the merchant is being subjected to easy enough to figure out: Green demon mask wants to know how much the merchant is involved with the boy.

Shika can figure out that much for himself without having to question the man. The drag of things is that he has other problems. Danzo is the new Hokage, and his modified orders suck big time.

Green demon replies, "Your skills at cooking are commendable, sir. He kept the ramen down. At the village hospital, the med nins had resorted to forcing milk down into his stomach with a tube."

"The boy puked up anything that was given him within twenty minutes. It's in the report." Shikamaru adds, gaining the merchant's attention. "How long ago do you suppose the boy ate the ramen?"

"Does it matter?" Green demon says. "The boy isn't getting away."

Shika doesn't miss the implied, "alive".

"May I speak with my fellow villager for a few minutes?" Shika demands politely. A shift of the green demon mask passes as a nod, and the merchant turns away from the fright of a woman. "I have been ordered to return to Leaf," Shika says, and adds, "There is a new Hokage, and in these dangerous times, he asks the nins of the village to protect all of Leaf's financial assets until they are safely returned home."

"Huh? W-What does that mean?"

"I request the honor of escorting you on your journey. Free of charge, of course." Shikamaru says formally, and adds a small bow. "We go whenever you decide your business with Suna is concluded." He watches the brows of the merchant reach for the man's hairline. As the merchant is bald, the feat is something of worth to watch.

The brows skew. "What happened to Princess Tsunade? I-is she dead?"

Shika frowns, and looks to his toes. "I have no news in that regard. I can only assume that the situation is terrible if a new Hokage is serving in her place."

"Sir…?" A Suna nin calls out from the wagon door. Shika looks over to the nin at the same time as the merchant. The nin gestures towards the rotund man, and another standing nearby thumbs towards the door with a wide smile plastered on his face. "You have a rather unique stove in there."

"Ah, yes." The merchant says jovially.

"Could you show us how it works?"

"Of course. I have to admit that I am still getting used to the thing. It was a gift, you see, given to me years ago. Stuffed way in the back it was, and I just managed to dig it out. Good thing I did. When that old stove went up…well, in all honesty, I thought this trip was a wash…"

000000

Footsteps shake the small wagon. He hears voices beyond the flour wall. A puff of smoke wafts as Ed manages to shift enough to edge his nose around the corner. The haze filling the confined space is most like a transmutation, but he wonders how he could have possibly missed the flash of light.

The merchant shifts his hefty weight to one foot, stretching one hand above his head, reaching. He watches the man turn about to face the sculpted stove head. There's a round metal pot, appearing to be held between knarled metal fingers. A large spoon looking thing at the end of a stick juts out of a nearby container, and Ed supposes the man looks to be dishing up a bowl. The cabin quivers in response to every one of the large man's movements, and Ed watches, hypnotized by the gestures the merchant makes with his expressive hands. He hovers the knife over the bleeding array on his palm as he tears his eyes away in a sweep of the wagon interior, but there isn't any sign of another array that he may have overlooked. He discards the feedback variables he considered working into each equation.

Another array so nearby would interfere enough to cancel his own out if the alchemist were somewhat skilled, but there appear to be none hidden in the cabin. He figures the smoky haze must have come from the stove.

There is a pair of people dressed in what passes as the uniform, one standing by the door, watching the merchant as he works. The other is mostly bent in half, nosing about the low placed cubbies in the cabin.

A glance to the service window, lower down, seems free of the milling uniforms he saw earlier, but he knows his situation hasn't changed any.

The merchant gestures again, a sloppy slosh. A great bowl between the man's portly hands has gobs of noodles. As tempting as the aroma is, Ed shimmies back behind his barrier. He grips the knife and apron against his wound. There are a number of calculations he focuses on. The first of which deals the trio in the wagon with him. He aches to act; however, the light of the transmutations would likely cause the same sort of alarm he had witnessed earlier. He knows he's in no condition to fight. Anyone, much less the entire crowd of uniforms.

Therefore, all his possible transmutations must be hidden from outside view. It's perfectly logical.

He can't get his free hand to stop shaking, but he gets the last rune in on his palm. The overall design is rough, barely even a true circuit, and the lines hardly sting. He hopes he doesn't have to use it.

He takes in a breath as he looks to the wall at the containing circle painted in blood, and touches his quivering fingers to the array's edge. The reaction wind graces his cheeks, and he focuses on the flow of the energy warming his bones. Three meaty thunks fill his ears, but his hand is glued to the circuit until the equation completes.

His arm slides down the wall limply, and the knife at his chest drops from his lax grip clattering onto the shelf beside his thigh. A moment later, he rubs his face with the freed hand, and huffs before picking the weapon up once more. Scooting to the edge of the shelf is a long dance on his butt cheeks, but he manages. He drops to the wagon floor onto rubbery legs, and leans onto one hand to remain standing.

He glances to the windows, and the rolled out planks of wood his equation had fashioned over them. He had to make the wagon walls thinner to make them, and beams of red light shine through the cracks between the slats, but not much else.

The wagon is quiet and filled with shadows. He holds his breath and listens, straining to hear what news the outside knows. He hears no shouts. No sense of alarm that he can tell, but a series of creaking steps pound the ceiling above his head. His brows lower, and he chews his cheek. He didn't know that someone had been up there, but his transmutation, thankfully, did not take so much material away that the wagon would collapse under the weight.

"Luuuuckyyyyyy…." He breathes in the darkness as he lurches down.

The merchant lies slumped on the floor, half against the sculpted oven. Ed glances up at the wooden fist jutting out from behind the stove, and frowns at the roughness of the form before approaching the plump man. He darts his gaze to the other two fists behind and above, and then to the respective bodies on the floor. At least his aim was good, he judges, and reaches his fingers to the flabby skin just beneath the merchant's chin. His lips thin as he feels a firm pulse throbbing at his touch, and he a shoulders the man slightly into a shaft of light, away from the heat of the stove. He eyes the bruise blooming on the merchant's cheek before he turns away.

He squats down and lets his free hand drift across the floor of the wagon, allowing the sensitive pads of his fingertips feel the edges of the planks that make up the surface. He hears more creaking footsteps above, and his eyes dart up. He finds it useless, glimpsing only the shift of dust particles in the thin light beams cutting through the dark. His thumb bumps against a sharp edge, the wood jutting upwards just a quarter of an inch. He quickly works his thumb nail down its side. He gets his index finger beneath the wood, and blinks his lids quickly against the sudden glare that rushes in. He sets the freed plank aside, and then reaches for the next plank, still griping the knife at his chest to keep the bloody bandage in place. The third plank comes up easy, and he squats, peering over the edge as he sets the thing aside.

Sand and dirt are piled in a sort of mound just below, looking much as he left it. He snorts in disgust. The mess pretty much announces his presence. If anyone looks beneath the wagon, the only way these people would not figure out his bolt hole is if this place happens to have a human sized rabbit infestation.

He eyes the huge wobbling bowl as dips his head just beyond the lip of the edge and glances around. He feels something like cobwebs brush over the bridge of his nose, and shakes the irritation away with wrinkled nostrils. A half dozen legs mill about the wagon perimeter, wearing loose fitting slacks, and all of the feet wear sandals. Ed's eyes narrows at the two unconscious visitors on the floor, just across from him.

The pants and sandals do look similar. He figures he made a good decision, just as the door of the wagon bangs open. Ed jumps down onto the solid earth, and his knees give way enough that he lands hard on his behind. He scrambles wobbling his feet back beneath him, his carved palm burning from the grit. He narrows his gaze to the floorboards above his head as his heart hammers his ribcage.

Step. Creak. Step step. Creak….

Ed splays his fingers on the earth, and wills the array on his palm active.

00000

The blue light caught everyone's attention, as did the sudden appearance of what could only be described as shutters over the windows. Green demon mask leaped up onto the wagon's top almost immediately, and from there she waved her fellow nin into position.

Shikamaru is nowhere near happy being the closest to the only door, but the drag is, he is. The wagon should be dark enough on the inside to give his techniques the best advantage, he figures, and presses all thought of watching puffy white clouds drifting across the blue blue sky out of his mind. He is a nin, and a chunin at that. He should be acting like one.

Shadow sewing technique Shika thinks, as he moves quietly, entering the wagon's darkened interior while holding his hands in a seal. He counts three bodies lying against three of the walls, and quite a few odd sculpted looking things. Either the merchant has a huge like for oddball sculptures, or something else is... He squints his eyes closed against the sudden blue flare of light. It looks to be from the center of the cabin floor, and as he blinks his eyes clear, he picks out the missing floor boards.

He widens his eyes. The genjutsu cast by the ABNU on the roof did not take. At least that's what he thought he saw the green demon masked woman do with her hand gestures.

"Three down in here, but you missed him. Id can move." Shika calls out as he creeps to the edge of the opening. He peers over the side and down into what appears to be a roughly square shaped crevice neatly carved into the earth. "He's not here. I think he's tunneling underneath us right now."

"I don't know if a genjutsu is supposed to work on someone ill, but maybe that's why it didn't?" Matsuri says as she steps up the crevice's edge. "What's that?"

"What?"

"That metal bit there." Matsuri's fingers wave above her head and Shika lets his eyes glance to the indicated area. Near a large bowl that seems filled to the top with noodles, and by a cloth with some dark colored stains, he sees a round ring about the size of the end of a kunai attached to a thin sort of rope. He reaches out and hooks the ring with his index finger. As he lifts his hand, he sees that the other end lies beneath the cloth, and by the shine it gives off in the limited light he judges it too is made of metal. The structure is flat, wickedly curved, and he tests the side of it with his thumb.

"Sharp." He says, glad he did not press his flesh too hard against it. The last thing he wants to do on this drag of an assignment is to poison himself on some shinobi's weird ass knife.

Matsuri reaches her hand up through the floor board. Shika shrugs and lets her take knife. She examines it, noticing the bit of rope attached to the end. Her brows lift. "The rope matches.. And the ring is the same, but this isn't my dart. Where'd he get this?"

"The better question is, why he didn't take this with him? "

00000

Many nin are recruited to dig by shovel, and slowly, hour by hour, a veritable maze is revealed with every cleared clump of sand. By nightfall, the acting Kazekage accepts that he can no longer justify a massive search for a nin that is not even of the village. As much as he would like to recoup the costs of the boy's hospital stay, the mounting cost of the search, both in terms of man power and in pay, is quickly becoming far too costly. So when Shikamaru asks for the merchant's wheel, to return it, Baki only offers a slight frown followed by a firm nod of his head.

00000

Ed emerges at the base of a massive wall, panting hard. He sees that there is no one immediately nearby, and does his best to pull himself out. As tired as he is, this takes a while, and leaves him even more breathless than before. As much as he would like to just lie there, he climbs to his feet and staggers to what appears to be a towering door way cut into the wall. The huge thing is quite a bit tunnel like, and he leans his hand against the solid wall to stay upright as he makes his way. The stars shine just ahead, and he can see an ocean of silvery sand welcoming him beneath.

He hears a shout when he judges he is near center, and he glares in general direction in response to the yelling. He sees a pair of hulking dark shapes, darker than the shadows.

"Gotta be kidding me. " He slams his hand into the side of the wall, and that's all it takes to wrap the pair in sandstone. Ed calmly shuffles past the bound up nin, not even flinching as the reaction lightening snaps his way. Before long, he stands at the great expanse of desert, and frown.

Oh. He really hates sand. He takes a few steps forward, and looks up to get his bearings. His eyes widen, and he turns about.

Nothing up there looks at all familiar.

He hears feet pounding against stone, but he doesn't glance in that direction. He moves as fast as his rubbery legs let him, and tearing his eyes from the stars to watch the silvery horizon.

He is struck by something across his cheek, and as he lunges to his balance, he gets stuck again. The world transforms from silvery sand to velvety darkness.

00000

A/N—ok. Didn't get to where I wanted to go, but blame Ed. He's not cooperating, and I didn't want to make him a wuss either. I mean, I have him sick here, but in the manga, damn! He had a beam stuck through his gut, and he could still transmute just fine.

Posting this now, but I may have missed some goobers. I will check again for said goobers when I am able. Shuffled off a good section to the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

The bite of cold air blasting against his bare back lets him know he failed in his escape from this stupid place, and his muscles feel sort of prickly numb, like he slept on them wrong: all of them, somehow. He hears a woman's sharp tone by his ear, and he grits his teeth. Again, the sharp tone, and he wrinkles his nose as he cracks open an eye. He sees that he sits upright; he can see that even though his chin presses against his chest, but as his limbs may as well be made of jelly, his back must be resting against something.

He recognizes her voice, this woman. Ed doesn't understand a word she hisses, not even when she nearly bites his ear off, yelling so close, but he can tell she is insistent about something. There is just enough light to see the mask she wears, but as badass cool as all those pointy teeth and protruding horns are on the painted green shape, he knows well the fearsome appearance is just what it appears to be: a mask.

Besides. His nose itches.

He frowns her way as he tries to lift his arms. Nothing. He widens his eyes and wills movement. Any movement. He hears surprised yelp behind him, followed by a slow squeaky metallic creak below his waist. A void that is the pressure plate on his artificial heel tells him he bumps against something as he watches the hinge overextend slightly. He gasps for breath and tries again.

As he feels the rough tug of digging fingers into his scalp, the sting from the pull of his hair, he scowls at the pathetic thought, to top it all off, if it comes down to blows, he can only move his automail foot. He wonders what he could have done to his spine.

"Lan fan…" Ed tries with the obviously enraged woman behind the mask. Greedy for a stolen breath, he pants, and the woman repeats her hissed out words. This time she speaks with a deadly tone of voice, and he feels her fist his bangs tight. She meets his gaze as she holds his head up, and then reaches toward his throat with her other hand; the one he remembers is automail.

Automail is the worst thing to bring anywhere near a tender area like a throat. He should know, as he used such tactics himself when he had an automail arm. Only six months have passed since she had hers installed, and he knows without a doubt that there no way she could have mastered the finer points of pressure control.

"Lan fan..." He croaks between gasps. Desperate for air, he sees the dance of stars as he feels her fingers squeeze the wind from his grasp. He remembers the array he carved on his palm. The numbers of every element of flesh breeze through his mind. There is really very little difference. The array could work, he knows, and work well on automail. Heck, even the human body. The array was made to effect stone, mostly composed of silicon dioxide, but he knows well the composition of the human body.

No. He promised Alphonse he never ever would do that. Not again. But he has to live to restore his brother, and La fan, for some reason he can't understand, is killing him. She isn't giving him a choice.

There is always a choice, he thinks, and a heartbeat later, the gloved hand releases his neck. His entire body twitches. He can only take great and greedy breaths of air at first, before, by pure instinct, he scrambles. The wound on his chest twinges hotly, and he grits his teeth against the pain, forcing himself to move. His back slams against something, and a moment later twos sets of hands wrap about his flailing arms. As he is hauled upwards, he kicks out his legs at the green demon masked Lan fan, but she is too far back for his automail to connect.

His blood pounds against his eardrums, and though hears mostly only his ragged breaths; he registers a lot of shouting. Another hand gropes his throat, this time from behind him, and he works his chin and head down as best he can to prevent a good hold. He arches his back and tries a mule kick, or a sweep, something, giving a go to break the grips on his arms.

More yells fill his ears in the gibbering tongue he doesn't know. For all his trouble, struggles, daring twists of limbs, the sheer weight of bodies pin him. Before long, he gasps, once again, for a toehold of life. Stars dance before his eyes, and he does his best to blink them away as he is forced once again to sit in the dust.

Lan fan sighs, and folds her arms. He feels the weight of her eyes on him, and he glares her way in challenge. She speaks something, this time in a derisive tone, and lifts her chin sharply at someone beyond his line of vision. He freezes as he feels the blade bite into the flesh beneath his chin.

Lan Fan again speaks gibberish, and her tone is decidedly filled with the promise of death.

"What? What do you want?" Ed says as steadily as he can. He tries his best to move his neck from the blade, but someone behind him digs their hand into his scalp. More gibberish fills his ears, and he lowers his brows as he adds. "I don't know what you are saying, ok?"

He watches one of her gloved hands rise, a blur of fingers move in some sort of signal. He skews his brows in confusion, and darts his eyes away. The blade jabs his neck in response, and he jerks from the stab with a hiss at the sting.

They still want me alive, he thinks. Why threaten me otherwise…?

Lan Fan speaks more gibberish. Gibberish is replied by the guy holding the knife at his throat. Or maybe it's the other guy, Ed isn't sure. He hears the crunching of footsteps behind him, and adds more goons to the total. No way is he going to just let them take him like this... not without a fight…

The equation should be a simple, but entangled by the enormity of it all, he narrows his eyes slightly, plugging in the variables. More variables. And more variables. His head hurts. He thinks of his stinging palm..,

He hears gibberish. More gibberish. And more gibberish.

Don't they ever shut up, Ed thinks in annoyance. He grits his teeth as desperate pattern fly out of his mental grasp. The plan to fight vanishes. And to make matters worse, he doesn't dare move anyway, as they hold him fairly tight against that damned blade.

Unexpectedly, the jabbing knife is gone from his neck. He darts his eyes from Lan fan a moment as the blade withdraws.

The next thing he knows is darkness.

Oooo

Suna's intelligence division fully examined the simplistic doll with the scowl and rudimentary pronounced tongue. The findings were both baffling and alarming, and to tell the truth, he is not sure what to make of them.

The knife, and the remaining part of Matsuri's johyo wait on the examining table and beside them lays the wagon wheel. Baki stares at the skull in the center and tries his best to ignore a hell of a lot of sharp spikes protruding from the spokes. He folds his arms.

The council overruled his decision regarding this thing, as the majority of the elders believed the wheel had to be a weapon of some sort... He admits the thing is a fearsome object to behold, but the mess involved. In order to avoid an international scandal, he was forced to offer the merchant, through the Nara child, a suitable replacement. Unfortunately, the big delay is what it always is: funding. Or rather, the lack thereof.

He wonders how it is he can save the face of Suna.

The council debates this issue in a distant room, and Baki, thoroughly disgusted with the elders' constant bickering, excused himself from the meeting to "wisely oversee" progress in this investigation.

As he stands alone in this barren intelligence room, staring at what he figures amounts to not all that much, he wipes his face with one hand. The night before, the ABNU returned with the unconscious boy to the village hospital. After Green Demon provided her report, he combined the findings with what the other ANBU in her command had provided and sifted the information for anything useful.

There wasn't all that much. The boy didn't seem to understand a thing he was being asked, and Baki knows that Suna's often brutal interrogation techniques require at least a common language to work. The council is well intentioned, focused only on protecting the village, but something about this approach with this boy, who for all they know was most likely a slave, strike him as wrong. The boy obviously seeks freedom, and takes every single opportunity he is given to make a go at a run. Capturing him, then, and placing restraints on him… no. It is all wrong.

"I am beginning to wonder who it is that is truly brain damaged." Baki mutters into his gloved hand. "The council or this... boy."

"It is a fortunate thing that I am far too old to have heard that, Acting Kazekage." Baki lifts his head and glances to the owner of the voice through his gloved fingers. Wrinkles wrap about the shadowed eyes of the man he sees standing serenely in the corner by the room's entrance.

"Honored Sibling, how good it is to see you. What brings you here?"

"In all my experience, I have never heard of someone speaking solely in a tongue so foreign, that no one can understand what is said. There have been pranks, imposters, and …actors, shall I say... but. .Ah, forgive an old man for his hobbies, I suppose."

"Ah. I see. "Baki says with a bow. "There is another possibility, regarding this supposed language barrier."

"So I have ... ah." Ebizo says with a toothless wry grin.

"You are interested in the boy."

"In a manner of speaking. I am wishing satisfy my curiosity, no more, no less." Ebizo says as he straitens his shoulders. "If I find the boy's brain is as damaged as you imply…"

"If his brain is damaged, then he is beyond any help that Suna can provide." Baki says flatly. "I shall be forced to look for alternatives..."

"You refer to Konohakagure." Ebizo says.

"They do have legendary medical techniques at their disposal."

"I remind you that Tsunade is not available."

"How do you... Never mind." Baki says with a raised hand as the old man takes in a breath to answer. "I really don't want to know how you know."

"How disappointing." Ebizo says as he lowers his face, and with a frown, adds. "That Suna's has become so weak, especially the medical corps. Chiyo would be so disappointed... ah but what would she care now that she is gone. I have your permission then, to seek the boy?"

Baki offers the old man a slow nod.

"Oh, and by the way. The council wishes to speak to you. Something about a Konohakagure merchant's wheel..?" Baki suppresses the urge to groan as the old man adds. "There is a debate that must be settled, about a collusion of some sort between this merchant and the boy? I suspect they wish to have the wagon searched."

00000

A/n—Busy in real life. Getting ready to participate in the FMA Big Bang, so a good chunk of my time was taken up by that effort. Wanted to post by the end of this month, and wanted to make this a wee bit longer. My time's up. Weirdly, the characters are beginning to take this over. Honestly. This was blocked out completely different. I would have had Ed in Konoha by now, but the Suna ABNU kicked me in the head. Oh, & gah! Typos!


	5. Chapter 5

000

"The other seals. Those behave like the seals we are familiar with. Though small, they move when disturbed with chakra. See?" Green Demon says to Ebizo as she demonstrates her point. As an honorary council member, he is well aware of the woman behind the mask. Her skills placed her as one of Suna's best medical specialists. The fact that Lord Gaara had appointed her into ABNU just before his departure was no real surprise, especially given Suna's current guest.

The boy in question is in the bed before him. Sturdy leather straps a hand span wide stretch over sheet covered legs, but waist and above are exposed. He glances at the straps threatening the boy's limbs, only one of which consists of a heavy metal chain nearest the left foot, and the remaining wide strap set aside, for the moment. It sits upon the far table by Green Demon's side, far enough away to be out of the way, but close enough to be handy.

He sits back into the creaking chair beside the bed, setting his eyes on the woman's glowing hand that hovers an inch or so above the boy's pale abdomen. As he watches, the dots covering the boy's skin seem to dance. Suddenly, the woman hisses and hurriedly withdraws her hand, and Ebizo imagines she must be grimacing as a heartbeat later, the flesh contracts. Prominent ribs become ever slightly more so.

When no further withering takes place, Green Demon gestures toward the boy's right hand. He raises his brows as she turns the boy's palm over by the wrist, exposing the bloody mess. The palm is a swollen angry red. A neat, thin line forms a complex circular design which nestles in the near black of a drying scab. "This other.. It shoots out sparks. Sometimes yellow. Sometimes blue."

"Remove it. Immediately. " Ebizo insists as he glances up to the mask. "There is no need to demonstrate the behavior for my sake; he is nearly a skeleton as it is."

"Hai." The mednin replied with a slight bow. "I agree that the other seals might be set off."

He allows her assumption of his motivations to remain uncorrected. As she turns to her task, knife gripped between her thumb and forefinger, he doesn't watch the blade bites into the boy's palm. Instead he looks towards the pale and sleep slackened face on the pillow.

"Never imagined. A fuinjutsu that I have never seen… in all my years...What secrets have you hidden within it…''

The boy does not respond, and the aged nin does not expect him to. The ABNU were quite thorough in their tasks. He knows the boy will be out for many more hours from the blow he likely received to the nerves on his neck.

As he watches the boy, Ebizo thinks to himself. 'Why have you gone so far as to carve such a contract onto your very flesh?'

0000000

Because of the matter of the wheel, a team is sent to examine the place where it was found. Namely: the wagon.

The drag is, the merchant of said wagon is very much not pleased. Not with any of it, if Shikamaru is any judge. Shika is careful not to roll his eyes at the man as he spews forth his many complaints against the nin of Suna that demand he just let them inspect his property.

"..You could, you know, make it easy on yourself. It is their village, and.." Shika says once the rotund man stops a moment for a breath of air.

"You heard me. No. I said no and I mean no. You let them in and the next thing you know, a tax you never heard of suddenly gets cited and there goes twenty or so pounds of noodles!" The merchant yells out.

Shika remembers what he saw for himself in that wagon a few days ago as the man rants and raves before him. From that glimpse, he could determine that the stove is related to the other items that Suna already holds in the intelligence department. The sculpted fists jutting out of the walls have similar features, too, come to think of it.

The pieces seem to be independent of this Id's chakra, as he was able to be unconscious for a time without it affecting any of them. Well, any of the ones that Suna has on the examining table, at least. He can say that for certain.

"I wish to ask you something.."

Shika nods his head in response, though he hardly listens. Instead he wonders why the wheel hasn't been returned or replaced just yet by the village authorities. If this were Konoha, he knows the council would have acted appropriately by now. Either by arresting the merchant, or by providing a wheel, depending.

".. about the boy…"

"You have no need to be worried about him harming you anymore. He is safely within Suna's custody." Shika says automatically, as this is surely what the merchant, his client, wishes to hear the most.

"That's not what I." The merchant locks his gaze at Shika. "… Look. Tell me straight. How is he?"

Shika narrows his eyes. "You.. are worried about.. his condition..?"

The merchant gives a quick nod of his head.

"But he attacked you.."

"So I've been told by Suna nin but I'm not so sure that the boy was the one that attacked me in my wagon. The two sand nin in the wagon with me said they saw nothing, and recent rumors of the boys moving as fast as a blur sound impossible. I may not be a nin, but I saw how thin he is. It doesn't take a genius to know why."

"He really is no concern of yours."

The merchant barks out a rancid laugh.

"The way Suna is reacting, you could've fooled me. They act as though I am.. I don't know." The man lets out a breath. "The boy just came to my cart to eat. Like everyone else that I have served in this festival. I know for a fact that he is not in any condition to do much else but eat."

"You do know something then.." Shika presses. ".. something that you don't want Suna to know."

"I don't want more taxes showing up.. You understand? It's bad for business. I've had a bad enough trip this season; I can't afford any more unexpected expenses." The merchant says as he squints his eyes.

Shika remembers his drag of a mission assignment from the new Hokage, of protecting Konoha's financial assets, and frowns. He knows he must assist this man with Suna's regulations, even though it will take more effort than he normally would apply. He lets out a breath in his disappointment.

"Tell me what you know, and I'll see what I can do."

"Ok. I admit that I saw him. Earlier. In the day. He.. passed out, hard, after he.. Well, he tried something like a jutsu. He was pretty damn desperate at the time, I tell you."

"How so..?"

"He.. he was starving, ok? …But.. but what he did. It wasn't any jutsu that I have ever heard of in my travels. It was.. too flashy. Way too flashy."

"What a drag.. I'll see what room, ok. I know he was supposed to go to the hospital…"

"All that, for.. uh, nevermind. And thanks." The merchant says amicably and turns to look back to the wagon.

Shika looks over the rounded shoulder and sees a crowd milling about, most of whom are dressed in the flowing desert garb of Suna nin. Shika cannot help but cringe in sympathy as the merchant takes in a great gulp of air and bellows at the nearest one.

Oooooo

Matsuri nods her head in thanks to the mednin behind the desk as she walks past the glass doors, moving along on her way towards Sari's room. She sees a demon masked nin rush by, but politely turns her eyes away. She finds herself glad she is no longer a part of the "Id" matter, but can't help in that moment to think of the weakling blond lying somewhere in this hospital. She imagines Gaara looking down at her, blue eyes a shade darker than normal with disappointment.

What would he think of her. Of her failure against such an opponent?

She hopes that the blond does turn out to be a jonin after all, but... She had her doubts. What sort of jonin would ever resort to only physical blows, unless... Unless...

It seems to take forever to find Sari's door. She knocks politely, and at the same time schools her face into a cheerful grin. Sari wouldn't need to know of any of this. Unless, of course, she asked.

Matsuri would always share everything she knew with her best friend.

"…the way that any seal would be used..?" She hears through the wood. Its Sari's voice that speaks, she thinks.

"Hey! DON'T LOOK AT THAT! No wait. That's it. That's what we should... anyway. Uh…um Thanks!" Another voice answers. The voice is considerably deeper that Sari's would be that's for certain. "See you later..?"

She wasn't expecting Sari would have another visitor, much less... Matsuri cracks open the door and glimpses a sheet of paper that is quickly folded away and hidden within a pouch. The owner of said pouch is tall, male, and...

Poof!

Vanishes in a puff of smoke. Matsuri frowns in his former direction. With no one to gaze at now, she shifts her eyes to her best friend. Sari only offers her a bright smile and a shrug. On the table beside the bed she sees a fresh bouquet of Sari's favorite flowers.

00000

He squishes his eyes shut against nonsense assaulting his ears.

His head pounds, his stomach swirls in sickly loops, and his skin feels prickly like it's on fire, with a huge inferno at his chest. Ed smells the hospital smell, and as he can't quite manage a jolt, he squirms. The fire burns his right palm, and if he pulls, both wrists. More than straps hold him down though. Past the burning pain on his chest and right palm, by the pressure and weight, it has to be a person pressing down on him.

"Al?" He asks the world hopefully.

It takes several blinks, but where the hair should be is many shades too dark. The blurry form isn't his brother. His mind freezes. Just for a moment, with that thought. Wait. Al wouldn't be in human form. No not at all.

"Al.. Alllphonse..?" he says again, and sweeps his gaze from whoever it is, and searches for something that resembles a big ass block of metal.

That's when he feels it. The crawling sensation deep in his bones. He knows well the feeling of an active transmutation array, and this one was somewhere nearby.

He is being experimented on. Right. Now.

"…fuck."

He squirms and darts his gaze up. The yellow ceiling is clear of any runes. The person holding him down isn't his brother. He turns his head to search for the floor. Another pair of hands come from nowhere and force his face back straight. For longer that he likes, the light pierces sharp pain into his brain. Any coherent thought vanishes.

When the light is thankfully gone, he can do little but blink. Then. He tries again.

The table thing he is on is too wide; the floor remains a mystery. He can't let that stop him. He has to change that array he is sure he is trapped on, and in order to do that he has to see the horrid thing first. The straps and the weight on top of him pin him to the surface.

"Al. Fonz.. " A gravelly voice in the room says, and he can't help but look towards the speaker.

Another blurry form fills his vision. He sees a lack of color in the wispy long draping hair, but his brother isn't there either. He tries his best to roll away, and the contents of his stomach lurch, disagreeing with the slight movement.

As he coughs, he squishes his eyes shut against nonsense assaulting his ears. The buzzing in his bones stretches into a crescendo, and forces him to grit his teeth as the rising discord makes the hair on his neck dance on end. Oh, he knows this feeling. And he knows it only too well.

It's a rebound. It's huge, and nothing good will come of it.

He waits, all cringed up, for the reaction to pass. It goes on and on. He feels the ground rumble and, the clashing harmonics diminish as the earthly forces nearly buck his blocky bed over.

"What the shit..!" He calls out as he feels the sudden drop that leaves his queasy stomach behind. He hears several voices cry out, scared as he. The bed he is in lands hard, bounces once, maybe twice, he isn't sure, and then skitters a bit to clatter massively over a large surface of something at least a foot thick. That roll is what topples the thing over, with him still in it.

Breathless, chest wound twinging, and arm complaining from how he landed on his right, he opens his eyes. He can't let himself believe. His eyes dart all over his immediate area.

A wall of dust rolls in the room in the silence that follows, and he has a good view of a wall so filled with cracks, it might better be described as splintered. He uses the time offered by the haze to study the wide straps still holding him in place on the mattress. His right hand clumsily paws at the release, and useless fingers claw dumbly as the fire in his palm seems burn hotter. He reaches with his left instead, and several heartbeats pass before he fumbles out the device.

The dust thins enough to find the gaping crevice in the sandstone above him. He can see movement there, as if people up there are running about in a panic, but the room he landed in sounds clear. He scoots aside and eases himself up, and immediately regrets moving at all. His gasps fill his ears, and he wishes he could wait for the nausea, at least, to pass. Instead, he lurches for his footing. He hears a deeply ominous rumble, followed by more screams. He narrows his eyes as he stands, peering at the floor. He can't quite believe what he sees.

There are no runes. In fact, the entire floor, made of some kind of sandstone, is cracking. No. That's not precise enough. More like piles of rubble mixed liberally with a cracked abused floor. There are several holes that he can see, and one definitely goes clear through to the level below. He shimmies himself free of the toppled bed, every step feeling the floor shiver like a living thing, and stumbles his way through the only door.

The hall beyond is hazy. He makes out large boulder and a pile of rubble. Something like a leg twitches, and parts appear wet with... He hears wailing voices echo against the walls. He supposes the rest of the body, or more likely, bodies, lie beneath that block of collapsed ceiling. On pure instinct, he slaps his palms together as if in prayer, and winces at the shooting pain in his right palm. He places his hands over the floor all the same, knowing well that there is little time before the entire building collapses.

He can't save the structure, especially without the knowledge of how much material he has on hand. But this much, he can do. His knees give out as the stone hands form and raise the sandstone in a storm of blue lightening. Warmth flowing in his veins nearly masks the pain in his right palm as he leans onto his hands. As a fresh wave of dizziness washes over his senses, he registers more movement down the hall. Diffuse forms become people, who stop and seem to stare. At him, he supposes.

All except one. This one darts over to the freed people beneath the risen, collapsed ceiling, gathers up a body, and vanishes from his sight.

He blinks rapidly as he pushes himself back to his feet. He leans his shoulder against the wall. Dimly aware of the floor shaking some more, he keeps his gaze locked on the crowd of hazy figures standing in the dust for several heartbeats.

He glances towards more voices calling out, and staggers forward. He meant to gesture towards the cries, he really did. But the moment he lifts his hand from the quaking surface of the helpful wall, his vision fills with stars.

He catches himself instead, and blinks rapidly once more. He staggers forward, where he supposes the exit is. Something metallic thunks into the wall by his head, and he instantly ducks down from the bullets with a yell. A female voice calls out somewhere behind him, followed by the stomping of heavy footsteps. He slaps his palms together, burning pain in his palm is nothing compared to his life. Blinded by the spark of discharge, the warmth of the reaction warms his bones as he falls.

Ooooooo

Sickly purple lightening flashing brightly with spurts of red and black streak winters night sky, and afterwards, the streets of Suna buckle up and sway down. Great blocks of sand stone fall free from the tops of the round squat structures, and cracks dance through once sturdy walls. Shikamaru jumps down from the wall he is on looks over the mess with wide eyes. With every step closer to where the village's hospital is located, the disaster is markedly growing worse. He hears yelling, and begins to run.

As he turns a sweeping corner, he sees the hospital. He stops a moment, allowing a number of Suna nin to rush by. The building stands, the round wall filled with gaping cracks, and overall leans slightly over to the west as though it is a drunken nin. Around it, pieces of the street jut upwards like he once saw the ocean water do over craggy rocks, only the street is frozen that way.

The building next to the hospital is missing. In its place is a pile of rubble half as tall as it once stood. Shika gapes in wonder as he hears the cries of Suna nin echoing in the ruined streets.

"We're under attack!"

Shika looks about for the attackers, but aside from Suna nin, he sees nothing. He looks skyward and only stars twinkle down. Not a cloud to watch anywhere up in the dark. The question is a matter of priorities, really. He recalls his orders, and frowns. To hell with orders, he thinks. A nin that abandons his fellows is worse than scum, and right now, Suna nin, his allies, need his help.

As he was heading there anyway, he decides to help with the hospital first. He finds the front doors blocked by piles of blocky sandstone nearly up to his chest, and a moment later the light flickers. A glance reveals shattered glass, and maybe a foot of so leeway space around one of the piles.

What a drag... he thinks, and wonders if it would be so good an idea to shimmy his way in. He darts gaze up at the many cracks, and disregards this entranceway as too risky. Nins run all over, carrying bodies from the compromised place, so there has to be a way in and out. This is just not it.

Ooooo

The Tower near the center of the village survived the night's events with a dozen or so cracks. Baki thinks it a fortunate thing, as that Tower currently serves as the Kazekage's home. He looks to the two standing before the round table in the conference room, and takes in a breath to begin.

"The seal carved upon the scrap of skin, and a vial of that Id's blood coupled with a massive amount of chakra. That was all." Baki says to Ebizo. "It was.. an unfortunate oversight of the Intelligence Division."

"Oversight? There isn't enough of the man who activated the seal to put in a memorial. " Green Demon says. "and the report of the dead…"

"There are reports he did rescue a few villagers from the collapsed ceiling." Baki supplies as she shakes her head.

"No apparent chakra, barely able to walk, and he still does those jutsus. He moved the ceiling to better maneuver down the hallway, no more no less. He vanished afterwards." Green Demon says.

"You were supposed to watch him."

"The floor collapsed beneath me during… Whatever that was. I fell. Down three floors, and by the time I got back to the room, he was gone."

"You failed in your duty.."

"I.. I will find the boy."

"Huh."

"I will."

Baki leans back in his chair.

"This Id was not involved in this so called attack." Ebizo states, and calmly raises a finger towards Green Demon as she turns his way. "Hear me out. Why didn't the boy use this… terrible thing? It was in so easy a reach. Why not use this to free himself. Either when he was with the slavers, or with us..?"

"The boy did not have the seal when he first found at the slaver's encampment. Both of his palms were clear of any sort of marks. Not even a scratch was found on either hand." Green demon provides. "He must have.. Signed a contract in the time he was out. Somehow, someway.. It's crazy to think that such a thing is possible in such a short about of time, but … I'm sure it has to contain some sort of beast that no one has ever seen. "

"No one will see this beast, then. Place this seal within the Forbidden Archive."

"As you wish Acting Kazekage."

"And begin the search.."

"Yes. Indeed. To hold Death in the palm of his hand.." Ebizo interrupts. Baki eyes the old man as he shuffles down the nearly empty room to stand by the statues housed against the far wall. Ebizo shakes his head slowly, and frowns as his gaze drifts his way. "May I have a word in private, Acting Kazekage?"

Baki raises the palm of his hand, and flicks his eyes to Green Demon.

"…begin the search.. then see me in… "

"..About fifteen minutes should suffice, I think." The voice of Ebizo echos across the room.

Baki nods and looks back at Green Demon.

"Hai Acting.."

"Yes yes, just go…" Green Demon backs respectfully out of the tower room and a whisper of a door closing tell him he is alone with the Elder. Baki settles himself into the chair and waits for the old man to begin.

"Alas, my ancient ears have great difficulty in listening these days."

"Go on."

"At first I thought he was asking if he still existed. Odd question but not entirely unexpected, given the circumstances the boy is in. the word he used though.." The old man pauses."To exist. As an object. A weapon. ….As if he were an object, rather than a living person."

"That is the pinnacle of many a nins goals. "

"To simply be a weapon in the service of the village. Yes. However. There is a fine line that must not be crossed, ever. You know of what I speak."

"Lord Gaara himself nearly crossed that line. He nearly destroyed Suna, in a fit of rage."

"I remember ."

"It is confirmed that he is broken then. Mentally?"

"I will support that view in council, for the good of Suna."

"Then for the good of Suna, I believe we should not risk harboring him any longer. "

"However."

"There is more…?"

Ebizo closes his eyes and gives a quick nod. He then shuffles towards the window. In a low voice, so soft that Baki can barely make out his words, he continues.

"The way he was looking about, it reminded me of my own actions since the death of my dear sister. Late at night when I should be asleep. I often find myself searching for her." Ebizo glances away to study the ceiling. Baki imagines the elder is studying the newly formed cracks in the tiles. "It takes several moments for me, in my advanced age, to remember Chiyo is gone."

"What are you saying…?"

"The word I thought he said was wrong. It sounded right, at first, but. It was not the complete form. He was saying something else in his aphasia. Something with an entirely different meaning than mere existence. I can't be certain of my suspicions, of course, due to his obviously broken mind, but.."

Baki's brows lower, and he swallows in realization.

"Yes. His mind is indeed too broken to be certain of anything. Thank you. Honored Sibling, for your continued service on behalf of the village."

Oooo

To his knowledge, In all the world, only one language was spoken.

The council believes the boy is acting, but as he walks down the Tower's dust clogged hall, Baki thinks otherwise. The boy was clearly out of his mind with fever, with eyes that smoldered with inner fire, and still he did not break that odd speech pattern.

Containing something like death in the palm of his hand was certainly an insane move. A greater insane move was not to use it when there was a clear need. Convincing the council of that will not be easy. They would only see the potential future weapon for the village's disposal. He thinks it best not to raise the issue in council, but if it is brought up, he thinks he can argue it away.

Ebizo's deliberate misdirection could be a great help in that regard. The village elders have a firm grasp of the dangers an unstable mind could bring to the village. Gaara had taught them all that hard lesson, many times, as he wrestled with evil influence of the beast Shukaku sealed within his body. Even without such a monster within, the human brain is a delicate thing. A blow to the head could easily destroy memories. Perhaps the Id boy was brain damaged in the place wherever his command of language was located, and if so, that was certainly an injury that no Suna med nin could cure.

If the boy was not found alive.. Well, then he supposes he could always dangle another prize for the most greedy of the councilors to focus on. The boy might have family, perhaps even a sibling. Somewhere nearby? It is intriguing to think about.

He cannot wait for Gaara to return to make his decision on behalf of the village. Now he has only to convince the council that his decision is the right one. And. Perhaps they should send a team to search the remains of the slaver's camp once more.

Ooooo

A cool cloth drapes over his forehead, and Ed awakens somewhat at the sudden cooling of his personal inferno. His body feels so heavy. He sees he has visitors. One looks.. no both look familiar. Warm salty liquid is fed to him, with a wooden spoon that just appears in his view. It tastes wonderful, but something is off about it. He swallows it down. The warm liquid slithers past the annoying tube stuck in his throat through his nose. He's not sure how he managed that. Really. Who can swallow all that well with a stupid tube in their throat?

The thing he is in is moving. He sees he fell asleep on the wooden bench, and by his side sits a hulking antique suit of armor. He smiles at the glowing embers that serve as eyes, for the suit of armor contains the soul of wonderful Alphonse.

The eyes wink out. And the helmet collapses with a hallow thunk. Ed sits up in a panic, calling out Alphonse's name. He doesn't hear his own voice though he screams out a loud as he knows. He turns about, looking, not for help, no. for something. Inspiration. That's when he notices. The slack faces of the other passengers. The slumped bodies. He reaches for one limp wrist with his flesh hand, and after tearing off the concealing gloves, searches desperately for a pulse.

There is none. He goes to the next body. And the next.

The silence roars his ears. Shatters his awareness. No people.. alive. Anywhere.

Alone, he is alone.

And it is all his fault.

Oooooo

Id jolts awake, body jumping in a great sort of twitch. On the wooden floor, that sprawled pile more resembles a nest than an actual bed. Shika can see that he stares at nothing and shivers as he lies in the layers of blankets.

He decides to try one word he heard the boy say.

"Al fonz."

Shika admits that he has no idea what the word means, but at least it works. The boy gazes his way.

Shika found Id unconscious on the first floor, lying on a pile of rubble covered in dirt. The room was choked with dust, and more than a few crushed bodies. Id looked far worse than when he saw him in the market: Bones more prominent, his pale skin covered with bandages. His condition suggested that Id was involved in some way with this whole mess, only there wasn't time to figure out just how much, nor why.

However impossible it sounds, Shika knows the boy is a true foreigner. He knows Suna's ways are not correct for a delicate maneuver such as this requires.

Suna is a nice place, he knows, but it is never, ever kind.

Shika covered what scrapes and bruises he found with gauze from his flak jacket pocket, and with a glance to all the devastation around, lifted the boy to his back. With luck he figured the dust would cover his leaving, and most any onlookers would mistake his passenger as just another injured nin being moved elsewhere. Without anywhere else to take the boy, Shika had chosen the one person in the entire village that had been concerned with the boy's welfare.

After he dropped the boy off, he went back to help, of course. Even now, Suna was barely recovering from the chaos of the night before.

So far so good. No one was the wiser.

"Teuchi-san, your guest is awake."

A/n—Nanowrimo is coming up in a few days, and being the mad person I am, I am participating. What does that mean for this lil fic? You guessed it. Way slower updates! I hope to make up for it with longer chapters. Speaking of which..

Woo. 5000 words! And I still have a lot of material. I hope this is clear.. but at least Ed is on his way to more familiar territory. I hope I killed all the goobers in this one, and I will check in on it later just to be sure. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

His body must be one big bruise, with the sting and pull and a deep sort of burning centered about the right side of his chest. He can feel the thrum of an active array nearby, and fights to keep as alert as he can. It is a losing battle in spite of the danger, his mind fogged up like wool. Someone speaks Al's name, and the sound of it breaks through the daze of pain and what he is gradually accepting as shock.

There is a person shaped shadow standing there, and little by little he begins to pick out details nestled with in the shadows. The shadow has a set of wide shoulders, and has his hair done up in a pony tail that sticks up rather like how a pineapple would look like.

The glint of a square-ish metal piece tied at the shoulder of the turning pineapple hair has the corners of his mouth tugging down. He knows he lays prone on his back, beneath some blankets, and it is all that he can do to turn his head. As he watches the pineapple shadow guy turn away and call out, the light out there fully pierces straight to his brain. He winces and squints his eyes, listening to the crunch of approaching footsteps just outside.

The array is active, throbbing thick with dangerous potential, and it is somewhere nearby.

Over there at the blinding square, he only sees a big shadow cutting across the light. The jagged pain that is his body tells him that he must have been experimented on, and he is certainly not happy about it. Whatever happened, he suspects it is not over yet.

He says a word he is sure is of their language, his voice cracking to nothing.

The massive shadow shifts, the ground he lays on juts over just a tad with a telling creak, and Ed feels one of his hands flop over. He notices something, or rather lack of something. About his wrists are nothing. He swallows. His hands are free for some reason he doesn't know, but everything feels so heavy it hardly matters. He wrinkles his nose up in disgust.

Even still, he longs to gesture with a single digit to get his message across to the approaching hugely round shaped shadow. The fellow stops his approach, and speaks.

He doesn't understand a word said, of course, and he shakes his head as he squints his eyes closed against the too bright light. The pounding ache in his head tells him that he should not have moved at all, and he swallows against the nausea the flaring pain awakens in his gut.

Ed tries to jerk away from the unwelcome touch of a hand pressed against his forehead, but another hand prevents that and cups his cheek in an almost tender gesture. Ed cracks an eye open. The too bright light is thankfully gone. He slowly makes out the face of the rotund man in the draping shadows, who withdraws his hands rather self-consciously.

One meaty hand gets pressed against the massive chest, and the man rumbles in a deep baritone, "Teuchi."

Ed keeps his face frozen in a mask, and stares at the man instead of speaking. When the man says nothing more, he lets his gaze slide over the rest of the immediate area now that it is cooled by the dark. The man looks familiar, but his recollection of where exactly he has seen the guy before is fuzzed up. Maybe he questioned him in his travels. Somewhere, somewhen. He knows enough he figures. He is a prisoner, no, a slave, and he does not like it.

The walls look dry, rough, and maybe brown and drab, what he can see of them. He was just moved somewhere, while he was knocked out, a wooden somewhere.

Would a stone building have a wooden section or something, he wonders. He knows it does not make much sense, and weaves together a theory that he was moved to another somewhere else. He rakes through his limited knowledge of the town from his earlier escape, but recalling if any of the buildings he passed were wooden proves difficult.

He glances to the ceiling, noticing that where ever he is, it seems rather... boxcar like. No. Wagon like. As his glance travels down over the rotund man's shoulder, he notices a metal sculpture shoved against the far wall.

"…Nara Shikamaru des…" The baritone rumbling continues, and Ed glances at the hammy hand which in turn waves vaguely yonder. Ed's brows lower until he works out that the man was referring to the pale guy with the pineapple ponytail. Funny that he didn't notice him enter, and he figures the wagon whatever his is laying in is way darker inside than he thought.

"Teuchi" shifts his weight ponderously on his knees, and from there climbs slowly to his feet. With weighty thumps, he shuffles to that sculpture of a stove, and as he reaches over to a pot hanging from a rafter, Ed picks out more awesome details. The spikes running up the thing's back are a nice touch.

So. If this is the wagon he was hiding out in, then why would anyone bring him back here. Was he sold again, while he was knocked out? He thinks it likely.

His two keepers prattle on in conversation, and soon enough, as delicious smell begins to waft just enough that his mouth begins to water. A moment later, his stomach begins to knaw noisily on his spine.

A short argument is ended with Teuchi shaking his head sharply as he lifts a large bowl between his hands. The floor wiggles with each of the massive man's footsteps, furthering cementing his wagon theory in his head. As the man sets the bowl down next to his shoulder, Ed tries his best to sit up. He barely lifts his head for all his efforts, and he growls in frustration.

0000

Shika drops in three soldier pills into the soup once he is sure that Teuchi is gone. The merchant would be gone a while, as he was wagon wheel shopping amongst what was left of Suna. The man was so very protective of his recipes that he was blind to when it was necessary to adjust them. The soldier pills had their drawbacks, but someone with very low chakra would need them. He figures that the risks of their use would be worth the trouble of boosting the chakra recovery of the boy.

He watches the struggling face of Id as he waits for the pills to dissolve in the broth, and lifts a brow. The chakra starved boy tries his best to move, in spite of his terrible condition, and as Shika watches, becomes red faced from his futile efforts to reach the simple bowl of soup by lifting his head a tiny bit. The drag of it is, right now, the boy was so thin that he is lucky to be breathing on his own.

Shika should know. It was not so long ago that his best friend, Choji, was in much the same shape.

Shika flops down, shifting lazily to the necessary task of feeding. As he moves, Id eyes widen, watching him warily with those eerie golden irises. It doesn't last very long. Like last time, hunger seems to win out.

Also like last time, Id sputters and struggles with swallowing. Before very long, Shika scoops up another spoonful of noodles only to find Id with a drooping open mouth. Eyelids flaccidly drape down, and the contents of the spoon to spill over the sharp chin as the boy's breaths come even and slow. Shika frowns at the sight of his sleeping charge, and shrugs in indifference as he takes what is left of the soup back to the counter.

Shika gets bored enough that he takes out his shoji board, just to look it over. He climbs up to the counter, and leans back against the wall as he brings up his legs. He crosses them as he lets out a breath, letting the back of his head rest.

Just as Shika is about to dose off, he hears Id coughing. He looks over, and down. He watches the boy's head turns to the side, and after a great to do, the contents of his stomach spill out onto the wagon floor.

Just like last time.

Shika figures it will be a long week.

0000

The going is slow, but a caravan of wagons is traveling with them, giving them the relative safety of a large group.

Shikamaru jumps from one branch to the next in the thick forest between Suna and Fire Country, and lands lightly without much sound.

With Teuchi cooking the soup at each stop, Shika can only perform formal escort duties per his orders, and keeps a careful watch on the other merchants traveling with them. He hasn't found a chance to add chakra enhancers to the cooking since they left Suna, but he knows that it can't be helped.

This morning he saw for himself that their guest in the wagon is much the same, as he expected from the lack of proper treatment for the boy's condition. He observed that the blond usually slept most of the day in the tangle of blankets at the far end of the wagon's floor, and thus far, no one amongst the others has noticed his presence, which Shika figures as a good thing.

The sun is high in the sky, and a few birds pass him in the canopy of trees, and he turns back, figuring he has gone far enough for the moment. The return patrol is equally uneventful, but Shika does not mind that at all.

Boring is good, when you are a nin. It means less risk of life.

He drops to the ground as he finishes his final patrol of the immediate area, and glances around just to be sure that all is as it appears. Nice and quiet, he figures, but hears a hard metallic bang, followed by a sort of thump. He turns and slouches towards the firelight before the wagon's door. A sharp sound like that could have been caused by Teuchi, and as the merchant offers up a bowl from the sizable round metal pot when he approaches. Shika raises a hand in answer, suspecting the true source of the seemingly innocuous sound. He waves the man back, and raises a single finger to signal that the man should stay silent.

"What's wrong..?" Teuchi whispers too loudly, and Shika hisses in response as he gives the man a sharp glare. The man swallows his next words, and satisfied Shika looks away to reach for the wagon door. He weaves a few hand signs as he creeps up the shallow stairs, and peers past the portal into darkness.

In the far corner, he can barely make out the tangle of blankets, and the rather empty dent in the thin futon's middle. Was Id taken, then? Did Suna find out already? Shika narrows his eyes as he eases along another step, just inside the wagon. The floor creaks slightly under his shifting weight.

He has enough time to register a slight glint of light, and that is the moment he releases his chakra into the surrounding shadows. He feels the bite of a knife against his throat, and his eyes widen. The knife is quite large, long, and if Shika guesses correctly, is part of the set Teuchi has sitting on his counter. He stares at one of its mates sticking jutting from the wall directly across from him as the roughened voice of Id hisses something he doesn't understand in his ear. That knife in the wall was the distraction that got him in this drag of a mess.

Shika shakes his head a bit as his brows skew in confusion at the boy's words.

The knife at his throat digs into the tender flesh, and.

He feels an overly warm hand wrap roughly about his right forearm, and the insistent sharp tug that follows. The boy must want his arm, and Shika does not like it. He feels the hot sting as a slight stream of blood begins to dribble down his neck, and also notes something of a hesitation on the boy's part. He could be dead by now, taken by surprise as he was. How was he to know that Id could do this much?

So why. Shika analyses what little clues he has available.

The arm holding the knife quivers as much as the rest of the small body holding it up does. It is not from fear, or nerves. The boy means what he says, judging by the precise positioning of that big ass knife. And whatever he is saying, it will not be all that long before the boy collapses. The boy is in a hurry, then.

Shika knows what he has to do to free himself. It's a simple jutsu to him now, but the results would not be nearly as quiet as he would like. But. What if he cooperates instead, taking advantage of Id's hesitation at killing. In a way, this stupid action speaks volumes of id's nature. Perhaps this Id is not a nin at all. Or at the very least, not a very skilled nin when it comes to basic killing.

Shika supposes that is a good thing.

00000

A/n—more to come... I just wanted to update while I had a chance and a steady internet connection. Been a busy month, man. But I won the nanowrimo challenge, and I am wading through the mess of words that I produced. I shall untangle the rest of this here scene shortly, perhaps within a week.


	7. Chapter 7

"Alphonse you ass hat. Where is my brother!" Ed hisses as he struggles with the guy. He holds the knife he snagged at the guy's throat, but his muscles are trembling so much that he feels the flush of embarrassment at how weak he feels. If he is not very careful, he could accidentally slice off a good chunk of the stupid guy's neck.

It takes a few heartbeats, but pineapple hair guy shakes his head. Ed growls in frustration. He knows that this guy has to know something about Alphonse, but without any way of speaking to him, he cannot exactly find out just what it is that he knows.

He doesn't want to waste a life, and the knife idea was stupid anyway. Besides, if this guy was any danger to him, he would certainly know it by now. He may have been shamming sleeping the past few days, but he knows well that this guy could have done something while he was out for real, and hadn't.

Except... That's right. This is _that_ guy.

Ed swiftly releases his grip on one of the guy's arms, and delivers a solid punch between two vertebrae with the heel of his left hand. Pineapple falls forward in a slump puddle on the wagon's floor, and Ed's unsteady balance almost forces him into joining the guy. He catches himself on the wall in time, and then eases down into a crouch. He pats Pineapple's pouches, pulling things out until he finds what he is looking for. He scowls at the dozen or so pills he spills onto his bandaged up right palm... He wants so much to promptly toss them out the door, box and all, but instead, sets the thing down out of the way with the rest of the stuff.

He reaches for one of Pineapple guy's wrists. The bandana at the shoulder works fine for one wrist, and as he secures it to that side's ankle, the wagon door bangs open.

He scrambles back deeper into the wagon, putting the half hog tied body between the door and himself. He belatedly snatches the kitchen knife back from its place on the floor. He makes sure that the business edge faces out from him, but his burning hand holds it in a shaking grip that he knows will not last long.

Only then does Ed really take a good look at the immediate problem. A really really fat man stands between him and freedom. The man looks at him, with his mouth agape in something like surprise.

Ed has enough time to shift most of his weight onto the more steady of his legs, the automail one. The metal creaks slightly somewhere in the abused mechanism. The man's eyes widen, and he even begins to back up a step. Ed waves the knife, and yells out to encourage the guy to back off further. If there is one thing he can do well in any sort of condition, it's yelling. He uses most of his considerable vocabulary of insults, and thinks it a waste.

This man bought him after all. Like he was a piece of property or something.

Ed jabs the knife forward as he creeps past the prone body, and shimmies to the open door. He peeks past the opening, and sees the fat man standing to there with his hands held loosely at his side.

Ed swallows, and darts his gaze around. He sees tree trunks: massive tree trunks with green moss growing on the rough bark, and no green leaf in sight. Dirt for a road. There is little light, but enough to suggest it is morning, or perhaps dusk. The canopy above is thick, so he thinks it could even be noon.

He eases his way down the stairs, keeping his back to the solid wooden structure.

Tuft of white here and there. His breath puffs the air, and he shivers. There is dark horse by the fat man. No. More than one; he can hear more back behind this wagon. Beyond the other equine there is... He widens his eyes as further beyond that box that has to be a wagon; another beast with large curving horns dips its massive head down to the dirt.

Ed hears yelling echoing against the trees, and darts his gaze to the source. A few arms wave in the air by the wagon over there. Two figures approach from that way, male or female he doesn't know. The clothing is baggy and the color of dust as they rush along.

What the shit.

Ed takes step. His living toes scuffle against the cold dust of the road, and he darts his gaze to the fat man. The fellow hasn't moved, and Ed shifts his back towards the wagon. His automail thunks against the frozen ground, and he staggers as the gears whine deep in his exposed automail leg.

Not just a wagon, then. He is in a caravan. A fucking caravan. Al would love this, he thinks. This is the first time we've ever been in a... He stops that thought firmly and focuses on the business at hand. Here he is in an unknown location amongst strangers. In the middle of a place he has no idea where, and even though he was taken here against his will, he was depending upon the kindness of strangers for what amounted for the past few days. He grudgingly weighs his treatment, and determines that it was well enough. At least there were no chains this time. He chews upon that thought for several moments alone as Fat man waves the strangers back.

He feels the chill wind bite his skin, and far too much of the cold for his liking. He glances at the garment that covers him, and grimaces. He is dressed in a rag of which barely covers his knackers and vaguely remind him of diapers. There's this big ass bandage wrapped about his right hand, and that covers the array he recalls he carved there. The pain burns just using that hand, but he knows through bitter experience that survival is far more important than comfort. Then there's the patchwork of bandages across his chest, colored in varying shades ranging from red to brown.

In winter, clothing would be very important; doubly so because he had automail. The metal finish alone sucked any sort of warmth from his body, and even now ached in a way that told him that a storm was approaching.

He frowns and glares at the unknown folks approaching. He looks over their attire, searching for that annoyance of a metal rectangle, or other traces of threat.

Fat man yells out, speaking quickly, and the approaching people slow to an uneasy stop. Fat man says something else in a low tenor, the tone meant to be soothing. Ed shoots a glare at the guy, and grips his knife tighter as he wrinkles his nose in disgust. Even if he didn't know what was being said, he felt insulted: as if he was anywhere near that naive to fall for something like that. He then breathes in the delightful scent of cooking, and the smokiness of what can only be a campfire. A glance behind him reveals a pair of large cylinder cooking pots that surely belong to this man, sitting on a few well-placed rocks. His gritty long hair graces his lower back as Ed looks back at the fat man.

He can see this fellow is not armed. The most dangerous thing he carries is the small paring knife poking against the white apron pocket by his thigh. Or maybe the sharp crease in his white paper hat upon his balding head.

He knows equivalent exchange needs to be addressed. Besides, that Pineapple knows something about Al. He can't risk losing his one lead on his brother.

Ed closes his eyes for a heartbeat, and lets out a breath. He darts his gaze to the fat man, and back to the two standing a ways off now. Carefully, with the knife held slightly more loosely, he staggers a turn so that he faces the man, and with a calculated glance to the two now behind him, he takes a step towards the forest. Slowly, walking with a stiffened limp; he cuts a wide circle around the fat guy, holding his knife out at the ready should he need to use it. He never takes his eyes off the man, and the man never looks away from him. Several minutes later, he eases himself down on a stump close by the blaze. He sits uneasily, but close enough to the fire that shivering would not trouble him. At least for a while. Knife still firm in his hand, he sets himself to the task of watching those he needs to depend on.

Fat man darts his gaze to the wagon and back, concern painted about his brows. Ed rakes through his memory as he narrows his eyes, and then takes in a breath.

"Tekky... was it?" Ed says.

The fat man's eyes widen slightly. Ed repeats with a slow blink, adding "Tikkey?"

"Teuchi"

Ed nods, and with a huff, attempts the mouthful. The word tastes strange on his tongue, and it comes out more like "Tayooshi" than what the fat man forced out.

"Tayooshi"'s brows lower in confusion as he listens. He then offers a guarded smile. With a look to the gently bubbling liquid in the pot sitting across from him, Ed gestures to his otherwise bare chest, and says, "Ed."

00000

His client bangs away at some mystery in the wagon as Shika watches with narrowed eyes. The boney Id eats a long tender soup noodle with sloppy fingers, instead being fed for the first time in a week. Teuchi smiled at mentioning the progress of the boy's recovery, however little it is, and Shika can only stare at the strangeness. Blazing golden irises glare right back.

His head pounds, stabling his brain somewhere behind his eyes and all he wants to do is go back to sleep. He sat up a while ago only because his client, the owner Ichiraku, had his hammy hands on his shoulders and shook him. He heard his client's excited chatter because he had to, but still thinks it a drag. He wipes his face as he whimpers under the throbbing pain.

Somehow, he was on the lying wagon floor, and the alarming thing of it was that he cannot immediately recall just what had happened. A futon was empty, the one the blond boy had been sleeping in, and he could not figure as to why.

Well actually he could, but it was on the list of unlikely possible outcomes: Id was just gone.

He supposed he should get on the task of finding the guy. Id was officially considered an asset of Leaf now, per his orders from the newest Hokage. That was his thoughts exactly when the excited chattering of his client smashed the very word, "Id is sitting.." into his brain.

Shikamaru could only blink stupidly as he skewed his brows. The very thought of this Id doing much of anything was very odd, and although Shika was not the type, he crawled to his feet at his client's insistence to see this thing for himself.

"Heeei..!" Id calls out, and Shika sees the big ass knife appear in a bandaged hand. Shika leans back and raises his brows slowly as the business end briefly points his way. He moves groggily, slumping down to sit on the lowest stair past the door, and to his satisfaction, the pointy end gets stuck into the ground by the boy's metal leg. The boy continues his glare as he eats, not that Shika minds. The bowls contents are soon refilled under that same glare, and by the time Shika begins to dose, Teuchi emerges from the wagon with a pile of things that includes a bowl piled high with raw doughy noodles.

The merchant scolds the boy back from the pot, and Shika stands up. He reaches for his chakra blades in his pouch, just in case. Only, he widens his eyes in shock. His pouches are empty. Helpless to act, Shika watches the boy back away to slurp more broth down from the bowl.

In a way it is much like the behavior he had seen in the market, instead of anything threatening. He finds moves odd, not quite as smooth as back then, but more like a stiffened favoring of the metal fashioned leg. As the boy crosses between the blaze and himself, Shika makes a careful observation. The merchant chooses then to turn about and toss something the boy's way.

The bowl drops and shatters upon the frozen dirt, and the unbalanced boy scrambles. Closer to the wagon—that is near to Shika— the missile drapes itself about the vacated spot of earth. Shika can tell what it is from his perch: a simple robe. Shika shifts uneasily he sees the boy crouches low to the ground by the horse, golden eyes wildly darting about behind a dirt encrusted curtain of hair like an untamed beast.

A pair of trousers plop on top of the cloth as the merchant looks to the boy and lets out a breath.

"Shikamaru, could you…?" the man gestures vaguely with his beefy hand at the clothing and then to Id. Id's head perks up slightly at the gesture. He reaches out and plucks up one corner of the breeches between his thumb and forefinger and lifts the thing aloft. The color he can't make out, but there is an ample amount of material.

"What a drag.. you want me to…?"

The boy, for his part, shakes his head firmly and releases the breeches from grasp. He points at the pile of clothes in the dirt and says something Shika doesn't understand. The merchant frowns, and scoops up the pile with one arm. This he plunks firmly into the boy's lap, and with a pointing finger, he says sharply,

"I know that you're hungry, freezing, and anyone with half a brain can tell that you need help. Put those on."

"Teyooshee.." Id says quite clearly with a firm shake of his head.

"I mean it. Put them on. I'll have no more of your nonsense."

The merchant folds his arms as he stands over the boy. Id frowns, and after a few moments, looks down at the pile in his lap. His hands do not move to the task at all, but Shika can see he shivers.

"Shikamaru…?"

… The boy hovered close enough to the fire that Shika wondered if he wished to walk upon the coals. He narrows his eyes, and gives a sharp nod of his head. As he stands up once more, the boy lifts his gaze, and holds his palm aloft with his fingers splayed.

"Heeei!" The boy roars, his eyes blazing. He says a lot more, and much more loudly, but Shika can't understand a thing.

Shika stops as the gesture suggests, and eyes the many seals covering the pale skin of that hand. A heartbeat later, Id lifts up the robe, shoves first one arm through a sleeve, slips the free cloth over his back, and shoves the bandaged up arm through the other. The boy then looks at Shika with lowered brows, tugs at the rest of the robe about his chest, and staggers up to his clearly quivering, unsteady feet. Shika hears a metallic whine, followed quickly by a series of clicks, and Id drops back down so suddenly Shika is in a dive to catch him before he realizes what he's doing.

Id shoves him away hard and Shika fully expects him drop to the dirt. Instead, he sees Id stagger stiff legged a few steps past the horse to the wagon. As he leans heavily upon his bandaged hand, massive robe draping upon the ground behind him, he speaks harshly in that language of his. A few moments later, he shift to sit on the steps, and Shika watches as he begins to unravel the bandage.

"What's he..?" Teuchi begins.

"What's it look like..?" Shika replies with a shrug. What does it matter to him if the bandage is on or off on a wound anyway? The harsh speaking continues as the boy works the bandage free from his flesh, until it becomes little more than a hiss. Id holds his naked right palm face up on his lap, and Shika can see it contains a large and angry red wound shaped like a neatly cut square. The edges look brown crusted with old blood as Id rolls it toward the fire light. Id's expression hides in the curtain of his filthy long hair, but in moments, he wraps the wound up again.

Shika doesn't know what to make of the silence, and as he glance to his client, he slumps his back as he shoves his hands into his pockets. He lowers his brows as he notices more things missing from his equipment, and begins to lightly pat his palms about his flack jacket. His kunai? Missing. Smoke scrolls, gone. Explosion paper, vanished. Only one thing remained in his cursory check of his equipment inventory—He pulled this out slowly. It could be messed with, booby trapped, made into an exploding tag, but he sincerely hopes not. No. Not this.

"Shoji." He hears Id say in a gravely tone. He frowns as he looks to the boy, and narrows his lids as he thinks. He recalls the large ass knife at his throat, and suspects the thing involved in knocking him out earlier. He rubs at his throat, thinking. He knows for certain that Id had to have done it. Somehow. The sensitive pads of his fingers trace the line cut into his flesh.

Poison?

"Yeah. That's right. This is a shogi board." Shika says guardedly. Id gives a tiny nod and holds out his uninjured hand. Shika lowers his brows, and feels his heart race as Id shifts his fingers into a one handed chakra gathering sign.

"Um.. Naar?" Id says with great care. Shika let out a breath, and rolls his eyes. Some hand sign.. The gesture was simply pointing at him. Sometimes, he thinks he overthinks things. Shika shakes his head, and replies with a patting gesture at his chest "NARA. Shika. Maru."

Id wrinkles his nose, and blinks quickly as his brows lower. "Naura.." He says at length. Shika figures it close enough, and gives a small nod. Id then points a thumb at his own chest, and says.

"Ed."

He hears bit of a difference, hearing this Id say his own name. It certainly was not "Id" at all. Shika nods, but decides not to try it on his own tongue. Instead, he hands the Shogi board to the boy, and watches as Ed opens the board. Nothing happens. No explosions, or fire, or smoke. Or even splash of blood. No. The board is simply a board after all. Ed glances about, and places the board down on the second step before the wagon door. He then looks at Shika and jerks his chin.

With his equipment missing, how was he to do his patrols? It wasn't as if he found anything suspicious earlier anyway. With a slouch of a shrug, Shika takes out the rest of the pieces, and in moments, the game begins.

A/N—this portion went off in a direction that I was not expecting, and I had to rewrite it several times to make it "Ed" enough. I also fretted about my treatment of Shika. I fear I am not making him nearly lazy enough. Still, the story does have to move, and if I left it all up to Shika, we'd be watching the clouds instead of doing much of anything, right?

Oh, and that strike up there to the back of Shika's head? Yep, concussions really do that to your memory, and I think more people should correctly write about them instead of that silly stuff of remembering just who hit you right away. Or even if you were hit in the first place. Than ks again for reading, and I do promise that there is more to come. The plot just veered off in an unexpected direction, in fact.


	8. Chapter 8

Technically, he is on assignment. Even if his equipment is missing, he supposes he should get up and patrol.

"ZZZZZZOORRRRR…."

Besides, it's not like he can sleep all that well with that racket to listen to.

Shika's fingers brush lightly against his precious Shoji board set in his pack, and as he glances up he watches the dust covered blond breathe. And snore. He can see from where he sits on the steps that the boy hasn't moved all that much from where he flopped on the futon within the wagon. Another glance and Shika finds the mat that holds his other charge, the merchant named Teuchi, rolled up in a thick blanket by the smoldering remains of the cooking fire.

That game with the boy was a memorable one. This Ed took his time, looking a single piece over with such intensity; Shika had thought that the boy was stalling. Ed then shifted a bit, leaning back towards the campfire's light and lifting the tile piece slightly. The boy blinked quickly once Shika finally reached over to retrieve the piece from his grasp, but jerked away before Shika could succeed. Ed then placed the piece onto the correct place upon the board, and then reached out for the next.

If Shika didn't know better, he would guess that Ed had been attempting to read the print on the game piece. But if this Ed was a true foreigner like Shika suspects, how would it be remotely possible that some knowledge of the written language be in his possession? Wouldn't his lack of the language spoken by those inhabiting the land prove too great for such a thing?

He felt forced to bring an end to the game soon after the board was finally set, for it turns out Ed had some rather unorthodox moves. Shika doesn't quite know what to think even now. Whoever heard of swapping a golden general with a mere pawn, or even snatching the opponent's piece from a cross square without having the proper piece in place to do so?

He fiddles with one of the tiles in his pack absently. Perhaps in his homeland, the game is played differently. Quite differently. Or perhaps Ed didn't know which piece was which? Or.. and Shika frowns in disappointment at this thought… perhaps Ed doesn't know how to play properly after all.

He climbs to his reluctant feet, and with a lazy shuffle kick that dips his toes back into his worn sandals, he sets out on his way.

oooo

The bits of sky poking through the canopy above are brighter as Shika leaps, taking care to search the shadows of the undergrowth for trouble. This section of the forest has a neater looking trade road, but as green bits of weedy plants poke through the well traveled area, the roads beneath him still appears far more like a path an animal would make than a truely paved roadway.

Shika has yet to finish the morning patrol, but with a glance down, he decides to call it early. A few of the wagons bumble down one path, kicking up dust, and a great deal of the rest appear jammed behind one wagon in particular.

He wonders why the wagons were let ahead, but he also figures that his client has his reasons. Too bad that the driver of the one wagon doesn't quite share the same sense of road manners, and chooses to block the road instead of getting as far to the side as he can. Shika narrows his gaze at that wagon, and chews the inside of his cheek.

His client, Teuchi the merchant, stands at something like a crossroads with folded arms and a frown upon his face. He gazes in displeasure at the mess of wagons ahead, or perhaps at the crossroads, Shika isn't quite sure, but as Teuchi is unharmed for the moment, Shika leaps down.

Shika doesn't look to see the blond within the wagon this time.

"ZZZZZZOORRRRR…."

He judges that by the noise, he can well guess that Ed remains asleep.

Teuchi jerks his chin, indicating his choice.

'The path clear of wagons, Or, road. Whatever. ' Shika thinks as he spares a glimpse to the dingy signpost nailed to the single post jutting up from the dirt.. He raises his brows. Though the letters are rather faded, Shika knows where it is that the road leads.

Or rather, used to.

Teuchi has the reins of the horses in hand as Shika shrugs and looks to his sandals.

Oooo

The bump in the road is what jars his lids open, and Ed blinks stupidly for several moments at the dull ceiling. He scowls at waking, and tastes the foulness in his mouth His skull throbs in time with his heart, matching the ache in his left thigh, and his skin burns much too hot for the breath that puffs out from his lips.

But he's still alive, so that's something.

As his works his way up, the wound at his chest pulls and bites at him. He looks to the dirt crusted cloth, and fingers it gingerly with his left. The overlarge robe sleeve prevents that, nearly binding up his left arm with heaping coils, and any move of his right arm seems to stretch the wound on his chest into a wide burning chasm that leaves him gasping for breath.

With a snarl, he yanks hard to slap his hands together, intending on making a well-practiced, tailored adjustment. He hisses at the flare of pain pain pain in his palms, belatedly recalling the wounds there. He curls into his hands, keeping them close as the discharge dances, flowing over his back.

As the wind of transmutation dies, the robe flutters, but it's now cut like a lightweight, proper jacket. A pair of slacks lay next to his bare legs. Neither garment is leather, as silk isn't exactly an animal skin of any sort, but he managed to tweak the color to a shade near black. He pants as he glances at the dark pair of socks lying atop the slacks, and a small smirk forms on his lips. There was enough material in the massive robe even to transmute them.

As he catches his breath, he glances again down to the bandage. The transmutation hadn't affected it at all; Dirt and sweat colored it mostly brown, and he knows it not good. He works his left at the fringes, and once he get a good hold, he leans back and slowly peels the thing free. Most of the cloth is stiff, like a piece of cardboard, and he curls his upper lip back at what he sees beneath.

An angry swelling surrounds fist sized patch of white yellow crust, and several vein-like red things lead to it from flesh that looks far too pale. His mind supplies the word infection for the mess. The socks won't be for his feet then, he decides, and as he presses them to the wound, he grits his teeth. He looks for something to secure them there, but with nothing else about, he eyes the old bandage with his nose crinkled up.

He pulls the transmuted jacket closed just as the door to the wagon bangs open. A puff of white mists the face of the intruder, but Ed makes out the shape of the dark hair style against the glare of the sky.

"Pineapple hair..." Ed mutters in a croaking Amestrisan as he squints. He wills his eyes to adjust as he blinks rapidly.

"Id." The voice replies in a lazy sort of tone. A moment passes before Ed bothers to ease his fingers apart, and attempts to straighten his back up. He frowns as he narrows his gaze in the general direction of the door, and begins to climb to his feet. He snarls quietly to the stupid wound, and places his left palm flat against fabric there as he slowly rises. The creak of the automail knee is all the warning he has, but he trusts his right to catch the handy wall for use to keep his balance. As he stumbles, he bangs his right elbow hard enough that he yelps.

Unwelcome hands are upon him, and he grimaces as firmly he pushes them away. That effort fails him miserably, so he resorts to releasing his hold on his chest and batting them off with all the enthusiasm he can muster. The bright light of day stabs straight through his skull at first, and his struggles slow as his body complains ever louder. It doesn't change the fact that he's practically being dragged, no carried, and he hates it.

"I can walk dammit!" He says in Amestrisan. After a moment, he loudly tries the words he heard at the marketplace. The hands leave him as he finishes, blustering and red-faced as any rant left him.

Then, he sees something. A tall thin red something in the blur of too much light, and his eyes widen. He stops moving his feet as he stares up at the sloping, tiled, yet flat roof attached two tallest of the series of red, round pillars of the thing which appears to serve as an entrance way. There are no gates, nor sentries to guard them, but there is definitely a sort of boundary marked here. A building which matches the style of the barrier towers past a narrow and tiled path, and he counts a dozen or so robed men milling about with their shaven head bowed. Several coughs rake in the distance, but otherwise this place nestled amongst the trees is solemnly quiet.

A beefy arm flops across his shoulders, and then nudges him along. Ed scowls on principle and aims a glare at the owner.

He gets graced with a grin, which is quickly followed a ruffle of his grit filled long hair for the trouble. He hears a snicker, and aims his glare firmly at Pineapple hair. He hates it, but he walks, or rather, stiff-legged-limps forward. He hates it that he owes the man, this "Teuchi" and he glances back to the wagon as he hovers at the building's stepped entrance. There's this blanket blocking the way instead of a proper door, and just as Ed supposes he is meant to fix that, the merchant bends in two and drops a few coins into a plain box he hadn't noticed amongst the steps.

He hears more raking coughs, and rubs his face as the bald guys glide slowly about. He watches one bow their way, and then shamble along at a snail's pace, coughing the entire length of what he could only describe as the porch. Baldy retrieves the coins, bows again, and then turns to the blanket door. Bald pulls and holds the drapery aloft, and steam billows out from within. Pineapple hair says something. Teuchi nudges, and Ed frowns as he stumbles forward from the force.

He makes it up the few stairs under his own power, and when his automail foot clicks against the tile floor within the steam filled interior, he raises his brows. He picks out curved tubes and the odd assortment of knobs against the walls at regular intervals of this long tiled corridor within the steam, and a series of stools set neatly before each. Three of the stools are occupied, and the men that sit upon them glance their way before turning away and continuing with their business.

Pineapple hair sits down on one such stool, and without hesitation, removes his sandals, pulls off his flak jacket and the shirt. Ed turns away, determined to reach the stool furthest from the weirdo. Hopefully one as close to the entrance flap as possible. So he could slip out.. and..

His nose hit the bare naked chest of Teuchi, and he immediately back peddles into an embarrassing, yet manly, fall to his backside. He continues to do his best to back-peddle away from the weirdoes, in a manly fashion, now that there were two of them in the same room.

Some voices call out in anger. Annoyance. Mockery..

No. Make that five wierdos…

He hears the squeak twist of one of the knobs, and the gush stream of water being turned on. His cheeks flush at the thought, and he casts his gaze to the tile against the nearest wall. His right hand brushes a stool and, without looking back, or at anyone, he pulls himself up to sit on the wooden surface.

These are public showers. With no dividers. And he is expected to make use of them. His throat begins to burn, and before long it stings enough that swallowing is difficult. He lowers his brows, and narrows his eyes. His breaths are burning his lungs, and he coughs lightly, intending to clear his throat.

He supposes it is not all that different from the showers in the barracks. He did occasionally use those, but Alphonse was usually nearby and..

And Al isn't here.

He coughs again, and then, very quickly, takes off the jacket. The slacks. The bandage. Bandages. All of them. And finally, the diaper things that serves as underwear. He kicks the pile to the side, and twists one of the knobs on the shower. After working out which is hot and which cold, a steady spray that is this close to boiling point rains down. Just how he likes it. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth soak in, smoothing out the kinks he usually ignores in his muscles. He even basks in the one comfort in weeks over his remaining port.

He hears Pineapple say something, cough, and continue. He hears Teuchi cough, reply something, cough again. Ed does not turn about, but leans forward and lets the spray flow over his head down his neck. The water takes all the grit away, he hopes. He touches his forehead against the cool tile, breathing in the billowing, wonderful steam. The choking burn in his throat makes him cough again before too long, but he does his best to ignore it.

He opens his eyes. Choking burn…? In the throat. Why does that symptom sound so very..

…familiar…

No.. it can't be..

He shuts off the water, and as he reaches to the side, graces his palms together. The energy within him flows silky smooth with hardly any effort on his part at all. Another notch checks in his mind, and he finds he can name a number of alchemical catalysts which have that effect.

Especially when combined together.. Especially TOXIC when combined together…

He slips the slacks on just as the wildly flickering discharge dies down, and as steam rises from the top of his long dry hair, he lowers his brows. More voices are calling out in anger, but whatever. He knows he has to find that source and quickly.

Nagging cough that burns the throat. Combine that with.. Come to think of it, those bald guys looked lethargic, like they were dragging their feet in thick mud. But the cause of it, how could that be here…? That research.. only four, no five were amongst the living, who both knew about it and had access to the research notes back in Amestris. No way could it be..

Pineapple stands directly behind him with a towel wrapped about his waist. Ed climbs to his feet looks closely at the water dripping down from the pipe above him. The liquid is colorless there, so as he rules it out, he turns his attention to the next one. And the next. A hand on his right shoulder restrains him from continuing, and he snarls his frustration as he roughly brushes the hand off his flesh.

"Id.." Pineapple says more in a soft tone, like he speaks to a demented child. He holds both of his hands up, patting the air as Ed glances his way. Ed turns back to his search, and through the thick steam, notices a large round pool nestled in the floor deeper within. He takes slow steps towards it, holding his breath as he approaches the edge.

Either the tile of the pool is colored red… or.. or… No wait. There are tiles, but the...the water. There are no pipes here. This pool must be supplied by a spring instead of a pipe..

Another voice calls out in anger and irritation, and Ed shoots a glare at the one responsible.

By the draping blanket door stands one of the bald guys dressed in robes. When the man's sweeping arm gestures in the very direction that he wishes to go, Ed doesn't bother to keep the smirk off his face.

ooooo

"What a drag…" Shikamaru drawls as he slumps along behind both of his charges. The attendant monk folds his arms and stands before the entrance, looking on in clear displeasure.

"To be honest, this went better than I thought it would. " Teuchi says over his shoulder, and takes a breath to continue. "At the very least, we're free of the road grime, and my guest doesn't stink so bad as to ruin business for me."

Shika raises his brows and glances over to Ed. The long golden hair flows freely over the smaller boy's shoulders. The scrawny fellow sports the dark outfit he was found wearing that morning, and where he acquired the oddly cut garments Shika cannot guess. But then, there are a number of questions lingering regarding Ed beyond the sudden appearance of a tailored outfit.

Shika figures that those mysteries can wait as the boy marches along with stiffened legs and searching eyes. The boy had not even bothered to replace the bandages over his wounds, but he soon outpaces them both.

"They did charge me extra." Teuchi grumbles "They said that metal leg of his chipped all of the tiles he tread on, and that it was an unsightly thing to allow within the temple in the first place. I paid for them to heal him, and then. And then he goes and does what he did. In there, I mean. Tell me. Is he a barbarian? "

Fortunately, the boy doesn't go far. There's this shine tucked against the trees nearest the road of the sacred space. Ed stops trudging near it, and reaches back with both hands to grab his tresses. He quickly fingers the strands into a rough braid, and carelessly tosses it to his back as he tilts his head, looking at the structure not much taller than himself.

Shika knows it is where sacred relics are usually kept for festival days, and widens his eyes as he watches the boy crouch low, ducking his head within the small offering door by the base.

"You tell me." Shika says in reply. "I only just met him."

Oh..! The kami will be pissed.

Ed pulls his head out of the small doorway a few heartbeats later, a wide smile plastered one his face as he casts a glance their way. He then slaps one hand upon his knee. Even though he jerks it painfully back rather quickly to shake it out, pearls of hysterical laughter ring out loudly from that end of the courtyard.

"Say…Isn't that where the Shinto rites are held..?"

"Yeah. My clan's land is near here. That's the kanamara shrine. I'm actually surprised it survived the..." Shika swallows. "The village's destruction."

"Along with the rest of this place. " Teuchi agrees. "It's near the edge of the village, but not quite within the jurisdiction of Konoha. These monks have maintained their independence from the rest of Fire for well over a century, now."

"I wonder what the rest of the village looks like. If this survived then maybe.. maybe.."

"Yeah." Teuchi rumbles, and takes a deep breath. "ID! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! WE'RE LEAVING!"

The merchant marches straight to the wagon, not bothering to check if Ed follows. Shika looks back, just in case.

oooo

Except for practically inhaling the every meal at camp, Ed mostly spends his time in the wagon, snoring. Shika finds it an agreeable arrangement, as it makes it easy to keep track of him. A few times he did witness the boy accompanying Teuchi on the trip for water, but Ed was too drained and injured to be of much help with the carrying task.

The few days of remaining travel pass uneventfully, and Ed's language improves little by the time they reach the ruins of the village.

"Ruins" is indeed the appropriate word. Shika looks over the edge of wagon down to the bottom of the deep crater. For much of where the once vibrant village sat, there is little more than bare dirt. He hears a bang within that is followed by Ed's voice speaking harsh words, and glances up enough to see wisps of white smoke. Teuchi automatically pulls back on the reins to bring the horses to a full stop. A man with a white rabbit mask covering his face raises one palm up, and the mark on the shoulder shows that this person is the ABNU's captain.

The other ABNU poof into being, surrounding them: four in all, as is standard.

Shika speaks to the four. Boar is of the Hyuga clan, and activates his Byakuban. Without opening the wagon door, he first confirms that Ed has very low chakra.

"The false leg has a hollow chamber below the knee, and there are some sharp instruments in there, like long senbon. There is a stash of nin type kunai and other equipment amongst the flour bags on the far shelves, and a several kitchen knives placed within his reach, near the futon." The porcelain pig mask lifts slightly to the rabbit mask.

"With Danzo dead, we will have to do things differently." Rabbit says.

Shika raises his brows at the news.

"Danzo's dead? Already? How?" Shika blurts out.

"Uchiha Sasuke." The Rabbit says. "Or so I hear."

Shika shakes his head, and frowns.

"My assignment was arranged by Danzo, so with him dead.. What a drag. This is more complicated. I must go speak with the council, then. " Shika says with narrowed eyes. "Teuchi and his guest are both key parts of my mission."

"As you know, our sole duty remains to be the protection of the village and as Teuchi a villager..." Rabbit says, and turns to Teuchi. "What guarantee do you have that this guest of yours will be no trouble..?".

As Teuchi speaks, Shika turns to the wagon door, intent on retrieving his stuff. He hears the distinctive sound of chains rattling behind him, and stiffens his back. Turtle steps behind him, cuffs held in one hand, and kunai in the other.

"Weren't you listening just now? I told you. He was a slave."

"He also has nin abilities, and we can't communicate with him. We need to secure him for everyone's sakes."

As Shika opens the door a crack, he sees Ed back away with his head low and his hands close together. Ed darts his eyes to the window as Shika pats the air in an attempt to calm him. "Take it easy Ed. They're not like Suna was. Calm down."

"Easy, Turtle. He's not faking his that panic and anger. There is also a deep seated knot of fear and guilt, but the rest is difficult to determine because of the tiny chakra levels."

"I think this would work better if we give him more room." Shika says softly. Shika waits for Turtle to get back out before he too steps away.

"ID." Teuchi calls out. A breeze rises up to rustle some leaves and bird chirps fill the air, but Ed doesn't respond. Shika lets out a breath.

"We should get food." Shika drawls as he rubs the back of his head.

"That's… not a bad idea, however…." Rabbit says. "He's in a shadow filled, confined space. You're a Nara. Can't you just… shadow-bind him?"

"Nah. Food will work just fine." Shika says as he waves a hand over his shoulder, slouching away.

"Definitely a Nara." He hears.

Teuchi does his best cooking yet. Shika's mouth is watering from the smell, and two of the ABNU accept the bowls that the merchant offers out. Ed, however, does not come out of the wagon. At least not by the front door.

Shika hears the scuffle and turns about to see a puff of smoke and dust billowing beneath the wagon. Judging by the boy's yell, Boar finds him easy enough. By the time Shika bothers to stand up, the single ABNU tangles Ed well in wire string. The boy is rolled onto his stomach, and as his hands are pulled back, the cuffs snap into place in spite of the boy's loud protests. As the golden eyes glower, his hands chained well apart, Boar proceeds to pat the boy's garments down.

The ABNU pulls free a small bottle from the fabric at the hip, and holds it aloft. The red colored liquid sloshes as it is passed to Shika's hand, and he sees that the top is secured with a cork.

"Where'd he get this?" Shika asks.

"Don't look at me. It's not one of mine." Teuchi says.

"What is it?" Turtle says.

Shika shrugs, and heads to the wagon door. He finds equipment lay just where Boar had described, and as he replaces the kunai into his flak jacket, and continues. "I'll take it to Intel… oh. Um. Where's Intelligence now anyway?"

00000

Ed sits on the top of the wagon next to Teuchi, his legs wired together and his hands still behind his back in such a way that he can't touch his palms against one another. He can barely feel his fingers, but he has a good view of this place. This big ass dust bowl that for some reason has these freakin big ass faces carved in a nearby cliff.

Teuchi smiles wide as the wagon pulls up to a boxy looking bore of a building. Ed wrinkles his nose and glances over at the white pig mask guy standing atop the wagon just behind him. The other three in masks jumped away when Pineapple hair left to walk in another direction, and if Ed is any judge, this guy probably is taking watch on him. Piggy was also the one who rummaged through his automail compartment. He made a show of taking away the maintenance kit and anything else he stashed there.

The thing is, how did Piggy know ? Ed glances in the direction that Pineapple went.

He really needs to stick close Pineapple. Pineapple is the only one who knows what happened to Al. It should be easy enough, as there isn't much in this place. Just a few boring buildings. How hard would it be to find Pineapple guy again?

Teuchi waves to a girl and gets off the wagon. He goes into the boxy boring building, and leaves Ed to bask in the cold ass winter sun. Piggy soon fixes that. Ed does his best imitation of a dead weight for the guy's benefit, but he is lifted like he weighs next to nothing.

Bastard.

To top off the indignities, the Jerk goes and puts him on a stool by the entrance. Where the freezing ass wind can bite into his flesh. When Teuchi returns into his view and places a big bowl of that soup stuff right in front of his nose, Ed snarls all the words he's learned at the market at the man. The bowl gets taken away by the girl, and she sticks her tongue out at him as she does so.

He returns the favor.

As he pulls his tongue back into his mouth, this blond kid dressed in orange bounces onto the stool next to him. Teuchi grins widely, and a something that sounds like a cheer fills the air from all over the damn place. Another big ass bowl of that soup appears, gets set before Orange Kid, who yells out loudly with joy and glee and all that shit. As the kid begins to lifts the stupid sticks, a puff of smoke billows out. The sticks clatter as they land on the bar top. When the smoke clears, Orange Brat is just… gone.

Ed blinks once. Things like that tend to happen.

As the cheers begin to die out, he looks over at the bowl: the unoccupied, still steaming, great smelling, bowl-of-no-doubt-going-to-waste-now soup. It would be a grand shame if he allowed that to happen.

Yep.

He's a pragmatic man. And since joining the Amestrisan military, certainly no longer possesses any pride. He scooches over as far as he can on his own stool, and, using his head, or rather, chin and cheeks, coaxes that bowl over before his place setting. He manages to slurp up a mouthful of noodles before he hears anyone cry out in alarm.

The noodles dangle over his chin as he glances in the direction of the cry. He swallows carefully, as his eyes widen.

A girl stands just behind him. Her hair is way pinker, and her eyes are a greenish blue, but there is no mistaking that she looks just like Rose Thomas. She says something that makes those nearby enough to hear it smile wide and genuine. Then, the Rose girl looks closer at him, and her eyes narrow.

A/n— He made it to the village! Yay! I think the bare outline fleshed out rather nicely. I wanted to keep the quality up, so I pushed along the parts that didn't quite make it off to the next chapter, where I can give them my full attention instead of duct taping them in here. Ed's adventures are not finished, and I only hope I've portrayed him correctly. Next update with be here soon.


	9. Chapter 9

"…Do I know you from somewhere…?" Sakura says as she faces down the most unnerving eyes she has ever seen.

She narrows her eyes as this blond stranger, definitely a boy, rather rudely, favors slopping the noodles down over acknowledging that he heard her simple question. His long blond hair hides a great deal of his features and in the noisy din of the ramen shop, she eyes the nin cuffs binding his boney wrists at his back. There are many dots covering what little she can see of his skin, but thick bandages cover much of his right palm and the dark long sleeves and breeches cloak the rest.

"Hey! That's not for you!" A shrill voice yells out. The blonde quickly turns away, stretching his pale chin out to nudge the large white bowl, but the shop girl, named Ayame, yanks the soup back to the edge nearest her, far enough from the blond prisoner's limited reach. "Brat!" Ayame adds with something of a snarl.

"Oh!" Sakura quickly plasters a smile upon her own face. "I was looking to Naruto. He was here earlier…?"

"Yes, he was. But as you can see, he just... vanished." A deeper voice adds. Teuchi, the owner, wipes his plump hands upon his white apron, the matching crisp hat balanced upon his balding head. "Weird how it happened, too.

"That bowl of ramen was his." Ayame says as she begins to wipe the countertop with a fluff of a white towel. Sakura raises her brows at her softer tone as she turns her smiling face her way. "How can I be of help to you Sakura?"

Sakura knows that the prisoner suffers from low chakra, but as to why she can't quite work out. She immediately feels guilty, comparing his condition to that of the newly awakened Hokage, and she knows he would be desperate for food in this state. Before she can say a thing, Teuchi lets out a breath and looks to his daughter.

"… Ayame, could you..?" Teuchi says with a jerk of his forehead towards the kitchen door.

"Of course, Papa. I was about to, anyway, but I had a customer, and then I noticed this..." Ayame waves her free palm disdainfully at the trussed up blond prisoner. To Sakura she says. "Don't bother speaking with the stupid lump. Brain damage or something."

Teuchi rolls his eyes. Sakura resists the urge to yell at the girl, for it was too obvious to her that there was at least some intelligence in that gaze she had endured. Ayame finishes her wiping and swoops by, lifting the bowl away. Sakura feels a certain weight lift as the girl vanishes beyond the doors and into the bowels of the kitchen.

"…why have him here? Isn't there a holding cell or something for missing nins?" Sakura blurts out, and is just about to add a belated "yet..." when she notices the ABNU known as Boar leaning causally against the wall.

"He's a guest, not a prisoner." Boar supplies. The porcelain mask upon the man's face doesn't shift her way in the slightest. She supposes that even with her extensive training with the current Hokage, she is no threat to the highly skilled ABNU.

"Guest..?" Sakura says, appalled that a guest of the village is in chains. Eating ramen meant for Naruto no less. Sakura recalls that she only manages to do the dumbest things for Naruto, and this time it ends up being only the saving of his ramen. She squeezes her eyes shut a moment before continuing. "W-whose guest?"

"..mine." Teuchi says, and swallows his usual cheerful smile.

"This is how you treat a guest?!" Sakura snarls, letting all of her frustration out in that singular phrase. Teuchi pats at the air in response.

"There's a good reason..!"

Sakura folds her arms. "Well I for one would like to hear it."

Oooo

She stops walking as soon as she reaches draping banners of the shop entrance. Sakura resists the urge to glance to her companion. The pale nin, her teammate Sai, is quiet, and she is not quite sure what to make of it. But then, he is always a quiet one. A surprisingly quiet and thoughtful one.

She takes in a breath, and for the third time this day, shoves one of the banners aside as she steps within. She glances about and narrows her eyes at the man still standing in the corner, the one with the porcelain boar mask covering his face.

"Take the cuffs off." She demands without hesitation. If there is a reaction beneath the mask, she cannot tell. She adds in a gesture to the long haired boney blond seated at the nearby bar. The boy holds his chin flat against the bar's surface, not looking her way at all.

"You do not have any authority over me, little one." Boar replies smoothly.

"Sai." Sakura says, and slowly turns her face toward her teammate. The grey high necked tunic contrasts both his short cut black hair and pale skin. "You are of the ABNU, correct?"

"Senpai…" Sai politely bows a little towards Boar, and the ABNU dips his head down in response. Sakura supposes it's a good sign.

"Sakura-chan, when you asked me to accompany you here, I had thought we were... "Sai adds softly as he glances quickly about the ramen shop. "That is according to this book, we are... on a… on a"

"Are you or not?" Sakura presses.

"…Yes..that is so..." Sai confirms as he raises his brows slightly then turns his attention back to Boar.

"Then you can keep a watch over this "Id" guy just as well as Boar, can you not?" Sakura states as she folds her arms. The masked man lets out a breath.

"Child..!"

"Don't call me that." Sakura says.

"Fine." Boar says. He turns to Sai and says. "I have other duties I would get back to. Make for certain that this one causes no trouble."

Sai bows and with a smile, replies simply

"I will not fail."

At those words, Boar approaches the blond. The boy lifts his head as Sakura eases into a nearby stool, and she feels pinned once more by that golden gaze for a brief instant before Id's attention turns to the masked man standing behind him. Sai eases onto another nearby stool as the first cuff lifts free from the too thin forearm.

The boy grumbles some phrase that she can't make out, and rolls the shoulder as he brings his hand forward. She hears several pops, and looks over to Sai.

"His name is Id. From what I've been told, he is a guest, not a prisoner. He was treated this way because he has some sort of nin abilities, but doesn't speak anything that anyone knows."

"A most wise precaution." Sai remarks, and as Id glances his way, he smiles with his teeth showing.

"Given your abilities, I thought perhaps..."

"..My art can get something out of him, where the other's attempts have failed..." Sai completes for her. Id's other shoulder pops just as loudly as the first, and is followed by his neck.

"Well. That's the idea. First… uh...let's introduce ourselves."

She lightly slaps her palm against the bar, and the golden irises dart her way. She gestures to herself and says her name. She then gestures both hands to him and looks expectantly at him with raised brows. Many dots cover the sharpened cheeks and chin and serve to show off the gaunt in his face. His expression remains hard, but he gives a sharp sort of nod as he says a tongue twisting thing that sounds nothing like the simple "Id" that Teuchi said the boy was called.

So far so good. This is more than what others have gotten, she tells herself.

She tries to pronounce the mess, but he squeezes his eyes shut with a grimace and a shake of his head. He takes a breath, and says as shorter phrase as he works his legs free of what looks to be wire.

"Eduarderriku. " He says. The toes of his left foot catch the light of the sun and as she glances down at his sandal, her brows lower. She gets close to speaking that one, but she struggles to not show her surprise on what she hopes to be a friendly expression on her face.

ooo

Not-Rose is nice enough, but Ed has an immediate dislike for the pale guy. This "Sigh". The fake smiles get on his nerves. To his surprise, Sigh begins to hand him a brush, and slides a sheet of paper before him. Ed sits up straighter at the gesture of trust. .He narrows his eyes and tilts his head as he gives the guy a good look over. Even sitting, Sigh's taller than he is, dammit, and dressed in a drab sort of gray outfit just as boring as it is unremarkable, with long sleeves, a high necked collar, and long slacks. On the plus side there's a lack of a metal rectangle anywhere to be seen.

Unlike with Not-Rose. She wears hers in her hair like it's a hair ribbon or something rather than the symbol it really is: the leash of a dog.

So…

Maybe this Sigh-guy isn't an Alchemist, then. Good for him. Maybe he has no idea the huge risk he is taking with such a simple seeming gesture. Ed darts his gaze to the offered brush a moment, and glances to the girl with pink hair. He figures that she must know the risks, but her posture is more relaxed than he figures it should be.

If they're doing this now, after what, a few hours, what was with the cuffs in the first place, then? What gives…?

He works the feeling back into his poor fingers, and rolls his wrists as Sigh carefully places a small bottle atop the paper. He knows without looking that the dark liquid within the glass is ink, likely of biological origin. He darts his eyes about, searching for Piggy, but with that exchange he saw involving Sigh-guy…

…And what the hell was with all that bowing anyway? These people are weird alright. He wishes Al were here to see it with him, though.

…Nope. Piggy looks to be gone. So that would make Sigh-guy his new babysitter.

He hates being babysat.

"What do you want?" Ed says in Amestrian. He then tries Isvallan, Cretan, Aerugoan, the grunting bark of what Drachman he knows, and even throwing in the smattering of the other, mostly dead, languages he usually read only while in the libraries for once. The results of every language are the same: faces scrunched in confusion and a slow shaking of heads. He lets out a breath.

So much for that.

He turns back to the brush, now loosely held in the pale hand. -Seriously? A brush? - shifts his feet to the ground, and after shoving off Pinky's hand, stiff-legged walks away on his own feet from the counter and deeper into this box of a place. The kitchen's entrance was easy enough to figure out, as he saw that one girl and Tayoochi go in and out of it several times, but he knows there has to be another door or two over here somewhere.

He hopes.

Nature calls, and the alternative is not going to be pretty in a town as small as this one. It's not like they had an abundance of bushes planted or anything, and from what he could recall of this dustbowl of a place, there wasn't even a single well placed rock.

He finds not one but two doors, one on either side of the narrow hall. Each has a round plaque, with a scribbled design placed near the center that strongly resembles Xingese writing. He narrows his eyes as he looks over each, and chews on his cheek a moment as he thinks.

The one on the right somehow looks manlier than the one on the left, more simple with less swiggly things dancing about. His bulging bladder won't wait for more figuring, so he barges past the door. The room beyond is not very large, filled with white shiny white tile, and contains a single bowl which stretches to the floor. He rushes over to the thing, silently thanking a god he doesn't believe in as he conducts his business.

He glances to the window nestled near the ceiling as he finishes up, and raises a brow. Below that is a good sized mirror with scratches along the surface. He smirks at the graffiti, not understanding the mess of scribbles inscribed there, but feeling a certain reassurance all the same. Only men's restrooms would have such a thing, he figures. He glances at his reflection, and frowns. He notes he has gotten some flesh back on his bones at least. Since he left the other village, he has been eating as much as he could stomach, sometimes forcing himself to eat more, but this chin and those cheeks remain just as sharp as he last saw his reflection.

He wonders how Alphonse is doing. If his body is like this, then how his brother's, stuck that stupid ass gate? Has to be…? He hears something small skittering, like tiny nails slapping against tile. He knows Alphonse can't be in a good state, not at all, and tears his gaze from the mirror.

His eyes dart at the skittering creature, a dark tiny thing running along the baseboard. This is the men's bath, and that window up there is just the right size. But that shape nearing the crack in the door... the formula he sees behind his lids certainly does not match the creature's appearance.

He stomps his foot down on the thing's tiny wormlike tail before it can slip under the door.

As it struggles, even turning to nip at his automail toes, he marvels at the thing's lifelike movements. He knows what it's made of: Ink.

The very ink that was back at the counter, and set before him all nice-like by Sigh-guy.

"What the shit…" Ed breathes, and can't help that his brain tangles up in the complex figuring that wouldn't even result in something like this. He reaches for the mouse thing's scruff, and lifts it up. Atomic rings of potential exponents war with the swirl of squiggling movements, and after but a heartbeat he has to look at something else or risk a pounding ache from the mess the Gate shoved into his brain. He blinks his lids quickly to avoid the temptation of staring anyway, and wrinkles his nose at the door.

He carries the stupid thing straight back to the counter, and releases it from his grasp directly over the sheet of paper. He lowers his brows as he glares at the pale Sigh-guy, and pretends not to notice the ink creature splattering apart like a drop of the ink it's made of.

"You." Ed gestures to the ink splatter. Blocky patterns spread out, covering the paper, and Ed can almost make sense of them. He scrunches his eyes closed a moment, and turns his attention back to Sigh-guy.

Sigh-guy doesn't raise a brow, but darts his gaze to Not-Rose, before looking steadily at him. The fake smile appears, and Ed reaches out for the jerk's collar, lifting him up with one arm. The smile vanishes just Ed fists his right, bandage and all, and the jerk raises his hands in defense. Pinky then jumps in and shoves.

Its takes him a while to register that he's several yards away, gasping, and somehow on his back in the dirt. He lets his head land back in the dust.

Oooo

"This plan of yours seems successful." Sai quips cheerfully. Sakura glares his way, but a moment later the blond held up between them grumbles something. She looks down at the lolling head, and frowns. "He did react at seeing the artwork, at the very least."

"Sai. You're not helping things." Sakura says in annoyance.

"But... We were achieving communication with him."

"Just... shut up, ok?" Sakura snarls, shuffling to the entrance of the biggest white tent. She ducks her head past the flap, and moments later, ducks back out. "Damn. This one's full, too." She glances around and lets out a breath as her gaze settles upon the final tent in the field hospital grouping. Sai follows her gaze. Before Sai can add another annoying remark, she shoulders the blond to her back and focuses more chakra to her calf muscles.

As she lands, she eases the blond just within the entrance of the tent. As she creeps within, "Id" makes some groggy sort of movements, only just managing to sit up on his own power by the wild swing of an arm. She glances back at him with that feat, but judges that he can't really do much more in his condition.

"Sakura?" She hears in a soft whisper, and she turns to the speaker. "What are you doing…?"

Sakura hears a gasp of "Id's" rough voice. She widens her eyes as she turns. Impossibly, he's on his feet, wobbling for balance. He says another thing, "Shizune..." she thinks, but what raises her brows high is what he does next. Deliberately, boney hands held in steady fists at his sides, he goes down first on one knobby knee, then on both, and once there, his head bows.

"Who's this…?" The dark haired Shizune says as she stands before a gauzy curtain.

Sakura introduces him in an amazed whisper, but he doesn't raise his head to indicate he heard a thing. He doesn't move much, just breathes. Not even when Ton-ton, the pet pig of the Hokage, wanders by and snorts at him. Sakura glances to the divided area, certain that the Hokage was listening.

"The other tents are all full, and there's nowhere else… and…"

"Sakura means to say that she is the one who injured him," Sai adds as he enters the tent, bowing towards the Lady Shizune soon afterwards.

"If you are the one who injured him, then you are more than capable of healing him." Shizune says.

"That's just it... you see…um..." Sakura swallows and glances to the blond. "…I-it did something to him. The healing… and…he's way more thin. Thinner than he was." She swallows again and finishes. "I. I don't know what to do."

Shizune walks a circle about the still and kneeing "Id".

"…and now he does this..." Sakura says. "I don't get it."

".. Why couldn't he do this earlier…?" Sai says. "He would not have been cuffed if he was behaving this way. So... disciplined."

Sai bends low in an attempt to see past the curtain of long blond hair covering "id's" face.

"Chakra exhaustion..? No… those seals…" Shizune mummers at length, and holds her chin with one graceful finger.

"Bring him here." Sakura hears from the partition.

"Tsunade. You are not well enough..." Shizune protests.

"I said bring him here. After what I have heard of this boy's antics, I desire to see this "Id" for myself."

Oooo

The war is declared. And the villages are summoned. And here is this. Boy. A slave. Former slave. To a group that may have been a front to the Akatsuki. Or at worst, Orochimaru.

She is greatly disturbed that the Akatsuki could have gone so far as to condition the boy to react the way he is with Shizune. It strikes her as Root like, and with Danzo dead….

Why Shizune?

As time passes, Id gets bolder. His long hair covers it well, but he looks about as Shizune turns her back in her paces of the tent room. That is the moment when he finds and holds her gaze. His eyes are so piercing in nature. Like he was analyzing everything he was gazing at. He does not look impressed at what he sees, and that has her curious. She holds her breath as his expression changes. Like he was figuring out a puzzle.

Soon after, he dares to look at Shizune as she turns about in her pacing, but looks down once again as she approaches closer. As Ed is looked over by Shizune, the Hokage can see there is something off about his body. She shifts to her elbows.

Sakura is bright enough to know it is Shizune's presence that influences this Id, and silently signals the konoichi to stand back. She and Sai together nudge Id up, and he pushes them off with uncoordinated arms. The movement, however, has him staggering in the correct direction. He turns, but Shizune repositions herself into his view, and again, when he sees her, he repositions himself back to his knees, both arms firm at his sides. But he kneels closer to her sick bed, and that is good enough. She waves Sakura and Sai off to the side. Sakura begins relaying what findings she knows, but Tsunade hold up one hand to stop her speaking.

Ah, that's better. From here, she can see, and she frowns.

There are so many things that are off about his body, she doesn't know where to begin. It's a wonder he's alive at all, much less alert and functioning.

With one hand she waves Shizune behind her, and with the other, Tsunade gestures for the boy to sit, eventually with a pat of her hand on the quilt by her knee. That is about the time that the food essential for her recovery arrives. Id looks over the dishes with widened eyes, and a wariness which speaks volumes.

"I am Tsunade. The sixth Hokage of the Village Hidden in the Leaves." His gaze hardens, but he nods. He tastes the words she said, and as his tongue stumbles, she nods and corrects. She then raises her brows, and hears for herself the tongue twisting mess that she supposes is his name.

She reaches for a bowl of rice, and has Sakura hand it to him. He sniffs it and wrinkles his nose and hands it back.

She tries again with another dish. And another.

With each dish she sends his way, even though she has taken some servings from the very same bowl for herself, he refuses to eat. She hears his stomach rumbling, and he looks over the dishes with a frown on his face, clearly with want. Before she considers his behavior rude, he finally does accept a dish, however reluctantly. Sakura sighs and hands him a pair of chopsticks before she steps back.

The chopsticks prove a problem, too. He puts them both together and stabs the morsels like the bits of wood were a knife.

As the boy eats, she has Sakura report. The language barrier proves to be huge. Ed doesn't know a word they say, and they don't know anything he yells out. In the end, she knows if she is foolish enough to repeat what has been done before, both parties will only get frustrated, unless…

She feels one corner of her mouth lift.

"Sai."

"Yes Hokage."

"Please let Aoba Yamashiro know that he is to deliver the next meal."

Oooo

One student missing, (well two actually, but who was counting), and the other two embroiling with a new project in the form of a visitor. Only. Rumor has it this certain visitor is a former slave of their enemies, and is just as none-too-friendly as the Akatsuki themselves. And on top of that wonderfulness, the brat doesn't speak anything like the common tongue.

Who could resist that challenge? Hmmm? Who was he to avoid such a rare opportunity to encounter something truly new?

Not Hatake Kakashi.

As his students capably handle the person of interest, Kakashi takes it upon himself to investigate the boy's living quarters for the past week or two. After all, he learned much of his student, Naruto, when he visited his apartment on one memorable occasion.

Teuchi kindly opens the wagon for him, and as he steps within the nest the floor of the wagon had become, he easily works out that the boy usually sprawls over the entire mattress as he sleeps. He narrow his one eye at that thought.

To his knowledge, a slave would not do such a thing. Most slaves were too fearful of their masters for such a relaxed and confident behavior to develop.

The kitchen knives were kept close, while the kunai…

"The kunai were kept hidden amongst the flour bags..." Teuchi shares. "Along with the rest of Nara Shikamaru's things."

Kakashi nods, and runs his fingers over the flour bags. One by one he lifts them off the shelves, and places them on the wagon's counter. Teuchi looks at him oddly, and Kakashi grins behind his half mask that covers his nose and mouth.

"Just following a hunch…"

Teuchi nods, and gives his more room for the task. Soon enough, a narrow crawlspace, about a foot wide at the most, is revealed behind the last of the flour bags. But that is not what has Kakashi's heart hammering in his chest. No.

That would be what the most interesting thing he has ever seen is: the scrawl on the wall of a crawl space.

Fuinjustsu. Of a type never seen before. As Kakashi looks at it, he wonders at what sort of thing, creature, or whatever the boy could have sealed in the wagon wall.

….And whatever it is, would it have anything to do with Naruto's sudden disappearance?

A/n—ok..the end of the month has arrived, and I may have rushed this a wee bit in my effort to just get it out of my head. I hope it is entertaining, and most of the characters- in character. It's hard to tell with Naruto-type things, the characters are soooo shallow. More stuff to come, because what I have either doesn't fit just yet, or is only half baked right at the moment. Real life comes first though, sorry. Updates will come, don't worry.


	10. Chapter 10

Ed begins coughing, and sets the bowl down. The coughing continues into a choking, and as he feels the skin of his cheeks flush hotly, he covers his mouth with one hand.

When he can breathe, he glances to the gracefully moving wrinkled-shriveled woman before him as she sniffs at the portion of the dish she has on her plate. He listens as the nin with white masks on their faces, perhaps assigned as the honor-guard, quietly shift their position to better watch his every damn move. He notices even Pinky hovers over his backside, and only then does he chance a quick glance to Master. For some reason he can't figure, she chooses to stand behind this… This hag-with the overly long blond hair..

(and a really long fucking name. )

Master's face is softer, less severe than when he saw her last, but he glances away before her sharp eyes can catch him. He hopes. She shuffles. Master? Shuffling? What the shit…? Her footsteps sound lighter, too. He darts his gaze about the fabric his knees barely touch. His heart hammers against his ribs, but no knife gets thrown towards his head.

Yet.

Each time he glances towards her, he wonders why she hasn't thrown at least one thing at him. At each glance, he sees that her mannerisms are slightly off: she's quiet. She has little to say that he understands - Not unusual that, but – the diffident way she allows the hag, important to this place or not, to dominate the room… make that "tent" .. thing..

He considers growing pile of evidence, and swallows. He recalls Envy, the shape changer of the homunculi, and closes his eyes briefly. He stills his mind, attempting to reach out with his very soul to the core of the creature, to the philosopher's stone that should be there. He knows he should feel.. something…

Nope. Nothing. Not a thing.

He lowers his brows, and lets out a breath. Figures. He had to try, at least. He's seen that stupid prince pull stunts like this off, but.. well, they had years on him. Maybe the woman wearing Master's skin is Envy, or. Nah, more likely not. Besides, there's the case of Pinky. And come to think, there was another lookalike he met a few weeks ago, that Not-Sheska girl…

… but he had hoped he could somehow do that super cool sensing trick, especially after overpowering..

..Pride...?

Wait a shit. I? I over-powered Pride? When did that happen..? Ed thinks as he opens his eyes.

He lifts his head up and watches a slimly built man enter the tent. A tidy pair of dark shaded glasses hides his eyes, and balanced upon one shoulder is this huge round tray nearly as tall as he is. The thing is loaded with hand sized bowls of food that has Ed's mouth-watering from the delicious aromas. The dark blue cloth restraining the mop of short cropped dark hair sports the metal rectangle that Ed finds depressingly familiar.

He flits his gaze to the other masked guys in the tent.

If that woman is Not-Master, then what the shit am I doing, sitting here with some self-important hag? I don't want to know her.. hell, I can't even speak her language!

I have way better things to do..!

With that thought, Ed climbs to his feet. As he wobbles, blood rushing to his head, he covers his unsteadiness by calmly, deliberately, brushing the dust, (both what is there and the imaginary) , off his transmuted jacket with all the dignity he can muster.

He mentally calculates the number of knives about him, and …

A heartbeat later, he stumbles to catch his balance as a sudden dizzy spell dredges up some millions of equations in his brain. A good number of those spin about in lazy, half-hearted squiggles, and swim before his eyes. He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, helpless to much of anything to hold the mess in.

He hears the dishes crash to the ground…

(There are three or four main groups of clays: kaolinite, montmorillonite-smectite, illite, and chlorite. Chlorites are not always considered a clay, sometimes being classified as a separate group within the phyllosilicates…)

… in a tremendous racket, and Pinky reaches the man's side just after his head bops to the ground. She checks him over with her hand..

(Bone tissue is a type of dense connective tissue. Bones come in a variety of shapes and have a complex internal and external structure, are lightweight yet strong and hard, and serve multiple functions. One of the types of tissue that makes up bone is the mineralized osseous tissue.)

… and raises her brows at the streaks of red dribbling beneath his nose.

(Hemoglobin contains a mass of iron in the center..)

A glance to an ear pulls the corners of her mouth down, as she spots red drips about the fleshy shell.

(Hemoglobin has a quaternary structure characteristic of many multi-subunit globular proteins. Most of the amino acids in hemoglobin form alpha helices, connected by short non-helical segments. Hydrogen bonds stabilize the helical sections inside this protein, causing attractions within the molecule, folding each polypeptide chain into a specific shape. Hemoglobin's quaternary structure comes from its four subunits in roughly a tetrahedral arrangement..)

Ed blinks his eyes shut. Hears yelling. He opens them again just as Pink.. Sakura!—Sakura is her name. He clings dearly to that scrap of information -She shoves both of her arms under the man and lifts him without difficulty, carrying him past the partition as if her arms are made of automail instead of warm flesh. She eases him onto the floor space there as Ed stumbles forward.

Instinctively, he reaches out a hand, and watches the man's chest rise and fall in slow steady pattern. He searches the clothes for dark wet spots, chunks of metal, or.. or.. something..! But there isn't a thing jutting from the man's flesh that is obvious.

In a way… the way the man just fell…

No. Not thinking of her. Not now. Not amongst these… these people.

Ed's skull pounds as he takes another step. Ed's brows lower as he shakes his head slightly to clear the lingering ghost images. The pounding in his head gets deepens, and there this ringing in his ears. Then his stomach begins a sickening lurch. He ignores the yelling completely, and jerks his arm free from someone's grasp—he doesn't bother to look as to whose.

…You're such a good son..

His stomach rewards him with another sickening lurch.

…Why couldn't you make me right..?

Rather than attempting to placate the organ with his palm, he stumbles past Sakura and the guy she's fiddling with, continuing on beyond the tent flaps to the outside.

He hears the crunch of footstep behind him. Someone follows him, of course, but he reaches the tree just in time regardless.

oooo

"Aoba..!"

".. he must have tripped a mental defense of some sort."

The ABNU move to restrain the stumbling boy as he goes, but the Hokage waves them all back with a hiss on her lips.

"Give him space and courtesy." She snarls.

She hears Shizune sigh, watches her former apprentice bend over and pick up the last dish the boy touched.

Sai crouches low by the tent entrance just past Sakura and wordlessly unrolls a scroll before his feet. A few hands signs later, a few ink creatures, she can't quite see which ones from where she lays, spring from the paper. The ABNU settle back, evidentially satisfied in spite of her wishes..

She lets out a breath and rubs the bridge of her nose with the thumb and index finger of one hand.

She replays in her mind the expressive emotions displayed on the boy's face. This… what was he called..? A mouthful that… stumbled over to the curtains, concern painted all over his face. That was quickly followed by horror? Pain…? Whatever was the case, it was certainly not Root like at all.

No. Root's pride depended upon expressing no emotion what so ever. At all times, not just while on duty.

An ink creature comes in, and Sai duly reports the boy vomits on the ground. She can hear his heaves quite well enough for herself. She can almost picture which tree he leans his hand onto.

"If it was a mental defense.. .A trap of some sort…" Sai continues.

"He would not necessarily be aware of it, and with a defense that strong…!" The Hokage let out a breath. " I am ordering no further attempts to get into his head with a jutsu. We must find another way to speak to him."

Shizune finishes her examination of the dish he chose to eat.

"This dish had the least amount of chakra enhancers, only one of the herbs."

"As I suspected. The junk food that he has been eating for the past few weeks did not have the special herbs in it. " Tsunade says, and glances over to Sakura. Her examination should be done by now, she reasons. "How is Aoba?"

"In a coma." Sakura responds, disgust coloring her voice. "There's not much that I can do."

"Not much anyone can do." Tsunade corrects. "He'll have to work it out himself, I'm afraid. That's the down side of mental jutsus like his."

Sakura's head bobs low, and the Hokage looks away. To Shizune she says quietly, " .. make sure not to add the chakra enhancers, and we shall see if I am correct."

"Hai."

"Time for plan b." She sighs, and settles herself back into her pillows. "Sakura, I need you to go to the library. Hopefully a teaching scroll survived that focuses on basic reading subjects.. Bring one back here and …"

Ooooo

The pounding in his skull pummels his brain to mush, and he knows his nose is wrinkled, curling his upper lip back in a snarl as he glares through his curtain of long bangs.

The fat merchant stands before the wagon, and waves his pudgy arms in a shooing motion. Ed stumbles towards the thing anyway, allowing his arms to droop from his shoulders as he takes each pain filled step. Tayooshi moves to block the door with his round belly, and though disgusted, Ed does his best to paw the man aside.

A kid's voice pierces his ear on his right, and he turns his gaze towards the offending sound. There are actually three kids, but that one. Brown eyes. A shock of brown hair. And a long ass blue scarf about the neck. So what. But the face, that's the one part that holds his attention.

It's so very close in structure…

Ed turns away from all the incessant screeching to rub a knuckle at his aching forehead. He figures his brain is playing tricks on him. Elicia. She could have been this kid's sister… More talking goes on, and the nonsense is just a lot of blather, but he gets the idea that Tayooshi is saying something like "shooo!" to the kids as well.

A hammy hand lands on his shoulders, and before he can shove it away, turns him about. He brings both of his hands up by his face, and glares emptily at what he gets pointed at. He squints against the pounding roar in his head, reaching inwardly for….

His brain is mush. He can't think of a thing.

He blinks stupidly as Sakura walks forward. Just behind her is a guy in white. Long dark hair pulled back in a pony -tail, and eyes so pale he looks to be blind. Only, he moves like he isn't. Tayooshi waves their way with one hand in a grand fukken gesture, and pushes against his spine with the other.

Ed stumbles forward from the wee bit of force, and frowns. He skews his brows as he glances back at the door, and the wagon which contains what has been his bed. The wood panel jiggles slightly, but there is a breeze…? Tayooshi pushes him once again, and he turns away to maintain his balance. Tayooshi steps back, and takes in a breath.

Ed glances towards the blind looking guy, and Sakura adds a dramatic nod of her head. She even throws in her own sweeping of an arm. He narrows his glare at them both. As inclined as he was to trust someone with Rose's face, which was a little less than a smidgeon, there was no way that Sakura was anything like Rose.

He shakes his head slowly, and staggers backwards away from them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement. Someone dressed in gray moves on his other side, and he works out that it's Sigh-guy. He hears chains jingling and stiffens his leg muscles, ready for some hasty movements he would pretty much regret later. He already regrets the thumping his skull provides.

Sharp words exchange between Sigh-guy and Sakura, and the jingling muffles as Sakura pats the air with both of her hands. The guy in white folds his arms like he's bored.

Ed feels a massive thing wraps about his shoulders, and he moves without thinking. He grabs the thing with both hands, rolls his shoulders forward, and steps backward with his right all at the same time. He then yanks down, hard. The thing turns out to be a fat man's arm, and the rest of said fat man, still attached to the arm, follows over his head to bounce once in the dust.

Ed widens his eyes at Tayooshi, fat arms flaying and on the ground on his back like a turtle or something.

Ed automatically steps back into his fighting stance. Of course it would work better if his automail would hold his weight, but he manages an unsteady sort of hop step to keep his balance. Darting his gaze about, he finds all those surrounding him patting the air with their hands open. He eases his arms down, and Sakura lets out a slow breath.

Ed sways as Sakura stands a few feet away. She says something, and places both hands together and touches both to one of her cheeks. She then dramatically closes her eyes. He raises his brows.

A/N—Bwa-ha-ha! A midmonth update! Yeah, I couldn't wait. What's here is the fully baked stuff, the half-baked is still on my computer. I'm just having a lot of fun in the Narutoverse, and I have to share! Soooo many possibilities…. I hope it is an entertaining read, oh.

& Thanks for reading, and more to come soon. Hopefully in a week or two.

5/18/2013- Found some goobers! I neatened things up. Hope that makes it easier to read.


	11. Chapter 11

000000

If not for his splitting headache, he would have done this so very differently. Ed trudges along in the dust, following two of the three and trying his damnedest not to limp. Where ever they were going was apparently a long way off from the soup shop, and Sakura, damn her, keeps trying to drape an arm about his shoulders.

He glares at her at each attempt, and feels his cheeks burn at the same time. The two ahead vanish in a shadow, and he squints as he turns his gaze thankfully away from the source of his discomfort. He hopes the girl with the pink hair is not coming on to him, because if she is..

If she is…

His cheeks burn ever hotter as he picks out a rickety structure ahead. Two towering posts missing chunks here and there support an arch in much the same condition. There is no fence, but the beyond an archway sits enough remains for several buildings. He slowly passes the many wooden planks, plaster chunks, and blocks of clay that litter the ground, eyeing the destruction warily with every step.

There is a structure still standing, at the far end, two stories tall with a single peak of a roof.

The two ahead stand still before what looks to be a proper door. The portal is nestled within a shadow draped porch, and there are but a few steps that lead up to it.

As he feels Sakura's hand bump against his upper back, he jerks himself taller.

He jolts awake, finding his back on a mattress, limbs heavy and head a groggy mass of cotton. He blinks stupidly at the white ceiling a while, and as he hears a scratching to the right, scrambles his feet by pure instinct. He has his hands up by his chest as his feet slip against the solid surface enough for his knees to bang down as well.

The wall slides aside enough to show a tray, sitting innocent on the floor. Small ceramic bowls are filled with things that give off steam and heavenly aromas, and his stomach immediately begins knawing at his spine with a vengeance. Behind the laden tray kneels a white-eyed girl. Her dark brown hair hangs long and loose against her flowery bathrobe.

"Ohiogozimas." He hears her say in a high, soft voice, and her white eyes settle upon his hands. He narrows his eyes at her, and darts his gaze about. He sees four white walls that match the one that just slid aside, each containing a series of white panels framed by thin planks of wood stacked one atop the other. Other than the smooth wooden floor, the only feature this room contains is the mattress.

He swallows down his bile, and slowly lowers his hands. His cheeks begin burning once more as he glances down at the only garment on his body: the diaper looking underwear. He snatches up a white sheet from the floor and wraps it about his shoulders. He then raises his brows as the girl begins shuffling the tray forward.

Oooooo

Tsunade slips on the white kimono, the one with blue flowers and that fancy swirl of trim. A union of the ninja villages is proposed and that is no small thing. A number of issues are likely to arise and she glances over at Shizune a moment as she thinks them through. She lowers her brows at the irritating things that will follow, niggly and monotonous. If the Diamyo actually approves of the meshing of their forces, logistics and troop assignments will be the first of priorities. A threat of the likes of Uchiha Madara as a foe should never be taken lightly.

Certain members of the council claimed she has bigger problems than even that, as Naruto is missing from the village. The elder, Homura, pointed out that the villages cared for little of who Naruto was, only that he happened to be one of the two remaining jinchuuriki amongst them.

She needed no reminding that enemy had killed the rest, and captured the bijuu for an unknown purpose.

Then there was what news Sand had to share. Or, what was left of Sand anyway.

Ibiki had the reports and she authorized the intelligence division to look them over as usual, but somehow those very same council members managed to get a look at them, too.

"..the boy was somehow involved in Sand's destruction, but as to how…"

"Suna will admit no weakness, especially in these troubling times." Tsunade said automatically, and folded her arms across her ample chest as she rested her back against the pillow of her sick bed the night before.

"True, but that is not the only reason why I brought the issue up." Homura said as he touched a single finger to the joint of his glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. He glanced down at the notes in his wrinkled hands, wild gray hair sticking up in defiance of gravity. "The boy is.."

Tsunade recalled that she scowled at those words, causing Homura to rephrase. ".. There is the very real possibility that the enemy will.."

"We must make the assumption that the boy is in league with the Akatsuki." Koharu said without hesitation. She held her hands concealed within her billowing robe sleeves, and her long gray hair wrapped up in a neat tight bun set at the top of her head.

"That is quite an accusation to make about someone we know very little about." Tsunade said in slow even tones.

"The boy was found amongst them, and so the enemy must know what the boy knows." Koharu insisted.

"By all indications,." Tsunade said. "..he speaks a completely different language, and not only that, need I remind you the boy was a slave?"

"That does not matter." Homura said at last. ""He may be acting in accordance to their conditioning, and not only that, the Akatsuki must know what he does." Tsunade narrowed her eyes as Homura continued. "For the sake of us all, we must know what he knows,"

"Absolutely not." The Hokage said. "I will not risk anyone else to a mind jutsu with that one. We will need all we can muster on the field, and besides. There are other ways."

"We do not have the luxury of time!" Koharu said.

"Enough! I am Hokage. I declare him an honored guest of the village, and you will treat him as such."

To the council, that stranger, that mere…boy, was the only possible one that could have taken Naruto. True, his methods were a huge unknown, and he was certainly present at the time of Naruto's disappearance at the ramen shop. As it happened, he was placed in the very next seat by the ABNU in charge of him, a Hyuga.

The very idea…! That in spite being literally watched so closely, and that additional fact that he was trussed up in nin chains…! That he somehow… ? The ABNU reported there was no indication of a chakra spike of any sort originating from his body…?

Her throat feels quite dry at the thought, and she darts her gaze to the sake bottle nestled in the far shelf.

Not that those facts phased the ancient duo. Impossible as it was for that fellow to have done any feats involving chakra, suspicious fingers were pointing his way.

"..not today.." Shizune says softly as she lifts Ton ton, the pig, into her arms."…too early for that." Tsunade graces her with a scowl, and turns her gaze away from the shelf. The pig wiggles her feet and protests with a snort.

It didn't help things that there is a seal that Kakashi had found on the very wagon which housed the boy: a seal with a design not anyone recognizes. Seals were one way around the limits of chakra. Thus, the slight chance that Naruto could have been sealed there is a possibility, but any plan that involves such a thing sounds farfetched and, quite frankly, incredibly stupid.

"That one must be studied very carefully…" Tsunade says under her breath as she reaches the tent entrance flap. The ABNU part the thick fabric before her, and fall into place as she strides to another meeting with the Diamyo.

oooo

She doesn't let him touch the drinking flask. Instead, she kneels nearby and pours the liquid into his cup. She doesn't let him reach out to grapple the dishes either, and instead opts to hand them to him.

Her name is Hyuga which he finds confusing. He had met another called Hyuga the night before, and that one was male. He gets her to name what the various pieces of dishes are by pointing his finger to each one, and she breathes out a little laugh each and every time he does so. He scarfs down the food as fast as he points and listens to her responses.

Before too long, the tray is empty, but achingly, his stomach still knaws his middle. Hyuga gives a little bow, and backs out with the tray. Backs out of the room, on her knees, and reaches to the side, entirely in silence.

When the wall slides closed, he lowers his brows. Golden light filters through the white parts of the wall, and he works out that most of it is composed of paper. Paper. He lets out a breath and settles back onto the mattress.

As he lifts up his left leg, he runs his hands through his long hair and quickly weaves the mess back from his face, forming a rough braid in moments. He then touches his hands together briefly before placing them both on the guard plate of his shin. The spark of the reaction dances against his palms for a split second as the material reshapes itself according to his will. A heartbeat later, a screwdriver thunks onto the bed.

He winces as he tries to move his toes, and bends to work the screwdriver into the bolt at his heel. He turns it right as far as he can muster, and grits his teeth as he attempts his toes once more. The grinding rattles his teeth so bad that he then throws the jimmied up screwdriver away in a huff after he loosens the bolt.

He needs the maintenance kit, dammit. If only it wasn't taken! And now how was he supposed to fix…!?

Oh. Crap.

Paper walls!

This is a hotel right? He would hate to see the bill for that damage. He doesn't know how he is paying for this anyway. How much in debt is he now?

The screwdriver bounces against the paper wall, and not through it, thankfully.

..Wait…A hotel manned by people called "Hyuga"?

A moment later, after looking at the cavity filled with the wires directly attached to his very nerves, he gets up to retrieve the tool, and with a clap, transmutes the material back onto the guard plate where it came from.

Ed hobbles to the sliding wall, and creeps it open. He narrows his eyes.

Hyuga, the boy he met the night before, stands just to the side. Arms folded across his chest, his white eyes remain fixed upon the opposite wall of the narrow hall. Ed glances at the metal rectangle on the bit of cloth tied about the forehead, and steps forward, without a limp thanks, to try to convey his needs.

Hyuga immediately says, "benjoka."

Ed crinkles his nose as Hyuga strides off down the hall, and tastes the word for the first time. The boy stops walking a ways down and flaps a hand at something. He then repeats with some irritation, "benjoka."

Ed smoothly walks down and sees a proper door.

Instead of a sliding wall, "benjoka" is a smaller room behind the door. There was even a knob. And a small locking mechanism attached on the inside. Glancing for a sink, and finding none, Ed turns about as he shuts out the Hyuga. He even snaps the lock into place.

He then turns to the squat bowl on the floor in the darkened room. He recalls the communal bath house, and figures that is how people here take care of bodily cleanliness, but feels gross all the same. With a sigh, he gets to his business.

When he emerges, Hyuga, the boy, stands in the hall with his arms crossed once again. At floor before the door is a neatly folded cloth of white. Hyuga-boy gestures at it, and at him. Ed bends and hooks a piece with his left index finger. With some effort, he finds that the pile of cloth is actually two garments: a bathrobe and some sort of massive skirt looking thing.

"…And I thought the butt-skirt was bad.." Ed sighs and cocks his head to the side as he fingers the many straps within the skirt. He slips on the bathrobe and ties it firm about his waist, but opts to drape the skirt over an arm.

Ed takes in a breath as he turns to Hyuga-boy, intending to ask for "Nara", but then changes his mind with a shake of his head. He then walks back down the hall, continuing on with the pointing and naming even after he reaches the room with the mattress.

This Hyuga is not as talkative, so with a frown, Ed begins to name the things in other languages to pass the time. As he reaches a few of the dead languages he knows, Hyuga-boy repeats a few of words back. Ed glances at the expressionless face with raised brows. To his surprise, Hyuga-boy reaches into a pouch at tied his belt, and hands over a scroll.

Ed unrolls the paper eagerly as he turns to sit on the mattress. As he begins his studies, he never really notices Hyuga-girl returning with another tray filled with food.

A/N: not perfect, I know, but it's going in the right direction. I haven't been in a fiction writing mood of late, and in fact, have been dreaming in css code. That kinda ruins all the plot lines I had in mind because I couldn't bring them to life properly. More to come. Thanks for reading:D


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