Touka Koukan: A Collection of Brotherly One-Shots (FMA fanfiction)

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: I have a TON of one-shots concerning Edward and Alphonse Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist. Rather than swamping the forum with them, I thought I'd put all the Brotherly one-shots I have into one thread. Most of them are rather short anyway. My longer fics, and the ones that don't have to do with Ed and Al, I will post separately.

This first fic was one of the first ones I ever wrote (about a year and a half ago). It deals with Ed's thoughts during the conversation in the Rockbell's house in Episode 17, and contains spoilers through to Episode 24.

Without You

"Hey, Al.... I've...wanted to ask you something for a while...but I've been afraid to ask."

"What is it?"

Al, Al.... My little brother.... How I miss you. How long has it been since I've seen your face? Has it only been four years? It feels like ten at least. I want to look into your soft grey eyes – so much like Mom's – once more. I want to make you laugh, that laugh that used to always chase away my gloom. You hardly ever laugh now, and even when you do, your laughter is pained and forced. Whenever you speak, your cheerful little voice is tarnished by the tinny echo of your cold prison.

That armor...does it weary you? Are you tired of looking out at the world through eye-slits? Do you want to be rid of your clanking joints and heavy, thumping footfalls? Because I do. I don't want to have to talk to an expressionless heap of metal any more. I don't want to reach out for you and feel cold steel instead of warm flesh. No.... Not anymore.

Do you realize how much I want to hug you? Can you understand how I long to squeeze my little brother, so hard and so long that his eyes start to water and he starts to choke for breath? I want to roll in the dust like we used to do, and race each other home. I want to smell your sweat, to splash the washing water at you till we're both soaking wet. I want to wake in the middle of the night and hear your slow, even breathing, to know that you are sleeping soundly. You can't sleep now, can you? I know you pretend to so I won't feel awkward, but I can tell that it's fake.

"Um...."

But the more I ache for you, the more I realize...it's all my fault. I was the one who convinced you to join me in trying to bring Mom back. I urged you on all those times when you wondered if we should even be doing this. And I was the one who.... I drew the transmutation circle, I threw you away for the slim chance that I might get to see a brief glimpse of Mom. And I tore your soul from the body that was sucked away. I imprisoned you in that hideous cage that bears the merest semblance to a human body. Would you have wanted me to let you go? Would you have liked to die rather than live this life of constant pain? Do you hate me, Al?

"Say it."

"No, it's okay."

Al, I'm so sorry.... I look at the forbidding visor that makes up your face, and all my courage runs away. I could never say all these things to you. I know I should, but I...I'm scared of your answer. Because if you said that you would rather join your body in death, I...I wouldn't be able to do it. I can't let you go, Al. I need you. I need a little brother to be angry with, to fight with, to laugh with.... I need my Alphonse to drive me on into the sunset. Without you...I wouldn't have any more reason to go on. I couldn't continue as a dog of the military if I didn't have a purpose in mind. So I'll stay silent and keep these pressing questions inside, and maybe you can stay by my side for a little longer. Because without you, Al...I would fall to pieces.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: This fic shows what the end of Ed and Al's story would be like if they decided to keep their bodies the way they are (automail limbs and a suit of armor for a body).

Immortal Death

Edward Elric rocked gently in the rocking chair on the front porch, watching the gentle breeze ripple the grass that coated the hills of Risenpool. His younger brother watched him silently through the open front door. Ever since Winry had died, Ed had taken to sitting out on the porch, staring off into the distance. Al knew that he was thinking about those of their friends who had died, and wondering who would be next.

Most of their friends were long dead, since so many of them were much older than they were. The Mustangs, Brigadier General Havoc, Lieutenant-General Breda, Colonel Farman, even Lieutenant Fury. Armstrong, Ross, and Bloch were all dead, and Scieszka had died just a week ago, squinting as she tried to read a book in bed. Glacier had died long ago, and Elysia was raising her own children now. Sensei and her husband had died, as had Mason. Few of their old friends were left.

And now Ed sat in the rocking chair, staring into the distance where they had met all those friends long ago, as if he wished he could bring those days back. He was old himself, old and stooped, his white hair wispy and his golden eyes tired. Al didn't like looking into those eyes; he didn't like thinking about how old his brother was becoming. Ed's natural limbs now creaked as much as his auto-mail ones, brittle and fragile, but Al's body never changed. He hated how his body never changed, how he looked the same at ninety as he had at fourteen. It seemed that the older his brother grew, the greater the rift was between them.

At last Ed rose from his chair, leaning heavily on his cane, and tottered back into the house. Al rushed forward to help him back into his room, and Ed let out a long sigh as he lay down in his bed, his eyes closed as though he was weary beyond words.

Al was about to tiptoe out of the room when Ed grasped his wrist with his right hand, the metal joints creaking. "Stay, Al," he said, his voice raspy like dead leaves rattling together on a bare-branched tree. "I don't want to be alone."

Al sat down next to the bed, not liking the tone of his brother's voice.

After several minutes of silence, Ed opened his eyes once more and said in a stronger voice, "It's like we've switched places now, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

Ed smiled up at him, just the shadow of the cheery smile of his youth. "You always used to say that you didn't like being left alone at night. And now...I can't stand it either." He reached out to grip Al's hand. "Al...I don't have much time left."

"Don't say that, Brother!" Al cried, holding Ed's hand in both of his.

"Ah, but it's true," Ed sighed. For a few moments, he was completely still. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring you back, Al."

"Brother, don't worry about it," Al reassured him. "We made our decision long ago. We had no regrets."

"Yes...." Ed murmured sorrowfully. "But I...I would have liked to see you smile again."

"Brother...."

Ed turned his face away, and his voice was a little muffled when he said, "I've always wanted to say this in words, but.... Al...I love you."

"I know." Al waited for him to say more, but Ed was silent. When several minutes had passed, Al bent over his brother's face, to see if he had fallen asleep. But then he saw those golden eyes, blank and staring, and he knew that no one could wake him now.

----------

Risenpool's cemetery sprawled over a hilltop, slightly removed from the scattered farmhouses and fields. It was deserted that evening, deserted except for the suit of armor that knelt before one of the graves, head bowed, the setting sun casting a long shadow out behind it. Al had been kneeling there all day, ever since he had finished making the grave with alchemy. It sat right next to one bearing the name 'Trisha Elric', and Al remembered another day when he had knelt before that grave. So long ago, yet it seemed like yesterday. Once again, he was cold. Once again, he wanted to say to his brother, "Let's go home."

Al truly was an empty suit of armor now. A deep pit yawned inside him, a great nothingness that threatened to blot out the sun itself. His heart was empty, his emotions spent. He had done his share of weeping without tears, of calling his brother's name and remembering all the things they had done together. They had accomplished many things, and overall their lives had been happy. But Al had seen too many deaths, too many deaths of too many dear friends. This last one, the death of the one person who had been dearest to him, was the killing stroke. Inside, he was dead. He only continued to exist as an empty shell of the human that had been Alphonse Elric.

As Al knelt before his brother's grave, he knew that he couldn't continue to live anymore. He was practically immortal, but what use was immortality when the one who made life worth living was gone forever? In his despair, he made a decision. Al pulled off his helmet and set it before the grave. Then he reached inside his armor and pressed his finger against the symbol marked in old blood. For a moment, the suit of armor remained upright. But then it tipped over sideways, falling onto the ground with a resounding crash.

Sometimes, even the immortal can die.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: This is a completely pointless little fic that tells the story of FMA in the form of a fairy tale. The ending might be seen as AU.

Once upon a time, there were two brothers. An older brother, and a younger brother. One year apart in age. They were the best of friends, as all brothers should be - and few are. The brothers did everything together: They slept together, ate together, studied together, laughed and played and cried together. As nearly all brothers and friends do from time to time, they would argue and fight. Sometimes it even came to blows. Sometimes they were so angry with each other that they would refuse to speak to one another. But, like all true brothers and friends, they always made up afterwards.

They took each other for granted; they had been together for as long as they could remember, and it seemed as if life would always carry on the same way as before. But one day their entire world was thrown off-balance, for one day...their mother died. Neither one of the brothers had realized before then what they meant to each other. In their loss, their grief, their tears, they found solace in each other.

It was a quiet sort of dependency, not one filled with tears or tight embraces. Indeed, they rarely spoke of it, if ever. But it was there all the same, the knowledge that neither could live without the other. In the simple actions of everyday, in the 'please pass the salt's and the 'good-night, Brother's, they were telling each other "I love you" every day. To say such a thing aloud would have been a frightful embarrassment, but everyone needs to hear those words at least once. They were telling each other in the subtlest ways, but neither of them doubted for a moment that the other loved him.

Life continued in this manner for the two brothers, until one day they found their lives changing again. Both brothers' lives were in danger of being snuffed out altogether. But each could only think of their brother and how dreadful it would be for the other to die. Each brother realized with a sudden clarity that life meant nothing, if it could not be lived with their brother.

"I will give up my life," said the elder brother to himself, "that my brother will live."

"Death would not be too great a price," thought the younger, "if it meant my brother lived on."

Thus did the two brothers set out to save each other's life. They did not fully admit to each other what they were prepared to do, but they continued their quest together all the same. And at last they came within sight of their goal, the goal they had been striving so hard to reach. They learned that, indeed, the only way to save their brother was to give up their own life. The brothers looked into each other's eyes, and they knew in their heart of hearts this was a sacrifice they would gladly make.

As the elder brother plunged a jewelled dagger into his own heart, he saw to his amazement that his little brother did the same. For a moment, the brothers stood facing each other, clutching their chests, blood dribbling out their open mouths. Then they both fell as one, backwards and away from each other. Yet no one can ignore the self-sacrificing love of two brothers who have given everything for the sake of each other, and the eyes of fate were approving as they looked down upon these two brothers.

The brothers opened their eyes, and they found themselves alive - alive and freed from their impending deaths. Better still, they were together. I cannot even begin to describe the tears, the laughter, the gleeful frolics these two brothers shared when they found themselves alive again. For what words can describe them? I would not be able to explain them to one who has never experienced the wholesome joy of love. And for those who have...what words could enhance the knowledge they already possess?

The two brothers are among the few who perhaps need never say "I love you," for their every action speaks better than words. All the same, they said it to each other many times after they had been given new life. And I think it is no great wonder what happened next: They lived happily ever after.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Swelling Heart

How long will it take before my heart bursts? How long until it explodes in a spurt of red, splashing clods of stringy blood all over? My heart is so full, I am sure it cannot last long. Love keeps pumping into it, and it never leaves. My heart will not distribute this love to the rest of my body. My lips are numb, my hands cold, my feet stumbling. This love is a contained love, chained and behind bars like a wild animal. My heart is coated with steel in the vain attempt to keep my swelling heart from bursting.

What will it be like when my heart bursts at last? Will this throbbing ever cease? Surely, my heart will explode in a burst of pain and then I shall never feel again. I do not think that will be a relief, though. I would rather feel this pain for a thousand years than die without ever having felt it. I do not want my heart to burst; I do not want to lose this pain. That is why I enclose my heart in steel, to keep in the swelling pain as long as I may.

But cracks are running through the steel as my heart swells even bigger. Soon I shall have to put a new covering on it. And how long will that new covering last? The longer I keep in the swelling, the colder the rest of me becomes. I see your worried face looming over me as I lie in my hospital bed. Your silver eyes linger on my blue lips, and your fingers brush my cold hand. Is it your hand that is so cold, or is it mine? Surely it must be mine, for you have always been a shining beacon of warmth.

I cannot tell you of my pain, of the unbearable throbbing that pulses throughout my heart and splits cracks on the steel covering. If I told you, you would ask me why I cannot do away with the pain, why I do not let my heart burst to end my suffering. But you do not understand! Not all pain is bitter; this pain is more precious than a thousand jewels, and I will not throw it out in the mud like scraps from the table.

I must keep in the pain, I must! My clumsy hands clutch my chest, struggling to keep my heart in check. Your face, your beautiful face, is blurring in and out of focus. I am losing my grip on life. I knew that eventually this throbbing would be the end of me, but I would have no other ending than this. To die in your arms, filled with this terrible, beautiful pain.... Blood seeps between my fingers, and you gasp with surprise. My heart is full to bursting, and the thick blood is creeping its crawling fingers through my skin. Oh, the pain, the pain! Such pain, such pain! I cannot hold myself in; tears of blood are seeping out from under my eyeballs, turning all my vision to red. Blood is creeping into my mouth, trickling through my clenched teeth, bubbling out my lips. I cannot keep all this blood in!

Sometimes love hurts, hurts terribly. But the pain does not take away its deadly beauty. I suppose the pain is the price of love, but a man once told me that one needs no reward to love. One can love and expect nothing in return. Perhaps that is the reason love hurts so badly. Do you not see? What value has equivalent trade in the face of such pain, such beauty? Yes. I will perish at the hands of this pain, this blood that bubbles up faster and faster. I think my heart is bursting, for the pain is past all endurance. I have to let it go. You understand, do you not? I have to let this pain go, let myself go in the intensity of this pain, this love.

Blood is pouring, gushing like a fountain, out of my mouth. My whole body trembles as the blood pours out. I cannot see for the blood that clouds my eyes. I cannot hear through the pounding of my pulse. But I can feel...oh, how well I can feel! I never knew the world could contain such burning, searing, pounding, exploding pain. Yet slowly I realize, through the pain and the blood that continues to force its way out of my mouth, that you are holding me. You keep your arms around me, oblivious to my blood all over you. You do not seem to care. You hold me, hold me tight, and wait for the blood to stop. You are carefully winding a clean, white bandage around my chest, mending my broken heart. I hadn't realized the pain broke my heart, but now you are picking up the broken pieces, the little scraps of a popped balloon, and are sewing them back together with your soft little hands.

Why do you try to save me? Can't you see that I'm trying to die? For once all this pain is depleted, once my blood stops racing again, life can have no meaning left to me. I will be a dead corpse walking around, colder than I ever was when I tried to keep the pain inside me. Yet slowly...ever so slowly...as you wind the bandage around my mended heart, I realize that my hands are warm again. I am so warm, warm all over, warm from the heat that emanates from your arms wrapped around me. Please...never let go.

The blood has stopped now, leaving me drained. My eyes begin to clear again, and I realize that I have not died as I intended. Why did you stop me? I look into your eyes, and I know the answer. Your silver eyes, glistening with tears of pain, pierce me right through. As we stare into each other's eyes, I feel my sore chest and realize that the pain is gone. But in its place, instead of a desolate emptiness like a drained cup, is a wonderful, wonderful contentment. How much more beautiful than pain is this joy! My lips, no longer numb and blue, smile with relief as I pick up the broken shards of steel scattered across my lap. Then I look up at you and hold you as blood begins to pour from your mouth. And I know...that this pain I have endured is nothing compared to yours.

Author's Note: Thought of this when I was falling asleep one night, mulling over brotherly love. Completely figurative; none of the events are literal. Take out the references to Touka Koukan and various FMA quotes, and it could apply to just about anybody.

The way I see it, in this story pain equals love, and the blood pouring out of his mouth and eyes are the expressions of that love. So when the blood is coming out of his eyes, he's crying; when the blood is pouring out of his mouth, he's saying, "I love you," over and over again. And since he's been completely silent about such things before, his silver-eyed friend is shocked when he suddenly starts expressing his painful love.

And I'll give you three guesses as to who that silver-eyed friend is.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: My first FMA poem, and I'm rather proud of it, to tell you the truth. Just to clarify, it's from Ed's perspective, about Al. And while the last stanza might be seen as shonen-ai, I assure you it's not.

Brother in Armor

When I look into your eyes
My heart begins to ache
So it comes as no surprise
That my limbs begin to shake
Your silver eyes are asking
For a moment of reprieve
Your sunny smile is basking
In the hope to be relieved
I watch the play of light
On your metallic skin
It shines out so bright
Like your glowing soul within

Your golden hair
(So fine)
Glitters in the air
(Like mine)
Away from your body
Your soul is sawn
It was there one moment
And the next, it was gone
But I will find it yet
And I will bring it back
So stay with me and let
Me give you what you lack

I want to see you smile
Or even see you frown
I know it might take a while
But I WILL NOT let you down!
The pain of lonely nights
The absence of a meal
The struggles and the fights
The rusting of your steel
All this I would change
If only I knew how
If fate could rearrange
If the future could be now

If a kiss could wake you
I'd kiss you till I die
If my tears would make you
I'd shed them till they dry
Here's my arm and leg
I'll rip myself apart
On broken knees I'll beg
I'll give you my own heart!
Make your best endeavor
So that we will meet
Stay with me forever
For I am incomplete

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: This is based on/inspired by the first part of Roald Dahl's short story "The Swan" and an incident in Fyodor Dostoevsky's novel The Brothers Karamazov. Of course, I haven't written this half so well as either of them did, but in my defense I can say that neither of them wrote it for FMA lol. Anyway, this is a story about brothers and bullies, and I'm not sure the names I made up quite fit into the FMA world *shrugs*

Brothers and Bullies

"Well, lookee here. If it ain't ole Squirt's kid brother."

"Wanna have some fun, boys?"

"Let's see if he wants to play."

Alphonse Elric gulped nervously as the three biggest boys in the school started towards him. School was over for the day, so the playground in front of it was deserted. Except for Al and these bullies, that is. Willard, Jenson, and Peake, the most notorious troublemakers in Risenpool. They were the sort of boys who broke small children's arms on the playground, stole little girls' pocket money, and set foxes loose in chicken coops. Somehow, they were never caught in the act, nor could any solid evidence be found against them. Every child in Risenpool lived in fear of the Terrible Trio, as the bullies were called, and dared not report them to their parents or teachers. Retribution, they knew, would be swift and final. Once, a brave girl named Emma Darkwater had stood up to the Trio, and had been found later that day lying in a bush with half the bones in her body broken. The Darkwaters had hastily moved to East City and never returned.

Fear was the Terrible Trio's greatest weapon, greater than their strong muscles, large fists, or the bad grades that had kept them in primary school two years after they should have graduated. Fear gave them their power and kept them safe.

Al had had run-ins with the Trio several times before, and wasn't looking forward to another confrontation. He glanced at the door to the schoolhouse, but it was still closed. His brother had been asked to stay after class because he had not finished his homework. Al had promised to wait for him, but now he was regretting his promise.

"Hey, Elric!" Willard, the leader of the Trio, called out jovially.

"Wanna have some fun?" Peake asked, cracking his knuckles with a snicker.

"I'd rather not," Al replied quietly, trying not to look any of them in the eye. They were like dogs; if you looked straight at them, they saw it as a threat. "I'm waiting for my brother; he should be out any minute."

"Yeah, but he's not here now, is he, pal?" asked Jenson.

"And you know what that means?" Peake added.

"There's no one to hear you cry."

----------

Edward Elric stepped out of the schoolhouse, frowning dejectedly. The sun was going down already; there wouldn't be time to play with Winry before supper. And all because of some stupid homework. Ed was pondering this when he looked up and saw the form of his little brother leaning against the gate. But there was something different about the way Al was standing....

He hurried over to where Al was bending over, trying to stop the blood that was pouring from a viciously scraped knee. His lip was also bleeding, his shirt was torn, and there was a large bruise on his upper arm. "What happened, Al?" Ed asked in shock.

"Fell down," Al muttered, looking up at his brother.

Ed understood that look to mean, 'It was Them, Brother.' He frowned, but all he said was, "Next time, watch out where you're going."

Al nodded and the two of them started home. When they reached the small footbridge over the stream that ran by their house, Ed bent down to get his handkerchief wet. "Here," he said, handing it to his little brother.

Al murmured his thanks and bent to clean his wounds, while Ed stood watching him with a troubled frown.

----------

A few days later, Ed was called to stay behind after class again. "Don't wait for me this time," he muttered to Al. "Just go home, and I'll catch up later."

Al didn't like the worried tone of his voice, so he tried to sound cheerful when he said, "If you would just finish your homework on time, Brother-"

"Edward!" the teacher called.

Ed gave him one last worrying look and ducked back into the classroom. As Al joined the other children meandering their way back home, he wished his brother hadn't looked at him that way. The fear and concern in those golden eyes made Al tremble all over. And Winry was chattering with her friends up ahead, so he couldn't go to her for comfort. He trudged along with the others, wondering how everyone could be laughing and talking with such carefree voices.

Gradually, everyone petered away as they came to their houses. Winry went to one of her friends' houses, waving goodbye to Al. He made a feeble attempt at a smile, and continued on. His house was the farthest from the school, and he climbed the last hill by himself. He had just crossed the little stone bridge and looked up at his house when three large boys broke out of the trees on the side of the road. Al quickened his pace, but the Trio soon caught up with him.

"Well, well, well," Willard drawled. "If it isn't Squirt Junior."

Before Al could run for it, Jenson and Peake had grabbed him, ripped his schoolbag out of his hands, and held him so tight there was no hope of escape. When Al struggled, the only reward he got for his pains was Jenson's fist colliding with his nose. Blood began to trickle from the left nostril; Al tried to sniff it back up so it wouldn't stain his new school shirt.

Willard practically leapt at the opportunity to humiliate him some more. "Oh, poor wittle Squirty's cryin'! We'd better cheer 'im up, boys, hadn't we? We'll show 'im our new game!"

Jenson and Peake both agreed profusely, and marched Al off the path. Al glanced longingly back at his house, where his mother would surely be setting out milk and fruit for him and his brother to eat. But the Trio pushed him roughly along, down the hill to the train tracks. Al felt his insides clench with fear at the cold, glistening rails. He wasn't sure what these insane boys had in mind, but it was likely to be something deadly and terrifying. They were chuckling at some secret joke of theirs as they kept pushing him down toward the tracks.

"Wh-What are you doing?" Al asked tremulously as Willard pulled out a ball of strong string.

"Less talk, Squirt-Gun," Willard snapped. "Okay, lay 'im down between the tracks."

"What?! You're crazy!" Al yelled, panic rising like bile in his throat, making his voice oddly high-pitched. Jenson and Peake shoved him roughly into the gravel that lay between the rails, and began to tie Al securely to the train tracks. Al struggled, but the boys were good at knot tying; he could hardly move his body at all. The Trio backed away a little to sit on the grass at a safe distance.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Al cried, tears of sheer panic blurring his view of the clouds above. "Are you trying to kill me or something?"

"Hey, maybe we are, Squirt-Gun," Willard chuckled. "Smart little kid, ain't ya?"

The other two laughed and continued to mock Al's 'cleverness', but he wasn't listening to them anymore. He could feel a faint rumbling through the ground and the metal strips he was tied to. Suddenly there came a high-pitched whistle that sent thrills of terror right through him, paralyzing him. His mind went completely blank, focused entirely on the rumbling that grew steadily louder. It was coming closer...and closer....

[the_wolfs_howl]

Ed trudged glumly up the hill, kicking at pebbles and digging his hands as deep as they could go in his pockets. Stupid homework.... Why did he have to finish it anyway? When he looked up after crossing the bridge, Ed stopped short. His mother was standing on the crest of the hill, holding something in her arms. She hadn't come to meet them after school since Al was in kindergarten. Confused and a little worried, Ed trotted up the hill to his mother.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, putting a hand on his shoulder before he could ask anything. "Where's Alphonse? Where is your little brother?" Her whole face was covered with worry, and when she shifted the object in her arms he could see why.

"Al's bag!" Ed cried, snatching it from his mother's grip and staring at it. There was no mistaking it, but where was Al if his bag was here? Looking around desperately for some sort of clue, he noticed a small dark puddle that might have been blood – it was too hard to tell in the rapidly-falling dusk. There was another splotch some way off the road, in the grass.

"Call the police, Mom," Ed said tensely, dropping the bag and starting to follow the trail of blood. He just hoped his suspicions weren't correct....

"But Edward, what-"

Ed turned around and met his mother's eyes. A beam of understanding and trust passed between them, and Ed suddenly felt more grown-up than ever before. "Hurry," was all his mother said before turning and running towards the house.

Ed spun back around and followed the trail of blood. He felt sick inside when he realized it was leading to the train tracks, and sped up. Finally, he came to the crest of the hill and looked down on the frightful scene. The Terrible Trio, sitting on the grass and guffawing, and beyond them a blurred white something lying in between the train tracks. "Hey!" he shouted, rage boiling up inside of him. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The Trio slowly got to their feet and faced him. Willard called up, "Surely you don't mean yourself, Pipsqueak?"

"WHO'RE YOU CALLING A-" A shrill whistle cut through his shout, and to his horror Ed saw a gigantic freight train hurtling down the tracks.

The Trio turned gleefully to watch, and Ed sprang into action. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper on which he had drawn a transmutation circle a few days ago and flung it onto the ground, activating it. Huge hands made of earth sprang out of the ground and wrapped themselves tightly around Willard, Jenson, and Peake, holding the bullies immobile.

By that time, the train had passed. There was no movement from the small white object on the tracks. “Al!â€

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: I got the idea for this from the last two lines of Hoobastank's song "The Reason": "A reason for all that I do/ And the reason is you." It seemed to fit right in with Ed's motivation, so I simply had to write this. It's not strictly a songfic - just inspired by the song.

"[T]he...reason any man has ever done anything that is visionary [is love]."
- Majhal, Full Metal Alchemist

Some people ask me what my motives are. Why do I do what I do? Is there a reason behind it, or have I turned mad because of the horrors I have witnessed? And really, what could drive me to do the desperate things I do?

I attempted human transmutation at the age of eleven, and at the same age I successfully attached my brother's soul to a suit of armor – a feat I am told is well above the heads of many grown, skilled alchemists. At the age of twelve, I became a State Alchemist. By the time I was a teenager, I was already searching desperately for a fabled Stone that was said not to exist. At the age of fifteen, I fought desperate battles that usually left me an inch from death. I even hesitated on the verge of killing a roomful of prisoners to create the Philosopher's Stone. I have dug up my mother's bones, and desecrated the grave of something that was not human, but was still something I had created and killed. I have fought and captured Homunculi (who, by the way, are considered fairy-tales), I have been inside real and fake Gates, been trapped inside them, and escaped through them. I have faced death, I have endured life, I have made the necessary sacrifices. Quite a list for a sixteen-year-old.

And again I am faced with the monosyllabic question: why?

There can only be one reason for why I have gone to such pains when I could have given up and gone home long ago. There's only one reason, but that reason has many parts.

My mother was a major reason for why I took my first steps down this road: her gentle example in life, and the firm conviction she instilled in me with her death. And there are other reasons too, of course. Various people I have met over the years, lives I have touched that have in turn changed me forever. Winry, Colonel Mustang, Lieuten- Brigadier General Hughes...the list could go on and on. But there is one reason that stands high above the others, higher even than Mom.

The person I speak of is someone that I love very much, perhaps more than any other person alive. But I wronged him terribly; hurt him and banished him almost beyond recall. The past five-odd years have been entirely devoted to restoring him, to making amends for my mistakes and telling him with my every action that I'm sorry.

Yes, that's right. There's a method to my madness. There is a reason for all that I do. And that reason...is you.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: Basically, this fic is a roundabout story that you might not be able to follow logically, about being alone at night (hence the title, wow!). It's mentioned a couple times by various people how Al is alone all night, but nobody in the manga or anime ever seems to do much about it. Thus, my remedy. Oh, and I'm not sure whether they have cassette tapes in Amestris or not.

Alone at Night

I don't...I don't want to be alone at night anymore....

Ed lay, silent and still, on his bed in the hotel room. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. Over and over, like a stuck cassette tape, the words his brother had said echoed through his mind.

I don't want to be alone at night anymore....

He tried to imagine what it must be like to sit, night after night, completely alone. Al's only companions in the dead of night were his thoughts, and Ed could only imagine how lonely that could easily get. If he was forced to sit around for ten hours straight with nothing to do, he was sure he would go crazy – both from the sheer boredom of it all and from the more haunting turns his thoughts would most likely take him. It surely must be the same for Al. Sure, they had their differences (quite glaring at times), but they were brothers after all. They could tell what the other one was thinking, more often than not, because usually they were thinking the same thing.

Ed had been able to read his little brother's thoughts in his eyes when they were children. Perhaps that was because Al's silver eyes were so large and expressive. But even now, when Al's body was an expressionless suit of armor, Ed could tell what Al was thinking. He could read every shifting of that clanking body, interpret every subtle change in the eyes that glowed red from the helmet. He could tell when Al was smiling, or frowning, or laughing, or crying inside; he supposed the same was true for Al. They had been together their whole lives, and surely Al had become adept at reading Ed's emotions. That was what had made one of their recent conversations so hard.

I don't want to be alone at night anymore, Brother....

They had been discussing whether or not the thing they had created was actually their mother, and had concluded that it was not. Al had covered the face of his helmet with both hands and cried out, "Thank you, Brother! I...I didn't kill Mom!" In that moment, Ed had almost been able to see tears leaking out from between Al's fingers.

Their conversation had turned to whether they should continue searching for a way to bring back their bodies, or whether they should simply give it all up and be content with the bodies they had. Al had said he didn't want other people to be involved, if it meant they had to die because of it. But then came the statement....

I don't...want to be alone at night anymore....

Al's glowing eyes had pierced right through him, begging him to do something to stop his loneliness and pain. Al would never have asked such a thing of him with words, and would deny he had ever done so if Ed confronted him, but Ed knew his brother too well. He could see past every line of defense, every brave suit of armor Al had erected for himself, and he could see the timid fourteen-year-old his brother truly was.

Ed's thoughts merged with memories of when they were much younger, and before he knew it he was drifting into a light sleep.

Creeeeeaaaaak. Ed opened one eye blearily, looking across the room to the door. A small silhouette was fruitlessly attempting to open the bedroom door without making any sound. But that door had always had squeaky hinges; they had probably never been oiled.

"Al?" Ed half-whispered, half-groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Whatsa matter?"

The silhouette froze in the doorway, still clutching the doorknob but looking back at Ed. "Brother...." he whimpered.

Ed yawned widely, and when he looked again, he saw Al standing by his bed. On this side of the room, the moonlight shone in from the window onto his face. It might just have been the silver light of the moon, but he looked pale and small, his wide eyes quivering with fear. Ed began to feel more awake. "Bad dream?" he asked.

Al nodded. "I was gonna go get Mom," he whispered.

"Don't need to wake her up," Ed muttered, scooting over to the side of his bed that was next to the wall. He pulled back the bedcovers invitingly, and Al immediately hopped in. Ed noticed he was clutching his old stuffed cat, the one with the chewed-up ear, the one he had had ever since he was a toddler. It must have been an especially bad nightmare if Al had gone for his cat.

Al snuggled down under the blankets so only his eyes showed, and Ed lay back down beside him. "Wanna talk 'bout it?" he mumbled softly into his brother's ear.

Al shook his head frantically, his eyes widening; Ed mentally punched himself for asking such a dumb question. Al was scared out of his wits and didn't need to be reminded of his dream anymore. "It's okay," Ed whispered, putting an arm around Al and squeezing the other one under Al's body. "I'm here. You're safe."

Al continued to tremble with fright, but Ed squeezed him harder and gradually Al calmed down. He hugged his stuffed cat tight and looked at Ed with solemn silver eyes. "Thank you, Brother. I don't like being alone at night."

At first, Ed wasn't sure what had woken him when he opened his eyes. He blinked to push away the last misty tendrils of the dream, and then he heard it. A soft, snuffling noise, almost too quiet to be heard, was coming from the far corner of the hotel room. Ed slowly sat up and looked over at the corner. He could just make out the large, hunched form of his little brother, and it seemed those snuffling noises were coming from him. Ed had only heard such a sound once or twice before, and those had been times when Al was so steeped in despair that he made crying sounds even though he couldn't shed a tear.

What must it be like to go for four years without being able to cry once? Ed didn't enjoy crying, but sometimes his emotions got so heavy he couldn't keep them inside anymore, and they spilled out of his eyes as salty tears. The tears were a relief those times, and allowed him to release a little of his emotions. That was part of the pain Al carried inside that empty suit of armor: the pain of never being able to cry.

Before he was aware of doing it, Ed had gotten to his feet and began to cross the room. His bare feet made alternating sounds of pat – thump – pat – thump. Al looked up as he heard the footsteps and made a strange sound halfway between a sob and a gasp that echoed around his empty helmet. Ed paused for a moment, standing right in front of Al, and then sat down beside him. "Bad dream, Al?" he asked after a while.

"Um...sort of...." Al's voice was inquisitive and a little surprised, as though wondering why his brother had suddenly gotten out of bed to sit next to him.

"Well, don't worry," Ed said softly, ducking under Al's large arm to sit right next to him. The steel was cold against the bare skin of his left arm, but what did that matter? "I'm here. You're safe."

"Yeah...." Al replied slowly. "Thank you...Brother. I...I don't like being alone at night."

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: This one-shot was inspired by two entirely separate things. The first was something a character in one of my roleplays said (and this wasn't even an FMA roleplay). It was something to the effect of "You tried your hardest, and that's all anyone can ask for." For some odd reason, it caught my eye and reminded me of Al. The second thing that inspired this one-shot was the song by Vic Mignogna (Ed's English dub) called "Nothing I Won't Give". That song is AWESOME, and it inspired me to no end. Thus, this one-shot came about. It's an argument of sorts between the two brothers, and shows how important they are to each other. My favorite kind of one-shot XD This was also a sort of experiment for me in using two forms of perspective in the same fic.

"I promise you, there's nothing I won't give."
- Vic Mignogna, 'Nothing I Won't Give'

I think you're trying too hard, Brother. Just look at you, a dog of the military at the age of twelve! If chasing after my dreams means this, I'd rather you forgot about it. People call you a genius, but sometimes I think you're just stupid. You refuse to think of yourself, when your problems are so much larger than mine.

All right, so I don't have a body. I can't eat or sleep. I can't feel the softness of a cat's fur, or the smooth cheek of a newborn baby. I can't smell the delicious scents of food wafting through the air. But I'm alive, aren't I? My soul is intact, regardless of the state of my body. I can still hear your voice, Brother, and I can still see your face. I can see the pain you try to ignore, and I can hear the cries you attempt to stifle.

You saved me from the Gate. You saved my life. I'm not sure what would have happened if you'd left me there. I might have stayed in there forever, or maybe I would have simply disappeared from all existence. And even if this armor is limiting, even if I am but the hollow shell of a human being, this existence is precious to me. After all, you paid your arm for this! Your own arm... I can only imagine how much it must have hurt when it was pulled right off. There was so much blood that night, when I woke and tried to bind your wounds. I'm sure you were on the verge of death.

Once you asked me if I hated you for bringing me back into such a mangled existence, but it's exactly the opposite. I only love you all the more. When you told the whole story to our Master, I heard that you hadn't just offered your arm to bring me back. "I'll give you my leg, my arms, my heart...." You would have given up your very life for me if you had to, wouldn't you? Such a sacrifice takes my breath away. How could I ever hate you for what you did? If equivalent trade means anything, I can only attempt to give back a little of the love you showed for me the night you tied my soul to this armor.

You punish yourself for not being able to give me back my flesh and blood body, but you gave me this steel one, didn't you? You brought me back at your own expense, when you could have easily let me die and moved on with your life. You gave up everything for me, and that's all anyone can ask for. There's nothing I won't give to repay you somehow, to show that I love you every bit as much as you've always loved me. Nothing at all.

----------

You don't get it, Al, do you? "All anyone can ask for," is it? It's my fault you lost your body in the first place! I was selfish and juvenile, thinking I could bring back Mom after only a year of studying. I wanted to return to the days of happiness, ignoring the one person who could make me happy again. Didn't Mom say, "Live together and be happy"? If I'd paid attention, I would have realized that our hearts could have been healed, and we could have been happy again - with each other - even though Mom was gone.

But I've always been stubborn and stiff-necked, so I threw away all I had to chase after an impossibility. I thought I had nothing left to lose, but I was wrong. Al, I was so wrong. I nearly lost you, and I'll never forgive myself for that. I don't care how many times you tell me you're thankful, or how many times you urge me to only think of myself. Can't you see, Al? That's what got us both into this mess: me thinking of no one but me. If I had once stopped to consider, or realized how much you meant to me, I could still reach out today and feel your warm skin. I could see your smiling face, hear a voice that didn't echo around an empty helmet.

That's why I can't stop to think about my own problems. Only when they interfere with my quest after your body will I pause. Everything is my fault, so I have to be the one to suffer and atone. I don't care if it's impossible; I don't care if even you don't think I can do it. There's nothing I won't give to bring back your body, to apologize for the horrible things I've put you through, to convince you that I love you more than anyone or anything. Nothing at all.

----------

The brothers stood facing each other with folded arms. Ed was frowning, and the glowing red eyes of his brother were mere stubborn slits. "We're not getting anywhere with this, Brother," the suit of armor sighed.

"Yeah," Ed agreed, his frown deepening. "That's why you should just drop it."

"Why me?" Al demanded. "Why don't you give in?"

"The same reason you won't, apparently," Ed grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Touché," Al muttered.

Ed let his arms drop to his sides and sat back down on the couch. After a moment, Al followed suit, sitting cross-legged on the floor on the opposite side of the small coffee table in front of the couch. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Al watching his older brother as Ed watched the blades of the ceiling fan slowly oscillate. At long last, Ed spoke. "Al, nothing you say is going to make me stop searching for a way to bring back your body."

"You've said this a dozen times already, Brother," Al said with the hint of a laugh in his voice.

"You know why, right?" Ed asked the ceiling fan.

There was a moment's pause, and then Al murmured, "Yes." His voice was a mere metallic rasp whispering through the visor of his helmet.

Ed returned his gaze to his little brother and the shadow of a smile crossed his face. "And it's the same reason for you, isn't it?"

Again, even softer this time, Al whispered, "Yes."

Ed stood up again and strode over to Al, who looked up at him with questioning eyes. Ed patted the top of Al's head, the way he used to do when they were small. It wasn't quite the same; Ed's automail hand banged hollowly on the helmet, and he had to remain standing to even reach the top of Al's head. All the same, the gesture was understood as Ed sat down on the floor next to his little brother and picked up one of the reference books littering the coffee table. "Now, where were we before we started this stupid argument?"

When he glanced up at Al, the red eyes shone out from the helmet like bright lamps, and he knew that on the inside, Al was smiling.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: This one-shot was inspired by Samurai101's beautiful fic "Sense," which can be found on FanFiction.net. Quite obviously, hers was much better-written than mine, but I wanted to try my hand at writing something similar. While Samurai101 focused on the five senses that Al experienced after returning to his body, I decided to focus also on certain things he hadn't been able to do as a suit of armor. I'm not going to go into too much detail about how his body was returned to him or what exactly happened, though I do follow the anime ending somewhat; you can decide the details for yourself.

Some of these observations, namely the shower scene, have come directly from my own personal experience as I recovered from back surgery. I hope they give this fic a sense of realism.

The Day I Woke Up

The first thing I became aware of was a dull thumping sound. Whump-thump. Whump-thump. Whump-thump. I could feel something - a slight tingling - all through my body. My blood, pounding through my veins, I thought. Other than that tingling, everything was still and silent. Then I felt something different, something very unpleasant. It felt hot and burning, somewhere in the middle of my body. The thumping of my heartbeat quickened to a thump-thump-thump-thump. A desperate thought flitted through my torpid brain: I'm going to die.

But why? What was going to cause this imminent death? And suddenly I remembered: You have to breathe, or you'll suffocate and die. For a panicked moment, I couldn't remember how. I hadn't done such a thing for five years. But as the staccato of my heartbeat pounded insistently against my temples, out of desperation I opened my lungs and began to breathe. That first breath was the most wonderful thing I've ever experienced. I could feel that blessed air filling my lungs, the breath of life coursing through my hot body, bringing coolness and comfort with it. When my lungs were full of that wonderful air, I let it all out again in one smooth gush and let my lungs fill again. In and out, inhale and exhale. I was content just to breathe for what felt like a long time. My heartbeat slowed down to its normal speed, and I let the life trapped in those oxygen molecules spread all through my body.

Gradually, I became aware of two slight pressures on either side of the thumping core I knew was my heart. The one on the right felt soft and warm; the one on the left was smooth and very, very cold. Something seemed to pierce right through my mind: I was feeling. Something began to burn up above my heart, somewhere around where my helmet should have been. There was a burning in one spot, and a little below that was a slight tickle, and down farther, just above my heart, was a constricted throb. I didn't understand until I felt something wet streaking down what I realized were my cheeks. Two small tears trickled down my face, swiftly followed by more tears as I realized with increasing excitement that I was feeling again.

All of a sudden, like the dawn breaking over the horizon, I realized why everything was so dark. I hadn't opened or closed my eyes for five whole years; it took me a long time to remember which muscles went to my eyelids. When at last I had located them, those long-dormant muscles flexed and my eyelids slid open. A blast of light crashed through my whole body, as wonderful and as filled with life as that first breath I had taken. At first, the brightness of the light overwhelmed me and I could only catch my breath at the wonder of it. Yet gradually I became aware of a swirl of colors: white, and red, and yellow, and orange - no, pink. I think there was some black in there too. Everything was in blobs all over the place, and none of it made any sense. But before I could try to make out what I was seeing, I heard something.

There was a relieved sigh, and I could feel someone's breath brushing across my face. "Whew," came a familiar voice that shook with emotion. "I was worried for a minute there, when you weren't breathing."

I knew that voice so well! That voice had been with me, right by my side, all through the misery I had known for so long. I had heard it when it was cheerful, angry, scared, and sad. I had heard that voice laugh, and cry, and scream and yell. Suddenly I remembered what had happened before I became aware of all that silence and darkness. I had been lying down, immobile on the activated transmutation circle, and fearfully watching my brother fight Envy. Envy had been trying to gain the upper hand by changing his appearance to all the people we loved. But my brother would not fall for that old trick. Even when Envy showed his true form, revealing that he was actually our half-brother, my brother managed to leap backwards as Envy's arm shot towards him, sharp as a sword.

I became distracted then, because Gluttony had started eating away at my armor, getting ever closer to the blood seal. I'm still not very clear on what my brother did, but somehow he got rid of Envy, Dante, and Gluttony. When my brother freed me and I asked him what he'd done, he mumbled something about the Gate and said it didn't matter. 'I'm going to bring you back now, Al,' he had said, wiping blood and sweat off his face. I had felt excitement swell inside me as my brother clapped his hands and placed them gently against my chestplate.

As I heard my brother's relieved voice, I suddenly understood: It had worked. I had my body back. Just as the colorful blobs began to come into focus, everything blurred again and more tears ran down my cheeks, falling into my ears. I hastily blinked them away, for I wanted more than anything else to see my brother's face. Everything crashed into sharp focus, and I could see my brother looking down at me with a huge grin. Still, there was worry hiding behind his golden eyes. "Al?" he asked in a strained voice. "Can you hear me?"

Then came an irrepressible urge to say something, anything, just so I could tell my brother it had worked. But once again, I found I had forgotten how. I had never stopped to wonder how I could speak when I was an empty suit of armor. I had no vocal cords or even a mouth to form the words, yet somehow when I tried to say something the words would simply come out. I tried to say something this time, but I realized I needed to do something a bit more. Slowly, my mind dredged up old memories of speaking, and watching other people as they spoke. I had never thought too much about how they did it, but I could recall their lips moving to shape the air they pressed out of their lungs, and that little bump in their necks that would wobble up and down. I took a deep breath and pressed my lips together, clumsily formed an 'o' with them, pressed my tongue against my teeth, and made it retreat.

"Brother..." I croaked out slowly, saying the first thing that came to my mind.

A huge smile spread across my brother's face as that one word reassured him I was well and whole. "Al..." he said, his voice wobbling. I felt his hands grip my shoulders harder and watched as his lips began to tremble. That was when I remembered: I had hands, too. I now had a body just like my brother's. Slowly, I clenched my left hand into a fist and opened it again. Rapidly remembering how to use the muscles of my arm, I moved my hand up to where my brother's left hand rested on my shoulder. He watched its slow progress as though it was a snake instead of my hand. Then my fingers touched his hand, feeling the soft, slightly rough cloth of his white glove. I paused, and my brother immediately tugged off the glove, understanding my unspoken request.

As soon as I felt warm skin beneath my fingertips, I gripped his hand as hard as I could. I could feel his strong pulse and his bony knuckles. There is strength in his hands, those hands that have clapped together so many times. I could feel my own weakness as I clutched his hand with all my strength. My own hand was cold and trembling, pale and delicate like a woman's. So I held onto my brother's hand in the vague hope that some of his strength might pass to me. My brother stared at our clasped hands for a few moments, his lower lip trembling and his eyes blinking furiously. He turned those golden eyes to my face and burst into tears.

My brother isn't someone who cries easily. He is filled with emotion, but he has seen many things, and he always tries to be strong for others. So he tries to keep his tears inside, but sometimes something happens that hits him with such force that not even he can keep back those tears. This was one of those times, the day he reached his goal at last, and seeing me back in my body broke all the barriers inside him. All the tears I knew he had been longing to shed since the night he lost his arm and leg broke out and flowed down his face. He clutched my hand with his flesh and blood hand and pressed it to his forehead, crying out all his relief and joy. I cried too, clutching my brother's hand as though my life depended on it.

[the_wolfs_howl]

I had to relearn many things after I woke up to find myself in my body again. Remembering how to use my muscles was probably the hardest part. For days, my limbs felt heavy and I moved slowly. I suppose the years I spent as a hollow, tireless suit of armor made me forget just how heavy all those bones and muscles really are. My brother had to teach me how to walk; he sort of made a project out of it. Every morning after I had eaten breakfast and rested (chewing even soft food like eggs or rice wore me out), he would help me to sit up, hang my legs over the side of my hospital bed, and slip down onto the ground. The first time I tried to stand, my legs buckled underneath me. But my brother caught me. He always caught me when I stumbled or fell, and I always cried when I felt his strong hands holding me upright. He always thought that he was hurting me, or that I was crying out of despair that I would ever have control of my body again. He didn't realize that I was crying tears of joy.

Once my legs became used to holding up my weight again, my brother would put his arm around me and hold my weight as I hobbled around the room. The warmth of his arm around me and his encouraging words in my ear gave me the strength to continue even when I felt like giving up. Finally, at the end of the first week, I could walk the length of the hallway and back with my arm linked through my brother's.

I had to learn how to eat and drink (at first my brother fed me like a baby), how to wield eating utensils and pencils, and even how to go to the bathroom. That was embarrassing. My brother didn't stare at me strangely or laugh when I wet my bed that first night. He nodded matter-of-factly, as though it was an easy mistake to make, and helped me to the toilet. When I apologized, he simply shrugged and said it was like the good old days. I asked him what 'good old days' he meant, and he said, "Oh, you know, all those times when I was like five and I had to help you to the toilet every morning." I blushed then, surprised even through my mortification at the heat mounting in my cheeks.

Other things were a bit easier to relearn, of course. Smiling and laughing came easily as I shared in my brother's joy, and I marvelled at how natural and effortless sleeping was. For years, I had longed with all my heart to be able to sleep again. I had tried my hardest to fall asleep; I pretended and lay in bed like my brother, still and calm and praying I might just fall asleep when I wasn't paying attention. But a suit of armor has no need for sleep, and the most I could ever manage was a dark stupor devoid of intelligible thought. Yet now that I had a body that needed sleep, I found that I could simply close my eyes and slip away into another world. The first night after I got my body back, I kept on jerking awake, startled that I had actually fallen asleep. Even years after I got my body back, I was still a very light sleeper.

I'll never forget my first shower in my new body. It was in the second week since my brother had given me a real body, after I could walk reasonably well. Until then, the nurses would wash me with wet cloths as I lay in my bed, and once my brother had wheeled me down the hall in a wheelchair to a sink where a nurse washed my hair for me. But I felt that I was finally ready to bathe myself. I could stand upright without falling over, and my hands were nearly as versatile as they had been before. So my brother agreed, but he decided to sit on a stool inside the bathroom, just in case.

At first things were going very well. I loved the feel of the steaming water washing over my body, pounding down on my head like rain. I massaged my scalp with shampoo, and washed my whole body thoroughly. I was feeling very clean and pleased with myself by the time I turned off the water. At last, I felt, I could do something for myself instead of troubling my brother for it. My brother handed me a towel over the top of the shower, but as I dried myself off I began to feel...strange.

My ears were ringing as though I had just sat up suddenly after lying down for a long time, and strange shapes began to appear before my eyes. They were very odd shapes, the sort of shapes you will see against your eyelids if you press on your eyeballs very hard. I felt light-headed, as though my head was drifting slowly upward, away from my body. I wrapped the towel around my waist and opened the sliding shower door, but suddenly my legs felt like rubber. I lowered myself down so I was squatting and groaned, "Brother...I don't...feel so good."

He was already at my side, supporting me, asking me worriedly, "Al? Al, what's wrong?"

I tried to answer him, but the ringing in my ears had become a roar, and the shapes were blinding me, blocking everything else out of my vision. I think I must have fainted, because there is a small gap in my memory, and the next thing I can remember is sitting on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom, dripping all over my brother.

"Al!" he was calling. "Al, are you okay?! Tell me what's wrong!"

I found it very hard to breathe, as though my lungs were sticking together. I gasped, but little air seemed to enter my lungs. My brother jumped up, threw open the bathroom door, and grabbed the book he had been reading, fanning me desperately. As the close, steamy air escaped through the open door, it gradually became easier to breathe. The ringing in my ears died away and the shapes disappeared, leaving me feeling drained and exhausted. My brother helped me dress myself and stumble back to my bed.

As I lay there, feeling tired and feverish, experiencing the beginnings of my first headache in five years, I asked my brother, "What happened to me? Why did I fall over like that?"

"I should've thought of it," he said, looking guilty as he sat down in his customary chair at the side of my bed. "All that steam and hot water was too much for you in that state. I'm sorry."

But I smiled, because I realized that if my brother had not given me this new body, I wouldn't even be able to faint.

I take very little for granted these days. Every morning when I wake up, I start the day with a huge smile because I can sleep. No longer am I forced to sit up all through the many long nights while I watch my brother sleep. Once again, my brother and I lie awake late into the night, talking in whispers. And when we grow too sleepy to talk, we lull each other to slumber with our deep, contented breathing. I dream now, real dreams that are more than the mere shadowy phantoms that used to chase me around when I was a suit of armor.

Every day, old and familiar things seem new to me all over again. The feel of my blankets, of my brother's skin as I shake him awake. The smell of bacon and eggs drifting up from the kitchen, the taste of my brother's milk that he makes me drink for him. The warmth on my skin from the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the grumbling feeling in my stomach that speaks of hunger. I cherish pain and unpleasant sensations, because even they are better than the void I was trapped in for so long. The first time I stubbed my toe, I burst out laughing at the stinging pain that shot up my leg. My brother laughs at me sometimes, telling me I still act like a ten-year-old - enthusiastic about everything, and always reaching out to feel the textures of various objects. He's right, but neither of us cares very much. I missed so much of life during the five years I spent as a suit of armor that now I have to make up for lost time.

We never talk about what happened the day I woke up in my body. Occasionally, when I look at my brother's automail limbs, a shadow falls momentarily over the sun that lights up my days. I don't like thinking that while I regained my original body, my brother still has to suffer with metal limbs. The day after he brought back my body, I began to ask him if he still wanted to search for a way to return his body to normal, but he shook his head before I could even finish. He said he was content to live the way he was; even with the various difficulties automail presents, he had always been able to do the things I couldn't. All through those five years, he could sleep and eat and feel. He was missing an arm and a leg, but he reassured me he could do without them for the rest of his life. They also serve as an excuse to keep visiting Winry - but he didn't mention that part.

Secretly, I'm glad my brother doesn't want to search for a way to regain his missing limbs. I don't want to go through the worry and danger we've experienced all over again, even if it would be for my brother's sake. And as long as those metal limbs remain in place, I will always be reminded of the depths of my brother's love.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: I'm not really sure where this came from, or why I wrote it. I think it had something to do with my mingled emotions when I heard Al's English dub for the first time, especially his voice work in Conqueror of Shamballa. That, combined with my impressions of Aaron Dismuke from some interviews, somehow led to this random little scene. This fic also harks back to my story "Alone at Night."

One of Those Nights

Ed had been enjoying a strange dream featuring cows dancing with suits of armor when he suddenly jerked awake. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring into two wide, silver eyes several inches from his own. With a startled grunt, he pushed away from those eyes and sat up. "Al?" he yawned. "What time is it?"

"About three o'clock," Al replied in a whisper.

Ed could tell it was going to be one of those nights, and shifted to the farther side of the bed so his little brother could join him. Al hesitated, then sat down. Ed could feel the mattress sink a little with the added weight. "So, what's up?" he asked. "Bad dream?"

"Yes. Well, no, not exactly." Al sighed, and Ed suddenly noticed the complete absence of Al's favorite stuffed cat, the cat Ed privately called The Harbinger of Doom. Whenever Al was clutching that moth-eaten toy, he was sure to be in a state of advanced panic or terror. Since the cat was absent this time, Ed supposed whatever was bothering Al couldn't be too bad.

"The thing is..." Al began hesitantly, staring at the hands he clasped in his lap. "Brother, I was just thinking about what the future has in store for us."

"What do you mean?"

"Well...I know that since we're State Alchemists, we get to help a lot of people. And I like helping people. I like using alchemy for the common good. I just...well, sometimes we get in trouble. Sometimes we're in danger. Even if you're the Fullmetal Alchemist, even if I'm your brother, there are still times we can't protect each other. And I...I worry about you sometimes, Brother."

Ed smiled, trying to lighten the dismal air surrounding them. "Is that really how you think of your older brother? You don't think I'm up to chasing after criminals even after all we've been through?"

At last Al raised his head to look Ed in the eye, and all levity left Ed's mind. "Brother..." Al whispered, his soft grey eyes shining with tears. "I never want to be separated from you. It was bad enough when I was in that suit of armor and I couldn't even feel your hand. But if you...if you...died..." His voice dropped to a whisper and he squeezed his eyes shut, the tears in his eyes beading his eyelashes.

"Hey, Al," Ed said forcefully. "Listen to me. I'm not gonna die, okay? Not until we're both old men. I'll do everything in my power to stay with you until we're both ready to die. You hear me?" He gripped his little brother's hand; warm flesh met warm flesh in a tight embrace that spoke the words their lips could not.

"I..." Al whispered, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his pajamas. He used his free arm to draw Ed closer in the tight, awkward embrace of a younger brother. "I'm glad you're my brother."

Ed smiled and hugged Al back. "So am I, Al." Ed was seventeen, and if anyone other than Al had tried to hug him he probably would have groaned and pulled away. But there were many exceptions to be made for a little brother. "So am I."

[the_wolfs_howl]

In celebration of FMA Day, I'm putting up two of my better fanfics about the Elric brothers. This one has a teensy bit of personal value to me, because it was spawned by my thoughts of how I used to fight a lot with my brother, but after a while I guess I realized that he's a built-in best friend, so now we rarely fight at all.

Anyway, this fic is set after the series, but with an alternate ending that they managed to get their bodies back and stay in Amestris *sticks tongue out at movie*

Fighting

For Edward Elric, fighting with his younger brother was not quite like fighting with anyone else. As a child, he had frequent fights with his neighbor and friend, Winry Rockbell. These fights would usually escalate to Ed being hit with whatever loose objects were handy, and Winry running off in tears. After the initial anger and pain (which usually took no more than five minutes to wear off, ten for a particularly heated argument), they would find each other once again, mutter their apologies, and Winry would fetch a bandage for the wounds she had inflicted on her friend. That would be the last either would hear or think of their fight, and they would resume whatever game they had been playing at the time. As they grew older, they still fought each other (quite viciously at times), and they still apologized quite quickly after the offense had been made.

Fights with Ed's Master Izumi Curtis were always one-sided. Master was surprisingly strong, and her strength was coupled with excellent reflexes. She never let up on Ed or his brother, despite their young age. Fights between Master and pupils, whether as punishment, training, or simply to make a point, generally ended with the two boys lying on the ground, moaning and nursing quite a few cuts and bruises. Master would bandage their wounds, correct their mistakes, and gently encourage them. Even though the two boys never won these fights, Master never let them become discouraged.

When Ed fought with his superior officer, Colonel Roy Mustang, he found that they were pretty evenly matched. They could both hurl stinging insults at each other, and they were widely hailed as two of the most gifted State Alchemists in the country. Apologies never quite came in the aftermath of their fights, however. When they had sufficiently worn each other out, they would part ways, panting heavily. The next time they saw each other, their fight would not be brought up. Mustang would order Ed about, Ed would retort hotly, and they would resume their tasks. Apology and forgiveness were either neglected or unnecessary, Ed could never decide which. Whatever the case, there was some kind of unconscious understanding between the two men that their occasional fights had little to no bearing on their relationship.

But when it came to Ed's little brother.... That was a completely different matter.

Edward and Alphonse Elric had fought much more frequently when they were younger. They would fight over whose turn it was for the first bath, who had the bigger cookie, who had won the game they were playing, who was going to marry Winry. And every time they got into a real fight, Al would go racing off to sit by the river. Ed always knew exactly where to find him; Al was very predictable. Unlike when he fought with Winry, Ed always waited a while before he went to fetch his brother. Usually he waited at least an hour or so. He wasn't sure why; maybe it was because whenever he did end up fighting with Al, it hurt more than when he fought with anyone else.

Ed never actually apologized to Al; he never said the words, "I'm sorry." He would come to Al, who would leap up, ready to fight. But Ed wouldn't want to fight; he would say, "C'mon, Al. Let's go." His voice would be uncomfortable and reluctant, but Al always understood the unspoken apology in his words. The brothers would walk home together, friends again, their fight forgotten.

As Ed and Al grew older, they fought less and less. Perhaps this was due to a semi-conscious knowledge that their brother was all each of them had. After their mother died, their only family was each other. They couldn't endanger that small family with petty quarrels. They had got along quite well before that, but they became even closer friends because they depended solely upon each other. And yet, even as their fights and arguments became less frequent, they generally became fiercer as time went on. Ed took to waiting all day before he sought his little brother out, and sometimes they were in places where there was no river for Al to sit beside, and it took hours for Ed to locate him. Both brothers pretended not to notice this, but a lingering uneasiness clouded Ed's mind even in the joy of having successfully retrieved his and his brother's bodies.

----------

Everything came to a head one day as they arrived in Central after a strenuous inspection of the East. "I ache all over," Al moaned, rubbing his back, as they left the station and made their way to Central Military Headquarters. "Those train seats are so hard...."

"Now you know what I've felt like all this time," Ed grumbled, heaving their bulky suitcase along with him. It was amazing how much more luggage they had to carry now Al wore clothes as well.

"I wouldn't have to feel like this if you hadn't used the Stone on me," Al muttered bitterly, sounding as though he had been wanting to say this for a long time.

"And that's your way to thank me?" Ed snapped. "I thought you wanted to feel things again, Al! Or would you rather go back to being just a heap of metal again?"

"Maybe I do!"

Ed stopped and turned to face Al, dropping the heavy suitcase onto the sidewalk. "Is this what's been bugging you for so long?" he demanded angrily. "I risk my own life to get your body back, and you just want to go back to being a suit of armor again?! Well, be my guest! Do human transmutation on somebody, and maybe I'll attach your soul to a tin can this time!"

"At least then you wouldn't drag me all across Amestris!" Al cried. "I'm tired, Brother! I'm tired of not having a home!"

"Go back to Risenpool then! Nobody's stopping you!"

"Fine then! I might just do that!"

"Yeah, well, good riddance!" Ed grabbed the suitcase again and started stomping towards Headquarters again.

Behind him, Al let out an enraged cry and screamed, "I HATE YOU, BROTHER!"

Ed swivelled around to find Al running away from him, his red coat flapping out behind him. "WELL, I HATE YOU TOO, SO THERE!" Ed called after him and continued on his way, muttering dark threats and half-coherent curses under his breath. The people around him gave him a wide berth, but he was only too glad to be left alone. He felt hot all through his body; he wouldn't have been surprised if steam had been pouring out of his ears. When he finally arrived at Central Headquarters, he barely noticed the concerned looks he was attracting from Hawkeye, Havoc, and Fury as he passed them in the hall. He slammed his written report down on Mustang's desk, snapped a curt reply to his superior's questions, and left Headquarters in a huff.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Al sometimes wished there was a river in Central City. He had thought through some of his most complicated problems while sitting in front of a river. There was something very calming about water rushing past in an endless flow. It reminded him of the first lesson Master had taught him and his brother: the world flows along like an unstoppable river, and if you try to stand in its way, you will only be drowned. This lesson always put things into perspective for Al, and he thought that was probably why he always found himself drawn to rivers after a fight with his brother. Momentary anger meant nothing to the world, so what was the use of letting it control his actions?

The problem was, Al had let his anger get away with him. His irritation, his discomfort, his disappointment in his own body, had all drawn together and lashed out at his brother. I shouldn't have said those things, he told himself over and over again. Brother was kinder than words can say to give me back my body. I should be more thankful. But thinking those thoughts wouldn't take back what he had said. I bet Brother hates me. Al trailed his fingers in the basin of the fountain. It was the closest he could find in this bustling city to the calmly rushing waters of a river, but it just wasn't the same. There was something overused and almost boring about the way the water in the basin continuously spouted upward in graceful arcs, recycled over and over again. Al pulled his hand out of the water, watching tiny sparkling drops of water splash back into the pool. It occurred to him that, had it not been for his brother, he would not be able to feel the cool wetness against his skin, nor the sharp breath of air that evaporated the water on his fingers.

Something reminded Al of an incident a few years ago, in the desert city of Lior. That had been when he and his brother were still searching for the Philosopher's Stone. Ed had been completely worn out from the long trek across the desert, and had slouched along the streets complaining of thirst. Suddenly he had seen the massive fountain of wine in the city square, and gone rushing like a madman towards it, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Water! Water! Water! Water!"

Al smiled briefly; his brother was always so enthusiastic about everything. But then the smile slipped off his face with a sigh. He missed his brother already, and they had barely been apart for an hour. He wondered what Ed was doing right then, wondered if Mustang was giving him a hard time about his height, wondered if Ed was screaming his lungs out at that very moment. He wondered if Havoc and Breda were laughing at him, if Hawkeye was rolling her eyes, if Farman was tutting impatiently and Fury was peeping timidly around the door. He wanted to be there, he wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to be next to his big brother, because that was where he belonged.

But Brother probably won't want anything to do with me, he realized with another melancholy sigh. Not after all that horrible stuff I said to him. He gazed for several long moments at his shimmering reflection in the fountain pool, at the face of flesh and blood with the large grey eyes and slightly upturned nose. It was the face he had been given by his brother in the place of the stiff metal visor of his helmet, which had also been given to him by his brother. Al slapped that face in the water with his hand and launched himself away from the fountain, running away as fast as he could.

----------

When the sun began to set behind the tall buildings, Al began to grow worried. It had been hours since he had run away from his brother, and still Ed hadn't come to fetch him. He had never had to wait this long before. Al kept on seeing people from behind or in the distance, and thinking they were his brother. His heart would leap in his chest, and he would hurry forward only to find that the person was too tall, or that it was some girl with a long golden plait. As the shadows deepened and streetlamps turned on, Al trudged dejectedly along the streets, his gloved hands stuffed into the pockets of his red coat. He glimpsed his reflection in a few glass shop windows, and realized that with his bangs shading his face like that, he almost looked like his brother. Several times when he passed a large glass window, he almost thought his brother was walking along beside him. But each time he looked over, it was only his reflection.

His body was weary beyond measure from the hard train seats and his wandering since the afternoon. His stomach rumbled with hunger, but that only served to remind Al painfully of how much his brother had done for him. If it hadn't been for Ed, he wouldn't be able to feel hunger. But though he passed several well-lit restaurants, and though his pockets were filled with travel money, he did not stop to satisfy his grumbling stomach. Somehow, it didn't seem right to seek bodily comfort when his heart was so heavy. Al had no idea where he was, nor where he was going, but he continued to walk all the same.

Al only realized how long he had been walking when he heard a loud BONG. He jumped and looked up at the large clock tolling out the hour: one o'clock. Al looked around the square, dimly remembering the times he and his brother had sat under that large clock and discussed things. He especially remembered the time his brother had asked him what he wanted to do as soon as they got their bodies back. Al had said he wanted to eat apple pie. That had been the first thing he ate when they went back to Risenpool after reclaiming their bodies. Al wearily sat down under the large clock and pulled his red coat closer about himself. He remembered what his brother had said he was looking forward to most: seeing everyone's smiling faces when they were told the Elric brothers had gotten their original bodies back at last.

Who was Brother most happy to see smiling? Al wondered suddenly. Was it Winry? Or.... Brother did say, "I really want to see you smiling." Al rested his forehead against his knees and clasped his arms around them. It was cold, sitting on the stones like that, cold and hard like the train seats. And the only reason he could feel that at all was because of his brother....

Al's grey eyes, which had been half-closed, suddenly snapped open. He raised his head and got to his feet with a frown. He couldn't stand this anymore; he wasn't going to wait for Ed to come find him and say, "C'mon, Al. Let's go," as if nothing was the matter. For once, Al was going to take the initiative, to confront his brother instead of simply waiting for Ed to come to his senses. Just because he was the younger brother didn't mean he couldn't make decisions of his own!

Al gave a quick nod to no one in particular and set off to find the hotel he and his brother usually frequented. His legs were sore and his back ached; his feet felt hot and pinched in his shoes, but he didn't stop to rest. Nothing was more important now than his brother.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Ed hurried down the stairs, pulling on the red coat that matched his brother's as he went. Sleep had completely evaded him so far; every time he closed his eyes he saw his brother's angry, tearful face. He could see the pain shimmering behind those big grey eyes, could hear the tremble of sorrow behind the hate-filled words Al had spoken. And then Ed's own words would echo back at him, mocking him, accusing him. What right had he to snap at Al like that, to say 'good riddance', to tell him he hated him? He wished there was a river in Central City; then he would know where to look for Al. As it was, he would have to scour the entire city. And what if Al had taken him at his word and gone off to Risenpool? Or what if - and this thought turned all his insides to ice - he had gone and tried to do human transmutation, or tried to fix his entire soul onto a suit of armor, like Ed had suggested, trying to go back to his old way of life? Ed knew he couldn't wait any longer. He had to start looking for Al now.

Ed was almost to the foot of the stairs that led down into the nearly-empty lobby when he heard low voices. "Yes, he checked in around nine o'clock," came the voice of the night receptionist. "He's in Room 209; should I use the master key to let you in?"

"No, thank you," came a soft, slightly high-pitched voice. "I wouldn't want to wake him up."

"Very well, Mr. Elric," said the receptionist.

At that moment, Ed stepped off the last stair and looked over at the front desk. A familiar form stood talking to the receptionist, and turned around when he heard Ed's footsteps. "Brother!" he squeaked in surprise.

"Um...hi...Al...." Ed returned awkwardly, uncomfortably conscious of the receptionist watching. "I was...just going out to look for you, you know. Guess you beat me to it." He tried to laugh, but his voice cracked and died away to nothing. The receptionist suddenly seemed to remember some job he had to do, and hurried away. The two brothers were left alone in the quiet lobby. Ed's stomach squirmed guiltily as he met his brother's gaze.
"Um...where've you been all this time?"

"Oh...around." Al shrugged and looked down at his feet. "I...I needed to be alone for a bit, I guess."

Ed nodded, too choked to answer. Once again, the words he had shouted at his brother earlier rang in his ears: Good riddance! I hate you too, so there! He took a deep breath and said, "Listen, if you...if you really want to...you know, be a suit of armor again...I suppose I could-"

"No!!" Al cried, making Ed jump. "I don't want that! You should know I'd never want that!"

"Oh. I-I just thought.... You know, since you said...." Ed fell silent, realizing that he should have known his brother would never want to go back to such an existence. Man, was I stupid, he thought.

Al must have been thinking something along the same lines, for his eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Oh, Brother!" He threw his arms around Ed and cried in a muffled voice, "I'm so sorry!"

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Ed replied, awkwardly hugging Al back. "And I am sorry, Al. I shouldn't have said all those things."

"Me either! I don't know what made me say all that terrible stuff. I'm really grateful you brought me back, Brother. Really grateful." His grey eyes were wide and sincere, brimming with tears and sorrow.

Ed couldn't think of anything other to say, so he muttered, "You're welcome." But there was still something left to say, and he wasn't sure what it was. He had the feeling it was something very obvious that nevertheless had to be said in words.

Al beat him to it. "I don't hate you, Brother," he whispered. "I could never hate you."

"I know that. You don't have to say it, Al. I know." All the same, he felt the guilt inside him loosen with relief. Even if it didn't have to be said, he was very glad Al had said it. "Well, come on, Al," he said briskly, turning away from his brother and surreptitiously wiping his eyes. "I think it's high time we got to sleep."

"Okay!"

The two brothers made their way up the stairs to the second floor. From behind, they looked very much like each other, with their long golden ponytails, their matching red coats and white gloves, and the twin smiles on their faces. Fighting with Al was not quite like fighting with anyone else, Ed realized as he said goodnight and got into bed. Every time the two of them fought, it hurt terribly. Before that night, he had never truly acknowledged it, but at long last he had realized that he needed to apologize in words.

Somehow, it just wasn't enough to fetch his brother and not mention their fight again. It was a strange relief to have said, 'I'm sorry,' to his little brother, and he couldn't think why he had never said that before. Ed smiled and closed his eyes.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he heard a small voice from across the room whisper, "Oh, Brother? I forgive you."

"Me too," Ed murmured sleepily, and within moments the only sound in the room was that of two boys' contented breathing.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: These are two very short stories that I believe share a soul, or a feeling, or something. Basically, these two stories are brothers, and I could hardly keep them apart. As for the title, I understand what it means in a poetical and abstract way, but I wouldn't be able to explain it, so don't ask XP

The story behind the inspiration for this is a little weird. I was reading a book about Victor of Aveyron (quite a sad story, and it's true too), and suddenly I knew that I had to write this.

A Borrowed Podium

Edward Elric sat on his chair in the front row, staring down at the toes of his boots and the grass around them. Detached phrases drifted into his ears and permeated his consciousness - phrases like 'a pure soul' and 'a gentle heart.' Edward clenched his fists on his knees and thought angrily, They make him sound like an old woman. The people who made such flowery speeches had obviously never really gotten to know him, and had little to no idea what he had really been like.

Gradually Edward became aware of a familiar deep voice, speaking slowly and carefully. "I knew him when he was still a child. I met him at the Central train station, and I'll have to admit that I paid little attention to him at the time. I was more concerned with his brother, whom I wished to see become a State Alchemist."

Edward covered his eyes with one hand, trying to blot out all those memories. Yet as long as he continued to listen to that voice, the memories kept pouring in.

"Many do not realize that the reason Alphonse did not receive the State Alchemist qualification that year was not due to his skill or intelligence. His written exam was easily one of the best in that group - perhaps even better than his brother's." He paused to allow a weak chuckle to ripple through the audience before continuing. "No, the reason Alphonse dropped out was so he could spare his brother the punishment of the law, since he was at that time without a body. This characterized Alphonse all throughout his life. He always thought of others before himself. I have been his brother's superior for many years, and I saw much of Alphonse throughout those years. His first concern was always for his brother, his second for others, and last of all for himself. I can only conclude by saying that he has been a tremendous inspiration for me."

There was a small pause as the next speaker came forward. When Edward heard the light woman's voice speak next, he pressed the heels of both hands into his eyes, trying to control himself.

"Al's been my friend for about as long as I can remember. It seems that we've always been neighbors, and we've always been close friends. Really, he felt more like a brother than anything else. I never fought with him as much as I do with Ed." She laughed sadly. "But he was never less driven than Ed. He wanted things to be put right, and he was always willing to make the proper sacrifices." Her voice broke, and it was several moments before she managed to burst out, "I miss him so much!"

Edward felt her sit down next to him, and heard her soft sobs. He slowly straightened up and took his hands away from his eyes. Everything looked strange, and a little blue, from the long time he had kept his eyes closed. He had a vague sort of feeling that he should try to comfort the sobbing woman next to him, but it was his turn to speak now. He briefly ran his hand across his eyes and got to his feet. Edward slowly made his way toward the small wooden platform before him. It was a hastily-built, crude thing, and could easily be taken down again when the ceremony was through. Like the folding chairs arranged in rows, the platform was only temporary. Edward put his foot onto the first step and laboriously heaved himself up. His limbs felt leaden and heavy, as though his entire body was made of heavy-duty automail.

The majority of these people would be gone by tomorrow, he realized. Like the platform and the chairs, they were only temporary. He wondered, as he turned to face the audience, how many of them actually cared. The Torn Soul Alchemist was rather famous, being the younger brother of the Full Metal Alchemist. Lots of these people probably never knew him, Edward thought. His fists began to clench at his sides, but then his eyes fell on the people who occupied the seats towards the front. Lots of them were military personnel of one kind or another. A tall, broad-shouldered man sat with tears pouring freely down his face, all hint of sparkle gone. The woman who sat next to him was hardly recognizable - for one thing, she had let her long golden hair cascade over her shoulders; for another, her eyes were filled with unshed tears. On the other side of this woman sat the deep-voiced man who had just recently spoken. He, too, seemed less than composed. Various other men and women, wearing their best military uniforms, sat in the front rows, some holding handkerchiefs to their eyes, others simply looking sad.

Edward ran his hands across the podium, staving off the moment when he would have to speak. The podium had been borrowed from the village church, since it had a microphone attached to it. The microphone was a little too high for him, so he adjusted it. Edward tried to feel the wood of the flat podium surface like Alphonse would feel it: like a completely new sensation, because it was a new sensation to his new body. Edward ran his hand along his bearded chin and raised his head at last to face the audience.

"I guess you all know who I am," he said, slightly startled at the sheer volume of his voice, booming out across the hilltop. "Edward Elric, Full Metal Alchemist, Al's older brother." His lips quirked into what he supposed was a smile. He remembered all the times people had mistaken Al to be the older brother, because of his height. "I've heard all the things you've said about my brother today - that he was brave, and kind, and gentle and all that. All those things you've said are true, but.... Everyone talks about him as if he's gone, like now he's dead he's just plain history, someone to be remembered and nothing more." He gripped the podium so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Well...I'd like to tell you that he's not gone." Edward's voice died down to a whisper. "Al's right here, with me today. I just...can't touch him. Isn't it funny? He's so close, but I can't feel him. I want to feel him. I just want to reach out, and be able to tell my doubting mind he's there. Is that too much to ask?"

Edward's voice died away altogether. He rested his forehead against the podium and began to sob.

[the_wolfs_howl]

People say my brother was short. Even by the time he had stopped growing, he hardly came up to most people's shoulders. People who hinted, not necessarily in a bad way, that he was short would soon be at the mercy of my brother's wrath. He was extremely touchy about that. But you know what? My brother was tall. Oh sure, his physical height may not have been that impressive, but inside...my brother's spirit brushed the heavens. He was like a tall, strong tower, offering protection and inspiration to all.

One of the common first impressions of my brother was that he was selfish. This is understandable; he would yawn through people's monologues and tales of woe, and then interrupt with demands for information on the Philosopher's Stone. But everyone's got it all wrong. My brother wasn't thinking about himself. Every time he demanded information or anything else of someone, it was because he cared about me. Whenever I told him to look out for himself, and try to get back his original limbs, he would shake his head and tell me that retrieving my body was more important. The only way my brother was selfish was that he did everything so he could be happy with the ones he loved.

Lots of people called my brother a dog of the military. They say he sold his soul for privileges and prestige. They say that because they can't imagine any other reason a mere boy would become a State Alchemist. And there were several times he gave the impression that they were right. A prime example would be his first official mission outside of Central, the time we inspected the Youswell coal mine. He went to Lieutenant Yoki's mansion and pretended to play along. When Halling's inn was destroyed, and his son begged my brother to make gold for them, my brother said equivalent trade stated there was no reason for him to help the townsfolk of Youswell. He made all those miners very angry, but in the end he managed to depose Yoki, rebuild Halling's inn, and hand the ownership of Youswell back to the people almost in one breath. And that's only one example of the many things my brother has done that didn't specifically benefit him. Haven't you ever wondered how he got the reputation for being a State Alchemist that sided with the public? I can tell you with full confidence that my brother never once sold his soul.

They say my brother was a genius. I suppose that's a logical assumption for a boy who became a State Alchemist at the age of twelve. Even while he was just a kid, he outwitted and defeated all kinds of people. He discovered the well-hidden plot in the military and put an end to it. Surely, only a genius could do that? And even if he hadn't done that, he would still be remembered as a genius, since he was one of only three or four living people who could transmute without a circle. But everyone's wrong; my brother was stupid. Wasn't it his idea in the first place to attempt to bring back our mother? Didn't he sacrifice his right arm to affix my soul to a suit of armor? He became seriously offended if anybody mentioned his height; he was honest to the point that it became dangerous for the people he loved. Does that sound like a genius to you? My brother was dumb, the stupid, wonderful idiot!

Everyone knows my brother is dead. No one questions it, not even Winry. That much was obvious by the huge crowd that attended his funeral. It shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. I hadn't realized until then just how many people my brother had befriended on our many travels. Miners, farmers, doctors, soldiers, priests, mechanics.... The crowd was so varied, and everyone looked so sad. I was proud that this many people had come to pay their respects to my brother - my brother! - but all the same.... As I listened to the various speakers at the funeral service, I couldn't help but feel that they'd got it all wrong.

My brother isn't dead. He's alive. When I try to tell people this, they look at me pityingly, as though thinking I've gone mad with grief. Alphonse, they say, your brother...well, he's gone. He's dead.

But that's just the thing! He's not. He lives on in me, in Winry, in his children and in all those friends who came to the funeral. I wonder if they can sense him as I can. Perhaps it's because of my extensive experience with souls, but I can sense at least a shred of my brother's soul inside me. He's there with a ready smile when I wake, and he lulls me to sleep when I lie down at night.

The painful thing is that I can't touch him. For a few blissful years, after my brother got our bodies back, I could reach out and feel him, in all his burning golden glory, as if I could reach out and grasp the sun. But then he was stripped away from me, and only the tiniest bit of him remains with me today. I can almost feel him, but not quite. It's just enough to tide me over until the day I die as well. These days, I smile and laugh and teach my brother's children about alchemy, but I spend my evenings sitting by the river. I'm just waiting for the day when I'll see a shadow fall onto the grass at my side, and a familiar voice say, "Come on, Al. Let's go." And then! Then I will rise, turn around, and smile as I take my brother's hand and he leads me away - away to the place where I'll be with Mom, and Nina, and Martel, and Mr. Hughes...but most of all, the place where my brother is.

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: The inspiration and title of this story come from a quote. My English textbook says: "[A] popular cartoon strip of the 1920s and 1930s [was] called 'Happy Hooligan.' It was about two Frenchmen, Alphonse and Gaston, who were excruciatingly polite and continually said, 'After you, my dear Gaston' and 'After you, my dear Alphonse.'" I've taken the latter quote and attributed it to everyone's favorite Alphonse. I think the quote sums up a feeling of polite restraint, and the Al of the first few episodes of the anime comes across to me as being a little subdued.

The barrier between Alphonse Elric and his brother Edward was nearly physical - or it would have been if anything about Alphonse was physical. There were many downsides to not having a body, to not being able to feel anything. Alphonse felt subdued and contained from the moment he woke up to find that his body was hollow and made of steel. And after that first horrifying night, that night filled with confusion and blood and screams, Alphonse felt more subdued than ever. He would sit at the foot of Edward's bed, or in the darkest corner of the hall, and pull his legs up close to his body, trying to make himself as small as possible. And yet, 'as small as possible' was still much too large for a ten-year-old.

In the months following Edward's automail surgery, while Alphonse waited for him to recover, he would sit by himself on the green hills of Risenpool. He would sit, and think of his brother lying on his bed back at the house, groaning in pain and muttering in his feverish sleep. He would think of how kind their neighbors, the Rockbells, had been to bind his brother's wounds, outfit him with automail, and care for him as he recovered. But most of all, he thought about his body, and what had happened that night...that horrible night.... He couldn't keep himself from thinking about it, for it was right there with him in his every waking moment. And, for a living suit of armor, every moment was a waking moment.

You're big, fat, and ugly, he would say to himself. You don't even have a body. Your brother had to give up his arm just to pull you back. A lot of help you were. It was in those moments that Alphonse would want to cry, but he would find that he couldn't. He couldn't cry. He had no skin to feel with, no heart to throb with sorrow, but in those moments when he wanted nothing more than to vent all his feelings with a few hot tears, he could feel a faint, faraway pain deep inside his soul. He would moan and rock back and forth on his heels until the pain was roaring all around inside his empty suit of armor. He would keep rocking back and forth, back and forth, until the pain became numbed once again, and he felt nothing. That was when he would creep as silently as he could back into the house, find a dark corner, and sit down, feeling empty, drained, and subdued.

He might sit at the foot of his brother's bed and watch his movements in his sleep, hearing him mutter over and over again, "Mom...Mom...Al...." Once, Alphonse reached out with his thick gauntlet and touched his brother's cheek, wanting nothing more than the feel of Edward's hot skin. But he felt nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing but a void of empty nothingness. Alphonse decided not to touch his brother any more after that.

Perhaps when Edward had recovered and was able to walk about without wincing at every other step, he noticed how Alphonse kept his distance. If he did, he never mentioned it. Alphonse often wondered if Edward saw how he always chose the chair across from him instead of right next to him. He wondered if Edward noticed and was saddened, but didn't want to bring it up. Alphonse wanted to breach the gap that had appeared between them, but he didn't know how.

Alphonse was touched when Edward told him of his determination to bring back his body. It was exactly what he wanted: to be able to reach across that gaping chasm and grasp his brother's hand. He was so filled with gratitude, sympathy, and guilt that he said with conviction, "I'll find a way to return your arm and leg to you."

And so they began their journey. Alphonse gradually grew used to his 'body', to his limitations and those of his brother. But one thing he never got used to was the rift between him and his brother. It was as though a barrier of politeness had been erected between them, hindering the familiarity they shared as brothers. It would hardly have been surprising if Edward had begun opening doors for his little brother and saying, "After you, my dear Alphonse." Alphonse never failed to notice when Edward avoided touching him, as though the cold steel would shatter his memories of warm flesh. There were some special moments when Edward would touch him, pushing him out of harm's way or helping him polish parts of the armor Alphonse couldn't reach. Even though Alphonse couldn't feel these brief moments of contact, he liked to pretend he could. He liked imagining the gentle feel of his brother's fingers and knuckles and palms. But the moment of contact always passed, and generally Edward avoided touching him, as if doing so would only remind them of that missing body. But Alphonse wished Edward would touch him anyway. Anything was better than this unnecessary barrier between them.

Several times Alphonse hesitantly expressed his desire to be touched: "I want to touch you again, Brother. The sensation of touching you and the warmth of your body...I can't remember them." But every time he did, it only made his brother press onward harder. Alphonse understood Edward was only trying to get his body back all that much sooner, but sometimes he just wished Edward would take the time to touch him casually the way he used to do when they were children - maybe rub the top of his head, his earliest method of comforting his little brother.

After one incident in which the two brothers were separated and Alphonse didn't even know if his brother was still alive, the barrier was briefly torn away. The minute Alphonse saw his brother - alive and well, excepting a few cuts and what looked like a broken bone - he threw himself onto his brother, hugging him as tightly as he could, oblivious to Edward's yelps of pain. He had thought he had lost his brother for good, that he was completely alone, and being proven wrong was so painfully wonderful it was amazing his blood seal didn't shatter with joy. He hugged his brother close, even though he couldn't feel him, and after he finally let go his brother did what he had been hoping he'd do for a long, long time. Edward apologized for all the worry he'd caused, and reached out, patting Alphonse on top of his helmet, just like he always used to do when Alphonse was worried, or sad, or afraid. It was a rough, awkward, older brother sort of comfort, but the barrier had kept back even that small gesture of familiarity.

The barrier shimmered back into place after this, but Alphonse was heartened to know that it could be breached after all. His attention was directed elsewhere for the most part, until at last the day came when they had the Philosopher's Stone in their hands. Alphonse could almost feel his nonexistent heart thumping with excitement as he met his brother's gaze. "You should use it first, Brother," Alphonse said, his voice hushed and choked with emotion. "Get back your arm and leg."

Edward smiled and took Alphonse's helmet off. Touching the Stone gently against the blood seal, he murmured, "After you, my dear Alphonse." In a flash of alchemic red, the barrier was destroyed for good. Alphonse took a deep breath and opened his eyes, then clapped his hands together and used the last of the Stone to restore his brother's limbs. When the red flashes were finished, and both brothers stood facing each other in their original bodies, they embraced. The Philosopher's Stone had built a bridge across the gorge, and now Alphonse was with his brother again.

[AsianBlossom]

Cool...is that really what happened at the end?

[the_wolfs_howl]

Hmm.... I wish. The anime ending was highly unsatisfactory, but I'm still holding out for the manga ^_^

[AsianBlossom]

You mean the manga's not finished yet??? O_o Just how long is this series?

[the_wolfs_howl]

Well, the anime's already finished, at 51 episodes. The manga is still being written/drawn by Hiromu Arakawa; the last chapter was number 75. She puts one out every month. I'm predicting that there'll be 100 chapters by the time she finishes, but we'll see ^_^

[the_wolfs_howl]

Author's Note: When I saw these words in the thesaurus, I simply had to call my fic that. It seems a quite popular fic idea, on some fansites, to have people try to get Ed to drink milk (because he HATES milk with a passion), and finally I got an idea for how someone could go about doing that. I think only one person would ever be able to force Ed to drink milk, and it's not Mustang or Winry. This fic also comes the closest to intentional humor that I think I'll ever get. That shows you how little I know how to write humor ^^'

Bovine Extract

"Just drink it already!"

"No! I won't! You can't make me!"

"Ed, the sooner you drink it, the sooner it's gone!"

"Stop harassing me! I'm not gonna drink it no matter what you say!"

"You want to stay short all your life?"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A BUG SO SMALL IT'S JUST WAITING TO BE SQUISHED?!"

"I didn't say that, you moron! Now drink the stupid milk!"

"I've already told you, I'm not going to." Ed crossed his arms and turned his nose up so he didn't have to look at the disgusting white liquid in the glass before him.

"Ed, you're sixteen now. Stop acting like a five-year-old and drink your milk." Granny Pinako took a pull on her long-stemmed pipe, frowning sternly at him.

"But...But it's bubbly!" Ed whined feebly, cowering under the glares of Winry and Granny Pinako. "I'm not drinking the secretion of a cow!"

Winry growled with irritation. "Maybe we should hold his nose and force it down his throat."

"Evil woman," Ed muttered, protecting his nose with his hands just in case.

But before Winry had to resort to such drastic measures, Al suddenly spoke. He had remained silent throughout the argument, offering no help to either side. "You know, Brother," he said, bringing a halt to the argument. "Milk is one of the best sources for calcium."

"So?" Ed scoffed. "It's not like I'm going to-"

"You might not need the calcium," Al interrupted tensely. "But what about me? What about my body stuck inside the Gate? I'll need to have strong bones when I get back inside my body."

All the fire and stubbornness disappeared inside Ed's chest as he looked up into his little brother's glowing red eyes. He remembered how skinny Al's body had been, sitting on the blank plain of the Gate interior. He remembered how the ribs had stuck out beneath the pale skin; he remembered the long, matted locks of golden hair that fell down to the almost grotesquely skinny waist. He remembered, and a deep sorrow filled him. Ed was familiar with this sorrow, for he felt it whenever he was reminded of what his brother went without. Sometimes he thought sadness and guilt defined him.

Unable to look into those pain-filled yet un-accusing eyes any longer, Ed turned his gaze to his hands, clenched on the tabletop before him. Letting out a sigh, he closed his eyes, grasped the glass in front of him with his left hand, and gulped down the disgusting contents.