Because the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom is a sucker for angst.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. I am too poor. :(

WARNING: This story contains mentions of self-harm and descriptions of blood, as well as implied suicide. If you are sensitive to this kind of media, I suggest you stop reading.

Needed

One of my most vivid childhood memories is of Granny Pinako. It is one of those random memories that you can remember everything about, every little detail. The smell of her cigarette, her little smirk as she flirted (gross) with the older man in the chair, one of her automail patients. He had snickered as his arm was adjusted, distracting himself from the pain that would surely come. They had been discussing the changes that come with getting older.

"What keeps you so young, Pinako?" he had asked, widening his mouth into a grin, exposing at least two missing teeth.

Surprisingly, Pinako had decided to take his little flirtation seriously. She had leaned back in her chair, leaving him minus control of his open arm, and taken a thoughtful puff from her cigarette. "I suppose it would be the knowledge that I am needed," she said finally, thoughtful expression never fading, closing his arm with a snap and stood up, wiping grease off her hands, "It would never do to leave these kids on their own." Of course, she had been referring to all three of them – Ed, Al, and Winry, the poor little orphan children in her care – and their complete inability to care for themselves. We were only nine at the time.

I found that I had never forgotten those words. Somewhere in my memory, the word 'young' become synonymous with 'alive' – though I would never say so to Pinako. You shouldn't tease the elderly about their age, they take offense (something Brother would learn firsthand many years later, when I was just a voice and steel and unable to help him avoid the slow-moving hurricane of canes and false teeth).

The first time I cut myself, I was ten.

I was sad – I don't exactly remember what about – and the idea of dragging the blade across the skin of my arm had been so appealing, anything to quell the ache that existed in my very soul. I watched the blood drip from the mark I had made, high enough on my arm that I could hide it beneath a shirt, and felt the urge to make more, to watch the blood flow until I knew no more.

But I didn't.

Because I remembered what Pinako had said. I kept myself alive because I was needed. By my brother.

The urge to end it all was not numbed by losing my body. There were nights when I watched Edward sleep and thought about how easy it would be. To reach into the massive chest and scratch the seal out with a single swipe of a massive leather finger.

But I didn't.

Because I was needed.

Because, without me, Ed would have nothing.

So I stayed.

When I got my body back, I no longer had the urges. I had made peace with the fact that I could not, not as long as I was needed. Not as long as Edward needed me.

But then he proposed. And Winry said yes. I remember the dull ache return when they told me, blushing wildly, glancing at the matching rings on their fingers. I smiled and said I was happy for them. I was, truly. They love each other. They will be happy.

I was no longer needed.

I smiled as the priest uttered the words and they leaned forward and their lips met. I waved as their car drove away, heading for some unknown destination and leaving me behind forever.

Ed would be fine without me. He had someone to love, someone who loved him unconditionally, like I did. /

He will be ok.

He will be ok tomorrow, when he comes back to his house to start his new life, with his loving wife by his side.

He will be ok when he finds me, cold on the kitchen floor, this note in my pocket.

He will be ok.