Author's Note: I tried to convince Ed that I owned him once. Let's just say that his answer wasn't exactly an affirmative.
Anyway, Ed's grumpiness aside, Memories Once is more or less a collection of any one-shots or drabbles that I churn out. It should be more anime numero uno focused, but we'll see--I'm open to requests and any critique you might have.
The Coat
Drool embraced paper. Ink kissed skin. It was late, the sky a stretch of charcoal just outside the window, as the oldest Elric snored contentedly into his research papers.
Alphonse peeked up from his book. A fabric waterfall of red on the back of his chair, Edward slept beneath a swamp of tattered black and leather. He was so different when he fell into exhaust, an aberration from his usual petulant persona, that Alphonse couldn't help but close his book and stare. Usually Edward sleep-talked at his nightmares, broke into sweat, and struggled against imagined torments and tangled sheets, so it always came as a surprise when he slept in peace.
Alphonse set his book aside and watched Edward breathe. Time ticked by; the twelve-year-old alchemist's small back limped like a weary soldier.
They had set to studying two days earlier. Mustang gave the State's prodigy a few days off between missions while he invested Edward's unearthed corruption at an eastern mining town. Edward had darted from the office, either ignoring or unable to hear the Lieutenant Colonel's order for a written report, an apologizing Alphonse clanking behind him. Edward was fresh into the military and, though he hated the leash, his eyes gleamed, his grin was infectious, and his words eager as, for the first time, the doors of Central's very best library opened before them.
No questions were required after the reveal of a silver watch. There was the expected disbelief and awe, a few comments on Fullmetal's youth, and the usual rant brought about by a height joke, but they were let in nonetheless.
The library seemed more labyrinth than anything. The Elric brothers had glanced at each other. A grin attempted to cover the unease on Edward's face and Alphonse played along with an encouraging nod. The greatest library in all of Amestris was bound to have leads, right?
Edward's grin fell into a serious line. He looked at Alphonse for one long moment before he presented his little brother a promise.
"Listen, we'll find it," he said as gold met iron, boy soldier changing back into brother, "and you'll be back to your old, pudgy, shorter-than-me self soon, Al. I promise."
Alphonse nodded, choosing to ignore his brother's height comment but wishing he could smile all the same. He scooped up his words and molded a promise of his own instead.
"Of course, Brother, but only if you're whole again too."
Again, a grin.
"Of course, Al--let's just hope that Auntie and Winry don't mind losing their favorite cash cow too much."
And so began their ritual of researching. For two days they fell into catatonic concentration and an inability to quarantine an infecting optimism. Since Edward slept little, ate little and Alphonse couldn't, they were largely undisturbed while the brothers cultivated a growing tower of crumpled papers and discarded books. If Edward's collapsed, exhausted state indicated anything, Alphonse guessed their research had taken a toll on the elder Elric.
Alphonse stood and approached the desk as quiet as a hulking suit of armor could.
Edward held a pen poised for writing. The old texts and scrolls around him curled with yellowing age but sodden with drool. Alphonse leaned down to get a better look at his brother's face, regretting it almost instantly. He looked so tired, so aged that Alphonse had trouble remembering the troublemaker that had been double-dog dared into stealing Winry's wrench by Pitt, the boy who made faces across the table when Alphonse drank his milk, the big brother that shared his nights with his little brother as they planned for an impossible future. Alphonse looked at his brother and knew that if he had his body back, he'd be crying.
Edward shivered. All too happy for the reprieve from his thoughts, Alphonse reached for the waterfall of red fabric, careful not to wake his brother, and stopped.
Alphonse studied the coat. It was too long—though Edward would rave against such insinuations, making a point that he'd grow into it—and too gaudy for anyone but his brother. Their insignia twisted into the crimson threads, hailing memories of Teacher and their later resolve to move forward. Unconsciously, the younger alchemist's grip tightened. Rips and tears and stains met the fabric like old friends, which wouldn't have bothered Alphonse in other circumstances—Edward was notorious for returning home with his clothes decimated and a grin splitting his face—but his coat showed the result of their quest. It wasn't an adventure game played on the hills of Resembool. It was their life until they found what they were looking for.
Alphonse gave the semblance of a sigh; the coat had been worn for under a year.
Already, the brothers had left their home in embers and ashes, survived a serial killer, toppled a tyranny in a mining town, and much more. Places were saved—salvation brought by a clap of the hands or a circle in the dirt—and people were thankful. Mostly. But, even with all the good they were doing, Alphonse couldn't help but think about their salvation.
"We'll find it."
Alphonse gripped the coat tighter, his thumb digging into one particularly large spot, wishing that morning would come to eat away the silence and return Edward to his loud, determined self.
"I promise."
Edward shivered again and wriggled inward. With his attention diverted, Alphonse's death-grip loosened. He eyed the crimson cloth and what it represented warily, noting again how ragged it looked. If it weren't for alchemy, the coat would have long been deemed irreparable. If it weren't for Alphonse's suggestions, the darn thing would never get cleaned. Shaking his head quietly as possible, Alphonse draped his brother in the dirty, travel-worn coat, promising to smile again someday as Edward curled into it, the ghost of a grin playing at his lips.