I own nothing. The first part of this is set just before their human transmutation, the second, just afterwards.
When Alphonse was smaller, he had always gone straight to his mother when he hurt himself.
When he bumped his head, or grazed his knee, he would run up to his mother, sniffling and sobbing, and she would crouch down beside him and take him into her arms, and she would say, "What's the matter, my little man? My little Alphonse?" and she would place a tender kiss on the wounded spot, and then set him down on the ground, and everything was all better.
Even when he was a little bigger, he still ran to his mother.
But now here he was, all of nine years old, with a bleeding ankle, and no mother to run to.
For a moment, he curled himself into a ball, and cried, clutching at his ankle and longing for a soothing voice, a gentle figure to crouch down beside him ad pull him into her arms and make it all better. But his mother could never come, and so he sobbed.
And then there was somebody beside him, crouching down beside him and wrapping comforting arms around him. "What's the matter, Al? What happened?"
And Alphonse shows the figure, so much smaller, so different to his mother, his wounded ankle. And the figure crouches down over the cut, and kisses it gently.
"There," says the figure. "All better. Just like Mom used to say, huh?"
And Alphonse cries harder, throwing his arms around his older brother.
"She's never coming back, is she, brother?"
Edward says nothing, just holds on a little tighter. After all, they're all they've got, now.
When Alphonse was hurt, he had always gone to his mother. But when he had bad dreams, he had always gone to Ed.
He doesn't sleep, now, but he still has dreams, in a way. Dreams about the future, or the past- those times when, at night, his mind would wander. And sometimes those dreams turned into nightmares.
When he was younger, he would have climbed onto the end of Ed's bed, and Ed would wake up and say, "What's the matter, Al?" and Al would explain and Ed would reach over and ruffle his hair and say "It's not real, Al, don't worry. I'm here, Mom's here, we'll keep you safe."
Now, he was too big, too heavy to clamber onto the end of Ed's bed, and he had no hair to ruffle, but nonetheless he found himself standing over Ed's bed. And Ed, heavy sleeper though he was, stirred and woke.
"What's the matter, Al?"
"I... I had a bad dream, brother."
Ed sits up and stretches, yawning a little. He stands, and reaches up to rub Al's metal shoulder with his left hand. Al can't feel it, but he remembers nights so long ago when Ed ruffled his hair gently and knows exactly what Ed is trying to do.
"It's not real, Al. It's not real. I'm here."
And Alphonse nods, but instead of going back to his seat by the door, he curls himself up as best he can in the armour and sits beside Ed's bed, and Ed goes back to sleep.
In the morning, the sunlight shines through the window on two brothers, Alphonse crouched at the end of Ed's bed, and Ed's metal hand resting on Al's helmet, as if to ruffle his hair.