Syphon

Chapter one: it was June

Up until now, Al was the light of his life.

When Ed brought back Al's body, things had started to turn around. He felt joy, joy. He hadn't felt joy in such a long time. The feeling was new, exciting. But the joy didn't last, something else settled inside his chest, something heavy. Heaviness replaced so many of his feelings, even breathing had become burdensome. He felt like the world had come to a complete stop, his momentum gone, his feet nailed to the earth.

Edward knew that he couldn't take much more, enough was enough, and if he were to go on, his bones might break. It was time to stop, to take things one day at a time, let things go. He couldn't, though. He couldn't let things go, they hurt too much, so he only held on tighter. He held onto the most painful of memories, not because he had to, but because he deserved to. The memory of his mother, not his mother, the monster that he created. Al, his brother, who he used as a human sacrifice. And Nina, a child, who didn't deserve to die, not like that.

The list could go on for miles, endlessly, signed with his blood, a contract. Many of his actions had fueled the impending tragedies, actions that he regretted, and even at the time, knew were wrong. He knew. Al questioned him, trying to keep him in check, but he ignored Al. Al was just trying to help, but he was trying to make a point, about something. Whatever the point was, or why he felt as though he had to make one, was the main problem. He had been reckless with his intentions, thinking that they were true, that he knew the truth. Because he had seen the truth, but that didn't mean that he could change things, he was just a child.

People died because of his pride, because he wouldn't listen. He wasn't even old enough to understand that there was a purpose to following rules, to maintain order, to make sure that everyone was safe. He had so many misunderstandings of the world, so many ideas of how the world should be and how it could be changed. But he was looking at the world through a keyhole, a small section, and even when he traveled to new places, it seemed as though the keyhole narrowed. With every new assignment, with every new landscape, with every new person, he became angry with their narrowmindedness. And he began to understand something about himself, that he needed the world to change so that he could remain the same. Irresponsible, refusing to accept responsibility, reckless, rampant, because that was what he wanted.

Al didn't understand that, and he didn't understand that Edward needed things, he couldn't feel, he was a suit of armor. Al didn't need anything, which made Edward feel guilty, guilty that Al was empty, guilty that he made Al empty. Al would always assure him that what they had done was their decision, but it wasn't. Ed had made that decision, he alone, forcing Al to participate. It was like he was being strangled, speaking to his brother, but he would continue to smile, comfort him, offer him cheer, and hope. He had no reason to hope but he fed it to Al, and Al consumed it. He would find himself feeling guilty all over again, ashamed, because every word that came out of his mouth was a lie, and he had come to terms with that.

He had to lie, he needed to lie, it was one of the things that he had to do to get by, and if he hadn't, he would have crumbled. He had to lie to himself, he was scared, but he couldn't fight his fear, so he would try to convince himself that he wasn't afraid. The truth was that Al might not get his body back, and that he would eventually fade away, and that scared him. So he pretended that he was in control of an uncontrollable situation, searching for a cure that didn't exist, but he had to hold onto the possibility that it was real, so that he could fix Al. His fear made him feel helpless, like a child, but he was a child, and no one forced him to step down. They let him dig his own grave, six feet, eight feet, ten feet, deeper and deeper, they even handed him the shovel.

His fear had to become irrelevant, it would only discourage him, destroy him, and he couldn't let Al see him that way. He had to be strong, he had to take care of Al, protect him, all the while trying not to fall apart. It was unfair, all of the things that he had to sacrifice, just so that everything might turn out OK in the end. All Al had to do was exist, while Edward had to force himself to eat, to sleep, to go on. Al didn't get tired, he didn't dream, he didn't have to live with his own consequences, just the consequences of another. He couldn't feel pain, he couldn't feel the screws underneath his skin, inside his bones, the weight of metal, or the smell the rust. He couldn't get sick, his automail would never fester, nor could he bleed, because he was free of those things. Al was in a cage, the same as Ed, just a different cage. It was Edward's job to get Al out of that cage, but at what cost.

But that was before, now things were different. Al had moved back to Resembool, he was weak, it was understandable. Al had asked Ed to come too, but he declined, deciding to stay in Central. It wasn't that he didn't want to go home, there was a deep yearning in him to return to Resembool, but he couldn't bring himself to go. He couldn't go, he couldn't take the guilt, knowing what he had done, knowing that the very place remembered what he had done. And deep down, he didn't want to see Al, he needed there to be a space between them. It was hard to admit that he was sick of Al, but they had spent so much time together over the years, Al taking what little energy that he had left. He had never had a moment to himself, Al watched him eat and sleep, befriended who he befriended, present every second of every day. Over the years, with Al so close, his smile had become strained, and perhaps he wasn't even smiling, just grimacing.

Al had been living with Winry for some time now, they were in love. They were engaged, Winry planning the wedding, sewing her own dress. Edward wasn't mad that they had gotten together, he never loved Winry, and at times, he even disliked her. He had destroyed his arm so many times, hoping that someone would tell him enough, but Winry would soon appear to fix it. But his arm and his leg were just a painful reminder of his failures, of his faults, of his fears. Because he was afraid, always afraid. He was going to die afraid, knowing that the consequences were great, knowing that there would be nothing left of him to travel to the other side. There were only so many things that a person could sacrifice, Edward knew that, because he was beginning to run out.

Edward thought that maybe, one day, he would just disappear, just leave. He could go anywhere, start again, he could be someone other than the Fullmetal Alchemist. He could be Ed, do things that Ed likes to do, or do nothing, whatever he wanted. Because if he didn't leave, if he remained beholden to the military, he was going to waste away. And if he didn't leave, he would have to see his brother, resent Al in his happiness, pretending that he was happy, for him. That would be like shooting himself in the stomach, a slow and painful death. He had begun to think that he didn't have it in himself to leave everything behind, even though he had done it once before, because he knew that he deserved to be unhappy, that was the price.

Even though Al had gotten his body back, Edward still had to live with his mistakes, the metal ones. What he had sacrificed to gate hadn't been enough, the price greater than what they could have imagined, unimaginable, even. Edward was a scientist, what they were doing wasn't science, he had no domain there, no knowledge. No one really had the knowledge, only the ones who gave warning, but even then, no one was satisfied with just a warning. Even Ed, who knew better, had never given the warning a second thought, thinking that he was superior to all who failed before him. But he had failed, twice, and he still hadn't learned his lesson. He supposed that his brother's life was worth the risk, his mother's not so much, because if he had just moved on, they could have lived their lives, normally. Edward could have been a scientist, a real one, Al could have been a baker, and both of them would be whole. But Edward knew that things would never have worked out, they never do, and he probably would have done something else equally as stupid to end up where he was now.

And now, where was he exactly? He was somewhere between PTSD and wanting to schedule a lobotomy. The years had finally caught up with him, and with nothing to keep him busy, he had to think. He had to lay in bed at night, his heart beating, breathing through his mouth, gasping for air. He knew that nothing could hurt him, he was safe, but the terror that drove him to change his life was now driving a knife through his chest. He couldn't sleep, he would lay in bed for hours, exhausted by unwarranted fear, begging for a moment of peace. But there was no peace, he had given up his right to have peace, not once, but twice. He couldn't work, he was too afraid. He was afraid that he might have to see something terrible, fight someone vicious, enduring more of what he was truly afraid of. His fear was not that there was suffering in the world, but that there was no end to it, and that his suffering, his sacrifice, was endless.

It had become difficult to do his job, he couldn't handle the violence, and became physically ill upon seeing the act. He couldn't fight anymore, fear replacing his fight or flight instinct, frozen. He just wasn't the same, he had changed, unknowingly, unwillingly. He was forced to change, not for the better, but because if he hadn't, he might have been able to move on with his life. That may have led to happiness, but he didn't deserve happiness. He had gotten what he deserved, his just deserts, for believing that he could challenge something that he could not touch, and for having the audacity to have hope. Because the only thing that he had ever believed in, really believed in, was equivalent exchange, and even that had been a lie.

And now, Al was coming to Central to visit Ed, it had been six months since the last time, a distance that seemed to stretch further and further apart. Edward knew that Al didn't want to come, their banter had become stressed, Al holding a mostly, almost fully, one-sided conversation with himself. Ed was never really sure what to say, he had run out of things to congratulate Al for, and Al didn't need his reassurance or his advice, not anymore. Al was wise to not ask for advice, he had seen what Edward had done with his life and he had seen the choices that Ed had made, why would he want to replicate them?

Edward had never really grown up, he went from being a child to an adult overnight, nothing in between. He had never learned the skills to live in the real world, he knew death, and violence, pain, but what did those things have to do with contributing to society. It didn't matter how smart that he was, or what he could contribute, he had already squandered his intelligence and replaced it with fear, the fear of learning, fear of the future, fear. He was just a body to the military, not even a whole body, easily replaced, expendable. And one day, the military was going to send him to his death, and he would go willingly, without question. At least it gave him a purpose, something to look forward to.

Edward had once believed that he was going to do something great, that he was going to change the world, make it better. But he was just pushing paper in the investigations department, documenting dead bodies, arresting murderers and child molesters. It was only on occasion that he went out into the field, and when he did, he ended up taking the rest of the day off, hiding in his apartment out of fear. He supposed that things could have turned out differently, but he had surrendered his alchemy to the gate for Al, and now, he was nothing without it. He had to tell himself that it was worth it, to give up something so precious for his brother, but he didn't really believe that.

He didn't believe in anything.