Author's Note: This story took a while to write, so I hope you like it. Basically, I read The Scarlet Ibis and thought that it had a lot of similarities to FMA, so I pretty much smashed the two together. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or The Scarlet Ibis. All rights go to Hiromu Arakawa and James Hurst.
Of Go-Carts and Flower Crowns
It was in the clove of seasons, summer was dead but autumn had not yet been born, that the ibis lit in the old oak tree. The flower garden was stained with rotting magnolia petals and ironweeds grew rank amid the purple phlox. The last graveyard flowers were still blooming, and their smell drifted across the fields and through every room of our house, speaking softly the names of our dead.
It's strange that all of this is so clear to me, now that summer has long since fled and time has continued. A gravestone stands next to our old oak tree, just in our yard. Our garden is prim, the house clean, and the rolling hills of our town glowing in the sunset. And sometimes (like right now) I sit in the shade of our tree, staring off into space, and remember Alphonse.
Al was just about the best brother a boy ever had. He was a perfect mixture of kind, daring, and crazy. If course, not the bad kind of crazy like old Miss Hawkeye, who was in love with the Fureur and wrote to him everyday. No, he was a nice crazy, like someone you would meet in your dreams. He was born when I was one and from the outset, a little disappointing. Of course, I was too young to know what was wrong. He had seemed all head to me, with a tiny body that was red and little patches of hair that stuck out here and there. Everyone thought that he was going to die-everyone except Aunt Rockbell, who delivered him. She was firm set on the fact that he was going to live, and after a while, we all began to believe her. Three months passed and as the little shrimp was around, we finally decides to name him. They named him Alphonse Elric, which was like a big tail on a small kite. Such a name only sounds good on a tombstone.
I thought myself pretty smart at things, like reading, jumping, running, or swimming in the river. However, something I wanted more than anything else was someone to race with, to spar with, to perch on the roof looking at stars while our mother searched for us. I wanted a brother. But Mom, crying, told me that even if Alphonse lived, he would never do these things with me. He might, she sobbed, "be all there." He might, as long as he lived, lie on that horrible white sheet that lay on the spare bed in my room.
It was one thing to have an invalid brother, but having one who possibly wasn't all there was unbearable. So my one year old brain began to make plans to kill him with a pillow. However, one afternoon, as I watched him, my head peeking over the edge on the bed, he looked straight at me and grinned. I gaped at him, then darted out of the room and into the hall, shouting, "Mom! Mom! He smiled! He's all there! He's all there!" and he was.
A year went by, and we found that if you laid him on his stomach, he began to try to move himself, straining terribly. The doctor in town said that with his weak heart, the strain would kill him. But Alphonse said otherwise. He would push himself up, turning red, then a soft shade of purple, and finally collapse back onto his blanket like a worn out doll. I can still remember Mom watching him, a proud smile that was open as if to silently cheer him on. But eventually he began to crawl (he was two and a half), and we brought him into the living room. For the first time he was one of us.
As long as he lay in the bed, we called him Alphonse Elric, even though it was formal and sounded like we were referring to one of our ancestors. But with his crawling around and beginning to talk, something had to be done about his name. It was I who renamed him. With the constant talk of "Alphonse Elric", my little four year old brain figured out that "Alphonse" shortened to "Al. So I began to call him Al, and everyone agreed it was better.
Although Al learned to crawl, he showed no signs of walking, but he wasn't idle. He crawled around so much that Dad just transmuted him a go-cart and I got to pull him around. At first I just paraded him up and down the house, but then he started asking to be taken out into the yard, and soon I was bringing him with me everywhere I went. I don't mind one bit.
Al may of been a burden in many ways, but I still loved him. The doctor had said that he mustn't get too excited, too hot, too cold, too tired, and must be treated gently. A long list of do's and don'ts came with him, all of which I ignored once we got out of the house. He always told me to treat him like any other brother, so I did my best. I would run with him across the great green fields and careen him around invisible corners on two wheels, him laughing behind me the whole time. Once I accidentally turned him over, and said sorry so much that he just told me to shut up. His skin was awfully sensitive, and he had to wear a big straw hat whenever he went out. I would laugh at the little bits of straw that stuck out on the top, and whenever the going went rough and the hat slipped over his eyes, I would laugh some more. After a while, he began to laugh with me.
By then, I could see that I was licked. Al was my brother and would stick with me through thick and thin, so I brought him to share my favorite place in the whole world: the River. I pulled him past the Rockbells, down the sheep pastures, and through the ferns before parking the cart and setting him down. His eyes were round with wonder as he took in the crystal clear water, the flowers that swayed in the wind, and the lush emerald grass. He dipped his hands into the cool water and as it swirled around them, he began to cry.
"Al? Al, what's the matter?" I knelt by him worriedly.
"It's just so pretty!" he said. "So very pretty!"
After that day Al and I often went down to the river. I would gather wild flowers, wild violets, honeysuckle, yellow jasmine, snake flowers, and water lilies, and with wire grass we'd weave them into necklaces and crowns. We'd bedeck ourselves with our handiwork and loll around thus beautified, beyond the touch of the everyday world. Then when the slanted rays of the sun burned orange in the late afternoon, we'd drop our jewels into the stream and watch them float away to the lake.
When Al was three, and our father had long since left us, I'd notice his eyes on me when I would walk or run to go fetch something, and made up my mind to teach him to stand. We were down at the river and the flowers were in full bloom. Al was playing with his crown when I turned to him and declared, "I'm going to teach you to walk!"
He started and his golden eyes looked at me in confusion. "Why?"
I hadn't really thought this far. What to say to that? "Because you need to learn how."
"That's not very specific." He gave me a look.
"Oh c'mon," I said exasperatedly. "I know you want to."
He went back to gazing at his crown. "I can't walk Brother."
"Says who?"
"Dad, the doctor-everybody."
I huffed. "Well that bastard isn't here is he? And screw the doctor, he's been wrong before."
"Brother!"
"Oh, please. I know you have it in you." I said determinedly, and took him gently by his arms and stood him up. He collapsed like a half-empty flour sack.
"Brother!" he repeated.
"Ah...sorry." I scratched the back of my head. "But don't worry, I won't let you get hurt." I heaved him up again and held him there. "You are going to walk."
I let go and again he collapsed. This time however, he didn't try to get up, just lifted his head to glare at me. "Look. I can't. Okay? No matter how much I want to, I can't. So just leave it alone."
"No Al! You need to strive for something in life! To have a goal! And this will be ours." I hauled him up once more. "Now just try."
It seemed so helpless in the beginning it's a miracle I didn't give up. But all of us have someone to be proud of, and Al was mine. Everyday that summer we went to the river, and I would put him up on his feet at least a hundred times each afternoon. I never became discouraged, because even though he was wary in the begining, Al would look up at me and say "Again!" every time he fell.
Finally one day, after many weeks of practicing, he stood up alone for a few moments. When he fell, I grabbed him in my arms and hugged him, our laughter pealing through the fields like a ringing bell. Now we knew it could be done. Hope no longer hid in the brush but alighted like a cardinal in our old oak tree. We laughed as the sunset, the grass beneath us soft and the smell of flowers sweet.
With success so imminent, we decided not to tell anyone until he could actually walk. Each day, we sneaked down to the river and by autumn, Al was ready to show what he could do.
He still wasn't able to walk very far, but we could wait no longer. Keeping a nice secret was like holding your breath. We chose to reveal on Al's birthday, and four weeks we mooned around the house, promising everyone a spectacular surprise. Granny said that, after so much talk, if we produced anything less than the Fureur coming and anointing her general, she was going to be disappointed.
After breakfast on our chosen day, when Mom and Granny and Winry and friends from town were in the living room, I brought Al to the door in the go-cart as usual and had them close their eyes, making them cross their hearts to not peak. I helped Al up, and when he was standing I let them look. There wasn't a sound as Al walked slowly across the room and sat down at his place on the couch. Then Mom began to cry and ran over to him, hugging him and kissing him. Granny hugged him too, so I went to Winry, who was smiling, and began to waltz her around. We danced together quite well until she came down hard on my big toe with her foot, hurting me so bad I thought I was crippled for life.
Al told them that it was I who taught him to walk, so everyone wanted to hug me, and I had never been so red in my life. He later told me, laughing, that I looked like a tomato.
Within a few months Al had learned to walk well and his go cart was put up in the attic next to our old dolls and toys. Now, when we roamed together, resting often, we never turned back until our destination had been reached, and to help pass time, we took up storytelling. From the beginning I was a terrible story teller. My stories never made any sense and were usually pointless, but Al's were full of purpose and I could listen to him go on for hours. His favorite story was of two brothers, one made of metal and the other half, who went on adventures and eventually saved the world. Whenever I asked him who the brothers were, he would always grin and look the other way, and he never told me. Yes, I admit it, Al could beat me in stories.
Once I succeeded to teach Al to walk, we started to believe in our own infallibility and I decided to teach him how to run, swim, row a boat, and fight. We set a deadline for these accomplishments less than a year away, when, it had been decided, Al would start school.
That winter we didn't make much progress, for I was in school and Al suffered from one bad cold after another. I would always come home, freezing, and do my homework while talking at him bedside. But when spring came, rich and warm, we raised our sights again. Success lay at the end of summer like a pot of gold, and our campaign got off on a good start. On hot days, Al and I would go back down to the river and I would give him swimming lessons or teach him to row a boat. On less heated days, we would run, or spar lightly. Mom never let us get to serious. Promise was strong with us, and Al had a certain gleam in his eye that made me want to do even better. After all, I would of done anything for my little brother.
And so we came to that clove of seasons. School was only a few weeks away, and Al was far behind on our goal. He could barely keep a steady pace while running and when we spared he ran out of breath quickly. We decided to double our efforts, to make that last drive and reach our goal. Whenever I asked if he wanted to keep going, he would look me in the eye and continue doing whatever task I set upon him. That stupid gleam in his eye never went away.
As we slipped through the day's, Al began to look feverish, and I often felt his forehead asking if he was okay. At night he didn't sleep well, crying out the oddest things in his confusion. He would keep thrashing until I shook him awake and told him everything was alright.
It was a Saturday noon, just a few days before school was going to start. Looking back, I should've admitted defeat long ago, but my pride wouldn't let me. The determination to continue was still burning steadily in our bodies, and so we continued on. It was too late to turn back now.
What was left of the Rockbells and us were seated at the dining room table having lunch together. It was a hot day, with all of the windows open just incase a breeze should come. After a long silence, Granny spoke. "It's so calm, I wouldn't be surprised if we had a storm this afternoon."
"I haven't heard a rain frog," said Winry while reaching for another piece of bread.
"I did," Al said. "Down at the river."
I looked up, surprised. "Nuh uh! I would of heard it!"
"Maybe you just weren't listening," Winry smirked.
I stuck out my tongue at her, and we went back to eating quietly.
Suddenly, from out in the yard, came a strange croaking noise. Al stopped eating, with a spoon poised ready for his mouth, his eyes round like golden buttons. "What was that?" he whispered.
I jumped up, knocking over my chair, and reached the door when Granny called, "Oh no, you come back here, pick up that chair, and say excuse me."
By the time I had finished the task, grumbling, Al had excused himself and run out into the yard. He was looking up into the old oak tree. "Brother! Come here!" he called, "It's a bird!"
The bird croaked loudly again, and the Rockbells joined us in the yard. We shaded our eyes with our hands against the glare of the sun and peered through the leaves. On one of the branches a bird with scarlet feathers and a long neck was perched precariously. It's wings hung loosely, and as we watched, a feather dropped away and floated slowly down through the leaves.
"It looks hurt!" Winry said sadly.
"It's not even scared of us." Granny added.
Al's hands were clasped near his chest, and I had never seen him stand still for so long. "Wh-What is it?"
Granny shook her head. "I don't know for sure, but it might be-"
At that moment, the bird began to flutter, but it's wings were uncoordinated, and amid much flapping and feathers, it fell down with a slight thud. A white veil came over it's eyes and it's long, graceful neck straightened out. Even death could not mar it's grace, for it lay on the earth like a broken vase of red flowers, and we stood around it, in awe and sadness.
"It's d-dead…" Winry whispered.
"What...what was it?" I said.
"I think it's a scarlet ibis," Granny said, kneeling down. "They live in the south, near the border. A storm must of brought it here."
Sadly, we all looked at it. How many miles it traveled to die like thing, in our yard, beneath the oak tree.
"Let's go finish lunch." said Granny, quietly turning to the house.
"I'm not hungry anymore," said Al, standing like a statue under the tree.
"Than at least come inside." Granny said as she walked through the door.
Al remained where he stood. "I want to bury it."
I stopped where I stood, about to go inside. Bury it? I laughed a little inside, that seemed like something Al would want to do, so I turned around to face him. "I'll help you."
He looked at me in surprise. "Really?"
I nodded, and together we gathered some string and carried the ibis around to the garden. We didn't speak at all, but through some brother telepathy, we dug a grave in unison and lay the noble bird down in the earth. Al grabbed a rock and set it down at the foot of the grave, so we stood there for a moment, side by side, brother and brother, looking at the headstone with somberness.
When we came into the dining room, Winry and Granny were seriously eating the last bits of the meal. Al was a little pale and when we plopped down at the table, Winry asked, "Did you bury it?"
Al didn't speak but nodded his head.
"Do you want any stew?" said Granny.
"I'm not hungry," he replied.
As soon as I had finished eating, Al and I hurried off to the river. Time was short, and Al had a long way to go if he wanted to keep up with me. The sun burned fiercely, but the dark green woods through which we passed were shady and cool. When we reached the landing, Al said he was too tired to swim, so we got in a skiff and floated down the stream with the tide. Al did not speak and kept his head down, letting one hand strail limply in the water.
After we had drifted a while, I put the oars in place and Al rowed back. Black clouds began to gather in the distance, and we kept watching them, Al pulling the oars a little faster. When we reached the bank, lightning was playing across half the sky and thunder rolled out.
Al was both tired and frightened, and when we stepped from the skiff he collapsed in the mud. I helped him up, and when he wiped the mud off of his trousers, we smiled at each other. We had failed and we both knew it, so we started home, racing the storm. We didn't talk, just jogged quietly, each to our own thoughts. Al was behind me, his little footsteps letting me know he was still there, but the lightning was near now, and in between flashes and thunder we disappeared from behind me. I didn't notice at first, too occupied with my thoughts, but when I did mud splashed around me as I came to a sudden stop. Another flash of lightning shot through the sky, and I saw that the clearing I stood in was empty. Panic began to pump in my veins, and I shouted his name while turning wildly about. Rain soaked my bangs and as a peal of thunder died, I heard his little voice cry out in the distance.
"Brother! Brother! Where are you? Ed! Brother!"
I ran towards the sound of his voice, screaming his name as I went. The rain was everywhere, blinding me, deadening me, but as another bolt of lightning lit up the forest, I saw a shaded form huddled beneath a tree. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, and slid to a stop in front of him on my knees. He was sitting on the ground, his face buried in his arms, which were resting on his knees. "Al! Alphonse! Are you okay?"
He didn't answer, so I leaned forward and gathered him in my arms. Limply, he fell into me and I saw what had happened. He was bleeding from the mouth, and his entire front was covered in a brilliant red. It took my brain a while to process what I was seeing, but when it did, my body felt a jolt of pain go through it.
"Al! Alphonse! Al!" I cried, shaking him, but there was no answer but the rain.
I Began to week, and the tear blurred vision in red before me looked painfully familiar. "Alphonse!" I screamed above the pounding storm and gripped him tighter in my arms. For a long time, it seemed like forever, I lay there crying, sheltering my fallen scarlet ibis from the heresy of the rain.