Disclaimer: Legendarily Quiet does not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

My brother is crying.

He's not quiet about it, either. I watch silently as tears run down his face and his chest heaves up and down, as if he's struggling to breathe. He hiccups and pounds his fists – his flesh, human, fists – into the concrete again and again.

"Brother," he gasps in between his sobs. "Brother, come back, please . . ."

I barely suppress a sob of my own as I feel my heart breaking. I want to turn away, to show my back and run far, far away, if only to escape this pain. But I can't – I won't – because I know that this is the only chance I'll get, and there's no way I won't see this through to the end, even if it pains us both.

"Alphonse, stop."

Mustang's voice is cold and hard, his face blank. He sets a firm hand on Al's shoulder as he kneels down behind him, then spins him around and catches his hands. "He's gone," he says. "There's nothing you can do."

Alphonse howls. It's a sound full of gut wrenching agony, and I want to rush to him, smother him with my love, beat up the bastard who did this so I don't have to hear that sound ever again. But like Mustang said, there's nothing I can do. I can beat myself up just fine, but I can't smother my brother with my love – not anymore. So I just sit there and watch, like some sort of sick, twisted monster, as my brother breaks down before me.

I never wanted my brother's first moments back in his body to be as torturous as this, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't mean for things to turn out this way in the end. Heck, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat, I'd damn my soul for eternity, again and again and again, if it meant that my only little brother could be saved.

After all, I had always told him that I'd do anything to get his body back.

Alphonse turns his tear streaked face up to Mustang, and I feel my resolve to stay start to break. How can I sit here and watch as my brother is suffering before me, and not offer any comfort? It's so, so painful.

But I can – and I will – bear it. I have to.

"How could this happen?" My brother's voice shakes and I can barely understand him through his tears. "Why would he do this? Doesn't he know that I don't want my body back if I can't be with him?!"

I watch as Mustang attempts to pull Alphonse up by his wrists, but my brother is inconsolable and resists the movement, collapsing into a heap on the ground. I somehow find the strength to stand up, and I walk the few paces that bring me to edge of the cracked transmutation circle. My brother lies on the edge of it, drowning in grief, and my superior officer stands over him, hands limp and face empty.

I did this to them, but I don't – I won't – regret any of it.

I know that Al's in pain now, and probably will be for the next few days, weeks – however long Mustang allows him to stay in a slump – but I know that he'll be okay. He has to be. He has so many friends and a whole life to live, and I'll be damned if my absence takes away from any of it.

I gave my brother two strong legs, and I expect him to use them. He'll get up and walk away from all this, move forward stronger than ever before. He'll smile and laugh and bring joy to every room he walks into, he'll save cats and help strangers and make the world a much better place than I ever could . . .

But as I look down at his fragile, precious body, I can't help but wish that I could be there to share the world with him, too.

Ah ah ah . . .

The voice is there, interrupting and unbidden, as soon as the thought grazes my mind.

I think you've seen enough.

I haven't seen enough. Not nearly enough. I could look at my brother all day every day for the rest of my life and never have enough, but my time is up and Truth knows it. I don't belong here anymore.

I can't help but feel a chill, and I shudder as I feel the hands grab hold of me and pull me through the door that has been standing there all this time. As the heavy doors begin to close behind me, I wonder if it's just my imagination, or if Alphonse really is crying out.

"Brother . . . take me with you, please!"

The doors swing shut.

I hope he can forgive me.

L.Q: Well, how do you like that for short, sweet, and cuddly?

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