Al waited to say something until Ed's hair brushed his shoulders.
But the harsh light of early morning sharpens the hard angles of desperation on Al's face so instead Ed smiles, all teeth, and lies, "Of course."
As much as he loved his family, Alphonse Elric wouldn't have traded these moments alone for anything.
Car broke down again, couple kilometers out of the city, so they had to walk for a while, until Alfons couldn't speak for the coughing.
You hide it well behind your bluster and your sulks, but the workings of your mind are at once cunningly devious and ruthlessly simple.
Some of the details he needed, of course, they wouldn't have; no non-alchemist would know. And most of the details they had, he didn't want.
Bravado. Make them regret they ever talked to you.
If Al began to forget things, then Edward would remember anything and everything for the both of them.
There was a loud crack, like the sound of several chopsticks simultaneously being snapped in two, followed by the sound of something heavy falling, the object hitting the ground so hard the earth literally shook beneath Ed's feet.
Even Hawkeye could be caught off guard, and the men moving in too late, even five seconds too long, too far away.
Ed did not want to die without seeing Alphonse again.
ROY: [calmly] If drinking means acting like an idiot the way you are, I'm going to pass.
You've only been awake for thirty-six hours, staged a coup, fought a bunch of monsters and nearly died a few times. It's not as if you've had a tough day.
rated:M-L-V | GEN | Mangaverse | post-series | SP: up to ch 108 | DF: ch 105 | Dr Marcoh | Alex Louis Armstrong | Alphonse Elric | Cdr Grumman | Dr Knox | Edward Elric | Riza Hawkeye | Roy Mustang | death | mystery
But he glanced behind himself for Winly, and it was a terrible, bittersweet thing.
And after all, no amount of rain can wash the blood away.
"Honestly, Fullmetal, I'm beginning to think that you're more trouble than you're worth."
Ed meets his eyes, holds them, and then -- slowly, painfully, but deliberately, traces his free hand in a line across his throat.
Winry had never gotten to appreciate the leather pants in her current position as the person who got to unzip them.
What do you know, he wanted to scream, what do you know about my brother, what he’s gone through and how far he’s — we’ve — come?
The staff look at each other, look at their automail bottle-opener, and prepare to duck.
Ling was an expert at this shit, he really was: making Ed feel too bad to say no to him, throwing out weird, cheeseball compliments that made his cheeks fire and froze his brain before he could brush them off
The audience fades away; the chatters dies, their twin breaths are the soft herald of thunder to come.
In a blur of red and flying braid, Ed is on his knees before her.
Yet there are still nights that he wakes up to find his hand clutched by a seated Al, who laughs his hollow laugh and asks if he's okay, even though he does not remember screaming.
But they were no longer young, and they no longer lived together, and Al wouldn't embarrass his brother in front of their hosts by trying to take care of him.
Of course he came through the window.
Not a fairy, then, Alfons thought in disappointment. The fairies in stories weren't usually so foul-mouthed and excitable, anyway.
If Al could have frowned suspiciously, he would have. Instead he relied on his expressive vocal stylings as he propped his brother upright. “What’s in that glass, Brother?”
"We ought to have a toast," Ed says, frowning into the depths of his bottle. "They always do when they're having a drink in someone's memory."
The color red was a distraction. The color red was him. Him--Mustang's own constant distraction, the waving red banner amidst the dull color that painted his everyday life.
Neither brother seems willing to speak, but their thoughts dip down into similar wells, dredging up the questions that most haunt them.
Ed remembered that Al's first word was 'Mama', and his second one was 'Niichan'.
Ed imagined Al's expression would look something like Fletcher's did right now.
Ed began to understand why some people talked to themselves.
"Now, Earth-type world, yes? Spoken language identified as late pre-Galactic English."
rated:M-L | GEN | Alt Universe | TWT | First Place (popular); Second Place (juried) | Green Lion Winner | Alfons Heiderich | Edward Elric | crack | drama | fusion | introspective | 2009 Brave New Worlds, Original
Edward Elric was in an exceedingly bad mood.
They shared the same eyes, the same hair, and a level of intelligence ... and sometimes, Ed felt far too much like he was his father's son.
It didn't really sink in when you saw the thing, all clumsy dangling wood and leather straps, like the arm of a marionette in a kids' puppet show.
Yes, something was amiss, and Roy Mustang was going to find out what.
"You're late," Ed tells him flatly. "You should have been here one minute and forty four seconds ago."
The advantage to being so distinctive-looking was that sometimes Edward didn't have to look for people; they found him first.
"Just who're you calling..." Edward's voice stuttered to a halt as he saw where the man was pointing. "...short?"
He even dragged out his Best Manners for the occasion, the ones his mother had taught him so long ago.
An alchemical reaction of the most ancient kind: sitting down to eat as though filling the stomach could replace the gap in one's heart.
I didn't understand that, didn't comprehend why being clean for going into the earth was a good thing until much later...
That was the problem with girls these days... they just didn't know how to deal with a little pain.
"You know it's a good thing I heal almost immediately, because otherwise I'd be so sore, I'd never get anywhere in the story."
Alfons Heiderich, this universe's most cruel mistake, came round from the other side of the crumbling brick wall, and Ed found himself again wondering if the man existed solely for his personal torment.
"When I walked in on you in the bath, Edward, I wasn't expecting Al to be there too."