Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Mea Culpa ❯ One-Shot

A/N: This is the result of a cloudless, 30 degree spring weekend spent doing laundry, homework, yardwork, packing suitcases, and watching Lord of the Rings, with periods of writing shoved in wherever I could fit them. Don't think I saw the sun all weekend. Nonetheless, it's a good way to work- I got a lot done.

As you might notice, I know very little about religion. Most of what I do know comes second-hand from other stories I've read. No offense is intended to anyone. Hints of Scar/Ed and Roy/Ed in the story (I can't believe I wrote Roy/Ed -_-'), but nothing huge. If Ed seems a little off kilter, it's because he's not the kid we know in the series. Things have been hard for him. And without further ado... Enjoy. :D

*

Mea Culpa

 

Solid footsteps echoed through the church, bouncing off the mosaic-tiled walls and tangling amid the dusty arches of the vaulted ceiling. After a moment of hesitation outside the confessional, the owner of the steps drew back the curtain and stepped inside. Father Abel Madden listened to the man take a deep breath, hesitate once more, and then finally ask in a small voice, "How am I supposed to start?"

 

Abel was astonished. The footsteps had sounded too heavy and authoritative to belong to a young man, let alone the child that had to possess this tiny voice. "How long has it been since you last confessed, my son?"

 

"I'm not your son!" barked the man, suddenly furious without provocation. Abel blinked in further surprise. There was an obviously militant crack to the man's voice, too loud in the dark confines of the confession booth. Anger turned the child into an adult in a heartbeat. After a moment of stunned silence, the man took another stabilizing breath and said, with far greater control, "Call me Ed. I've... never confessed before."

 

"Then it has been too long," Abel said gravely. "Tell me your sins."

 

"Am I supposed to say the worst first?"

 

"If it is easier for you," replied the priest gently. He'd heard the return of childlike uncertainty to Ed's voice. The man was a mystery not minutes into his confession, a mixture of harsh adult and nervous youth.

 

On the other side of the partition, Ed was snickering bitterly. Abel frowned, mildly affronted. "Is something wrong, my- Ed?"

 

"You wouldn't understand. The Seven Deadly Sins are never easy to deal with."

 

"I've never heard them called that before," Abel remarked.

 

"I said you wouldn't understand."

 

"It's apt. Have you experience with these sins, then?"

 

Chill settled on Ed's voice, making it as brittle as frost-stricken honeysuckle. "More than I ever cared to." After a pause, he began, "Father, I don't mean to scare you, but I'll understand if you want me to leave."

 

Abel began to protest, but fell respectfully silent when Ed went on quickly. Confession was seldom a thing that many wanted to repeat once they'd finished, or stop once they'd started. A guilty soul needed to unburden itself as rapidly as possible.

 

"Gluttony. I know that one. I've always been a glutton. I can't help it- I just like to eat. I eat until I'm almost sick and too full to move. I consume enough for three men twice my size, sometimes. I know it for a fact, Father. Is that what you're called- Father?"

 

Abel nodded, knowing Ed couldn't see him through the gloom and the barrier separating them. The boy was already rambling on.

 

"I'm guilty of gluttony. I don't care, either, that's the thing. I like it. It doesn't bother me when people tell me it's disgusting, and I once had a friend that said it a lot. I'm not sure where Winry is now... But it's not just food, either. I'm hungry for books, for knowledge. Even when it's forbidden knowledge, I want it. Does that count as gluttony? I guess so, if you define it simply as 'hunger' of any kind. Because it is hunger, Father. I want more than what I deserve, and sometimes I pay for it in flesh and blood."

 

Tired already, both by his run-on confession and by the emotional toll it took, Ed stopped for breath. Something metal creaked on his side of the booth. When minutes had passed and there seemed to be no more forthcoming, Abel prodded, "Sloth?" He didn't want the reluctant man to lose his nerve before all of his sins had been absolved.

 

Ed snorted. "Never. I'm relentless in working. Well- I guess... I sleep a lot. But it's because I work myself to exhaustion. Without my brother around to make me stop and rest, I just lose track of everything..." Another metallic sound, this one more of a drawn-out screech than a squeak. "I miss him," Ed revealed suddenly, vulnerable and lost once more. When he went on, however, the door to that story was obviously closed.

 

"I never liked Envy," he said darkly. "Vicious bastard. Can't trust anyone but myself when Envy's around."

 

"You see your jealousy as a person, a companion?" Abel inquired, concerned.

 

"...No," the other said, eventually. But then he continued, "But really, he could be anyone. He could be holding a gun at my back anytime. Envy could be you, Father. I hate him."

 

"Yes, envy brings out the worst in people," Abel agreed gently, genuinely worried now for Ed's mental health. "But do not hate, Ed. That in itself is a sin."

 

"I know," the other man agreed, his tone dark and savage. In that moment, Abel felt with horrible certainty that Ed really knew hate better than he, himself, did. "But you're wrong, Father. Envy's not the worst, not by a long shot. It can make people jealous, motivate them to taking what's not theirs and destroying what they can't have so that nobody else can have it, but it's not the worst. Should I tell you what's worst, or should I talk about envy? Don't interrupt me like that. This is hard enough as it is."

 

Abel didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned that Ed had stopped referring to envy as a person. "Tell me about envy, then. Or do as you wish, if it's easier."

 

"Some help you are," Ed snapped. "I thought you religious types liked to tell people what to do, what to believe." Hearing the breath Abel drew to correct him, Ed shouted, "I said don't interrupt!"

 

For a heavy, iron-clad moment, priest and sinner were both struck speechless by the sheer vehemence and volume of Ed's command. The air in the booth seemed as thick as clover honey, full of the dust of countless summers and fragrant with the musk of long-burnt incense. From outside, the sonorus metallic notes of the church's bell drifted in, each clap low and weighty enough to drop to the chapel's flagstone floor with a clang.

 

"Envy," Ed bit out, through audibly clenched teeth, "makes me feel guilty and desperate at the same time. Everyone who knows me knows about it. I'm short, and I'm goddamn jealous of everyone else. All the time, Father. Sometimes I want their bodies. Their perfect bodies, with all the limbs and all the height. Then, I think, it wouldn't be so hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other. If I just had what they had. Their bodies and their lives."

 

Abel sucked in a shocked breath. Realizing what he'd said, Ed chuckled. It didn't sound like a real laugh.

 

"Not in the sense of wanting to kill them," he excused. Abel relaxed immediately, releasing tension he didn't remember gaining. "I want to live like other people live. Without worries about being killed, or being insulted all the time, or the sword hanging over my head, or the automail. I'm jealous of everyone that's still got two arms and two legs." Ed's voice went very small, ashamed, and Abel's heartstrings ached at his next words. "I'm envious of every little kid I see. I want a new body and a real childhood. It might be nice."

 

Then the only sound was that of laboured breathing. With emotion lodged in his throat, Abel took several seconds to realize that Ed was trying to fight back tears. He choked and snuffled for a second. Cloth rustled as Ed clapped a hand over his mouth. Abel's eyes had adjusted to the tenebrous light of the confessional, leaking in threads through cracks in the wood and gaps in the curtains, and now, through the blur of the wrought iron grille, he could see a hunched shape on the opposite bench, huddled and small and jerking in utter silence at every muffled hitch of breath. When the lack of oxygen became too much to bear, Ed lowered his hand and sucked in a shallow gasp. It stuck wetly in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

 

Listening to Ed draw himself together, Abel wondered again just how old he was. He walked and talked like a fully-grown man, one that had evidently seen too much of the world, but his emotional maturity and voice were those of a much younger person. This Ed was a strange mix of contrasting desires, compelling and terrifying at once. What kind of person yearned to be a blameless babe at the same time he confessed to deep-rooted hunger for learning and knowledge?

 

Raggedly, Ed ploughed on. "Greed is a bad one. I think it's the root of the others. A rogue, you could say." He seemed to find this funny, and laughed momentarily. "Gluttony is greed for food, lust is greed for sex, envy is greed for what others have, sloth is greed for inaction. And I'm greedy. Haven't you heard? I want this, I want that. I'll tell you what I want, Father, and you tell me if it's a sin."

 

His voice had risen to a snarl, challenging and threatening. Beneath Ed's words was an unspoken message, completely different from what he said out loud. Don't you dare tell me that what I want is wrong. Abel swallowed and nodded, unsure of whether his strange confessor could see him.

 

"I want my arm and leg back," Ed uttered. To punctuate the statement, he slammed a fist against the metal grille that separated them. Abel couldn't hold back a gasp at the nerve-shattering grate of steel on steel. The grille buckled. Ed withdrew his battered prosthetic hand from the fist-sized dent. His knuckles clanked audibly.

 

As if unaware that Abel was frozen in horror and fear, Ed continued flatly, "I want my brother back. I want my mechanic back. I want my mother back. I want my humanity back. I want my freedom back. I want my lover back." He paused for breath, panting in obvious distress. There was an animal quality about Ed's harsh respiration.

 

Sitting rigidly on the hard wooden bench, transfixed by the metal and gold flashing from the other side of the confessional, Abel nearly bolted when the other swayed forward, seeming to lose cohesion as his rage drained away. Almost whimpering with every breath, Ed slumped against the grille, hooking the fingers of one hand into the metal mesh. At such range, Abel could see that his eyes were closed, and he was trembling. It could have been the darkness, but there were deep smudges of shadow under the man's eyes.

 

"Is it so wrong to want that?" Ed finished desperately. Abel suddenly realized that his violent swings between rage and fear were those of a despairing man, alone and without human contact for too long. Was Ed so isolated without the people he had spoken of that his last resort was confessional, if only so he could confide in a faceless stranger that he would never see again?

 

"God teaches us," Abel said, carefully, "that we should have only as much as we deserve. Wanting anything in excess must then be a sin."

 

It was the wrong answer, he knew. Not the one Ed had been looking for, but it was the honest truth. If he'd asked whether he could be forgiven for succumbing to such greed, Abel would have reassured him and promised forgiveness. But it had been a yes or no question- 'Is it wrong?'- and Abel didn't think it would do the man's soul any good to be lied to.

 

Ed jerked himself away from the grille, withdrawing into the recesses of the booth like a predator, coiling to strike. Cold fury radiated from him. Forming his words very carefully against the rage that had to be pressing against his throat, Ed slowly said, "Is that so?" Each word was drawn out, as if by slowing his speech Ed could restrain himself. There was that adult voice again, full of anger. "All right, Father," he said roughly, "I'll tell you the rest."

 

"Try not to act out of wrath," Abel reminded the young man, halfway desperately.

 

"But I'm so good at it," purred Ed. The obvious delight in his voice was sickening. There was no doubt that he now wanted to shock Abel, to scare him and drive him off for speaking the truth Ed hadn't wanted to hear. "It's easy, really. Wrath is the worst one, I think. Wrath destroyed a country- orchestrated a war and killed all the people of a country. And I guess I helped, too. I signed myself over to the State and willingly became a human weapon. I hurt people when I get mad, Father. People on the street, people I know- hell, I drove off Winry with it, I think."

 

"If wrath has ruined your life so, why don't you repent for it?"

 

Ed ignored him.

 

"I hate my father. When I was little, I used to spend hours hoping he'd come back- and you know, he never did. So then I wished he'd come back just so I could kill him. I haven't found him, yet, and it's a pity, because I've got some really good ideas of how to do it. First I'd rip out his fingernails, Father, and then peel back the skin on his hands. There's seventy-two feet of nerves per square inch on the skin of the human hand, did you know that?"

 

If Abel hadn't been horrified to the core, he'd have been awed at the volcanic rage in Ed's heart. Perhaps this frightening man was right- maybe wrath was the worst of the sins. He certainly seemed to know enough about them all.

 

"Maybe he's already dead," Ed reflected, his voice idle but for the note of satisfaction the thought lent him. "Serve the bastard right. Hope someone else did it right. If I had my choice, I'd turn him into the same pile of blood and bones that he turned my mother into, when he killed her by leaving. You hear me, Father? My father- the real one- he deserves it. He left his wife and kids, and she pined to death waiting for him to come home. It's his fault she ever was turned into that- that- thing."

 

Abel didn't know what Ed was talking about, but the boy was trembling, visibly and audibly. He framed the word 'father' with savage sneer quotes, whether he was talking to the priest or the absent spectre of the man who had given him life. 'I'm not your son!' It made sense now, to some extent, as did Ed's choice of a church. He wanted to berate and burden a faceless patricarchal figure with his sins. Was it the only way his hardened heart knew to find relief?

 

"Ed, it is not our place to judge-"

 

And again Ed talked over him.

 

"That's not the end of my wrath, but there's too much to say. Pride? Oh, of course. That's what leads me into every barfight and rash decision and stupid choice. I don't think, Father, because I'm overproud. I put too much faith in my skills because I'm proud. And that- that's what lead me to human transmutation."

 

In the darkness of the confessional, Ed's eyes were wide and glinting gold, full of watery torment. He sat with his hands steepled in front of him, as if praying, and slouched back onto the bench, legs sprawled out in a mockery of relaxation. Finally, Abel had had enough- the sight of this tortured, manic young man admitting to the worst of sins drove a spear of cold nausea to Abel's very core. He rose to his feet and reached for the curtain, ready to flee.

 

"Stay here!"

 

And Abel stayed, trembling. He wasn't entirely sure that if he left the fragile, claustrophobic confines of the confessional, Ed wouldn't follow him, hurt him. The priest was sure, now, that Ed had to be military- the bark in his voice was too sharp to be anything but. The very last thing Abel wanted to do, at that moment, was give a trained killer excuse to be further angered.

 

"Did you hear me, Father?" he asked, with deceptive quiet.

 

"I heard you," Abel whispered, sinking back onto the bench. Silently, he began to pray.

 

"I tried to resurrect m-my mother. I just l-loved her so much... Does that sc-care you, Father? That sin? Does it scare you more that I committed human tr-transmutation, or that I survived and I'm still walking f-free? Loose on the world?"

 

Making no effort to hide his sobs this time, Ed gave into the stammer and closed his eyes. The flood of tears over his cheeks glistened in the weak light.

 

"Gluttony, Pride, Wrath, Envy, Greed, Sloth... Lust! Oh, Lust."

 

The man had to wait for his sobs to slow before he continued.

 

"I slept with a man, Father."

 

Abel's stomach twisted.

 

"I slept with him when I hated him, and I loved him even though he was a criminal. A murderer, a wanted man," Ed said ruthlessly, balling his hands into fists. He knuckled roughly at his wet eyes. Perhaps it was Abel's imagination, but Ed's eyes seemed too yellow to be hazel- they were sulphuric, poisonous. "And you know why? Lust. He was gorgeous. Strong and tall and exotic. I'd never seen red eyes before I met him, Father. Even his scars were beautiful." Ed sounded bitter.

 

Abel tried to stifle the gasp of disgust that wanted to escape him. Finally, he snapped, "Enough!" He'd never heard any confession like this one. He wanted to leave more than anything else, wanted to find a more experienced priest to handle this blasphemous military dog. Only knowing that there wasn't one in the church kept him seated. Abel was the senior priest. It was no longer a question of fear- he could not stand to sit and listen to Ed's unrepentant confession, knowing full well now that the man wasn't seeking salvation.

 

Heedless, Ed talked on. "I couldn't even be faithful to a criminal, Father. Shows just how much I must really have loved him, huh? I don't know where he went, but he's been gone for years. I never waited for him to leave before I slept with someone else. It was my commanding officer- is that better or worse? Fraternization or screwing a murderer? Just for the record."

 

Ed was methodically cracking his flesh and bone knuckles, perhaps unknowingly.

 

"Only once, though," Ed reflected. The sneer in his voice was obvious. "Not that he wasn't a good lay, Father, but I hated the bastard. Hate- still do. Still work for him."

 

Taking a breath that shook, Abel said, without trying to hide the abhorrence in his voice, "This doesn't even cause you guilt, does it?"

 

"No," said the other man, simply. "No, Father. Hell, maybe I'm proud of it. Should I be?"

 

"No."

 

"Then what should I feel? In my experience, pretty much all you religious types are good for is telling people what to do."

 

"I cannot tell you how to repent if you refuse."

 

"Repent?" The man choked on a laugh, shaking his head. "Repent, Father? I want more than I'm owed, take what I shouldn't, hate others for no reason, fantasize about torturing my own flesh and blood, get jealous over what's not mine, screw other men, commit human transmutation out of pride, and you think I should repent?"

 

"What else can you do?"

 

"Keep going," Ed offered shamelessly, with a shrug. "Sin has served fine so far."

 

"You're sick," Abel told him, finally certain of it.

 

Ed laughed, low and bitterly. "Maybe so."

 

The laugh grew, but in the darkness, yellow eyes flashed with misery. Huge and rolling in the confined space, Ed's raucous, mirthless chuckle seemed too real, too harsh. "Maybe so, Father! Tell me my fate! Tell me I'm damned! Condemn me, spit on me, tell me I'm worthless- you wouldn't be the first. You know you want to. Madman! Sinner! Military dog! Say it with me, Father."

 

Abel was too tired to care any longer. "Why are you even here?" he asked wearily, ignoring the gravel-spit growl of rage in the other's tone.

 

With exaggerated incredulity, Ed asked, "You care? Really? You don't. You want me gone."

 

"I do."

 

The man seemed brought up short by such bluntness. "I don't know," he said eventually, sounding almost surprised at himself. "I just- I just wanted to get it all out. All this... it's been bothering me. I haven't been sleeping. Can't keep my thoughts straight. I just... They're all gone, and it's eating at me."

 

He hung his head, quietly fiddling with his automail hand. After a long time, Ed looked up at Abel through his bangs- bleached pale in the poor light, premature white or blond. The priest met his eyes steadily, worn and confused and angry and disgusted.

 

"Maybe it makes you feel better, after what I've put you through," Ed mumbled. "I wouldn't blame you. I warned you. But... I don't know. I've never done this before. They're all gone, now... hell, for all I know, it's my fault. I just have my work, Father, only my work. And they'll take it away from me if I don't get my act together and come up with something good for the assessment. I should be working on it right now."

 

Suddenly he stood up, straightening what sounded like a coat. Abel blinked, thrown for a loop by the sudden about face.

 

"I- I have to go."

 

He sighed wearily and stepped out of the booth. Sitting frozen, Abel barely heard Ed sigh, "Maybe now I'll be able to concentrate on my research."

 

And then he was gone. Abel was left alone in the darkness, unable to look away from the fist-shaped dent in the metal grille. Suddenly he was aware that his heart was going fast, too fast for an old man. Footsteps were sounding outside, fading away, hard and militant against the stone floor. Larks were singing in the belltower, their melodic calls drifting into the church's vaulted hall. Abel tore his eyes from the battered screen and looked down, watching with vague amazement as they shook.

 

As Ed's steps began to sound from far away, however, Abel was charged with sudden energy. Shaking, he rose from the bench and yanked back the curtain, nearly running into a young dedicate hovering nervously just outside.

 

"Father," he began, looking shaken, "I heard-"

 

"Hush."

 

Ed was at the end of the nave, shouldering the doors open. Late-afternoon sunlight flooded in, amber-gold and thick as honey with the floral tang of a warm summer's day. Abel threw up a hand and squinted against the light, wanting desperately to see the face those sulphur yellow eyes were set in. Otherwise he'd never be sure he hadn't just spoken to a demon.

 

But the man didn't face him, didn't look back.

 

He was small, obviously slender beneath the strict blue uniform. The boots- black, polished, thick-soled- that made him sound like an adult didn't make him look it, not for his tiny size. His shoulders were narrow, his hands gloved to hide the automail's telltale glint. A long, straw-coloured braid hung down his back, a match to the gold glint of his eyes, the three brass stars on his epaulettes, the gold cord over his shoulder.

 

Abel had just time to see the silver chain flash at the man's hip before Ed strode out of the church. Without looking back, he pushed the doors shut, gloved hands decisive, thin shoulders too strong.

 

And then, everything in the church was the same as it always had been- the altar, the pews, the tapestries, the dusty vaulted ceiling, the mosaic-tiled walls, the belltower, the confessional, the great stained-glass windows- except for a man named Father Abel Madden.