"Brother, you should sleep."

Al's tinny voice rifted the silence. He knew it was going past midnight, and Ed had to see an early rise.

"You're a good alarm clock, Al," Ed's tone cracked with a soft chuckle. "And a good mother."

The armor rustled as Al pointed a finger at Ed's bed. "You're a growing boy, Brother! You don't drink milk so you should get plenty of rest."

Huffing, Ed rolled over and faced the opposite wall. "Now I'll dream about cows trying to sharp shoot me with their udders!"

"Serves you right!" Al nodded, defiant. "State Alchemists should have abs of steel and barrels of milk."

Ed crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "You better have made that up!"

"I would never do that, Ed! I don't lie."

"Where would Mustang hide his barrels of milk then?" His automail squeaked as he lifted from the bed and faced Al sitting under the window. "Under his desk? You think Hawkeye would put it in a shed out back?"

Al's head faced downwards, usually a sign of contemplation, and he dramatically stated, "He wouldn't have troubles warming his milk up, would he, Brother?"

The ceiling fan rotated a solid three turns before the two burst into laughter and speculated on a number of mysteries: Armstrong muscling through crates, Havoc on patrol, and if Hawkeye secretly used any for target practice. All very wild and immature thoughts from two young siblings who often forgot they were still children; children that were searching for an element of disaster. They had big stars in their eyes but clouds draped over their hearts.

It was nice to have a laugh, the two secretly realized.

But when Ed greeted his pillow, he faced the ceiling and counted the fan turns until he drifted to sleep. His eyes broke open after two hours of sleep, and he frantically glanced at Al, still under the window. He wanted to call his armored brother.

Tell another joke, Al.

One hour of sleep. Eyes wide open again. Al had moved slightly to the right.

Mustang and barrels of flaming milk. That made Ed go chuckling back to dreamland.

Snoozed thirty minutes; ceiling fan humming. Al?

Same position.

Come on, Brain, go to sleep, Ed mentally fussed. State alchemists need their rest. Just shut down and let me sleep.

He didn't hear Al tromping around the room. That woke him up. His eyes darted to the window, and Al was still in the same position. Ed knew the pattern: they talked into the morning hours, Ed never can sleep through the night, Al moves two or three times, and then he shuffles to the bed next to Ed's and waits for Ed to wake up except Ed doesn't wake up on his own and Al has to poke, shake, and even one time: sit on the snoozing brick to bring him back to Reality.

This morning, no Al shuffling around or any pokes or 'Brother, I'm going to pour milk down your throat'. Nothing.

His brain almost went static. A nightly worry... is it coming true now? Is Al there? Is he in that armor?

Is he going to disappear while I'm asleep? I shouldn't sleep. I should stay awake and make sure nothing happens to Al. I can't let anything happen to my little brother. He's all

"Are you going to stare at me all morning, Brother? That's a little creepy." The armor rose to its feet, reflecting a touch of sun off its ashen surface. Ed almost laughed to ease the tension, but he joined Al on the floor and stretched.

"Just thinking you need another polish. You're getting rusty!" Ed jokingly swung at Al and then dashed out the room. "See you at practice!" Restroom door slammed.

Al gazed in his brother's direction and then made himself comfortable on his own bed. Waiting, hoping.