Leaving you
I don't own Full Metal Alchemist
My Chemical Romance owns the song "Cancer"
The sun was setting. Its rays reached out towards the pale building of the hospital, illuminating the brown, smog-encrusted windows. A soft breeze rubbed against them, making the thin glass shudder in the frames. To the left and right along the street, smashed furniture, bricks and the burnt-down frames of what had until so recently been homes, settled quietly in the soft glow. It was a miracle the hospital had been spared in the bombings. Somewhere close by in the war-ravaged city, someone called out, voice drifting feebly on the evening breeze.
Ed paused abruptly on his way through the dreary scenery, but only for a moment. The world would have to save itself today; he had no time to lose. He clenched his fists and grimaced as he turned away from the pitiful sound and continued on toward the hospital at a brisk pace, breath rasping in his throat.
As the boy reached the huge, dark doors of the white building, he had to stop again, leaning hands against knees as he tried to control his panting breath. He had been running ever since the doctor contacted him, only slowing down when he realized that he would probably drop from exhaustion if he didn't.
He lifted his head and surveyed the orange sky straight above the rapidly darkening frame of the building looming up over him. Damn. So late already...
In the reception, a nurse spoke soothingly to him, but he didn't register any of her words, except what room to go to. No, not go – run! His body had seized to care wheather it collapsed or not the moment it noticed the sad sympathy on the young woman's face.
One long, whitewashed corridor opened up to the next, as his frantic footsteps echoed through the silent building. Up the stairs... Damn it! Left... Why hadn't he been there, he could have done something! Left again... Anything! Right... Oh, dear god! Straight... Al! Number 420... Al... Al... Al... He skidded to a halt in front of a door marked 420 with old, rusty copper-numbers. The doorknob was cool under his touch, and he shivered involuntarily. The sweat on his body turned as cold as mist in december in less than a minute.
The room Ed walked into faced the setting sun, filling it with a warm, golden glow. It was nearly empty except from a high, steel-framed hospital bed, a table beside it, and an austere, straight-backed chair for visitors. The size of the bed made its occupant seem even smaller than he was, almost drowning him in the white linnen.
"Brother..."
Turn away...
Ed remained frozen to the spot, and bowed his head at the frail sound, choking out a pained reply.
"Hi Al"
If you could get me a drink
of water cause my lips are chapped and faded...
Trying not to stare at his brother, Ed walked over and busied himself at the table, carefully keeping an obviously fake cheery note in his voice.
"You want some water? You sure look like you could use some!"
"Brother... Please..."
"Yeah, Al?"
"Please look at me..."
Call my aunt Marie
Help her gather all my things...
Ed stiffened at the request, caught between two breaths of air. For the first time ever he felt like running away from his brother. He was afraid. Afraid to look properly at the form in the bed. Afraid at what he might recognize. Afraid at what he might not.
And bury me in all my favorite colours...
Turning around slowly, he swallowed hard, looking at his clumsy, unwilling feet in those brown leather shoes he had taken to wearing – so unlike his big, old boots... Why didn't they move when he told them to? Not just now, but before; if they had only done as he told them, he would have been here sooner, and-
"Brother, please..."
There was sorrow in Al's voice, much more so than if he had been crying or screaming. Much more so than Ed had ever, through all their adventures and fights, heard. So much so that he snapped his head up immediately with a sharp intake of breath, jolted by the sheer emotion of his sibling, rather then his words.
The very second his eyes met those of his brother, Ed knew this picture would remain branded into his memory this till the day he died. The pale, threatbare sheets. The reddish-brown spots from earlier. The partly scorched hands lying limbly over the covers.
My sisters and my brothers
Still, I will not kiss you...
The brown, ruffled locks sticking out between the bandages.
Cause the hardest part of this...
The tears on his little brother's cheek
Is leaving you
Silence reigned between them as the sun fell lower in the sky outside. Ed tried to find something to say, but his voice kept refusing to form words. All he managed was, in a misshaped form in between a sob and a whimper: "Al..." In the bed, his little brother shook as though from a spasm, and turned away from him, facing the sun.
Now turn away
Cause I'm awful just to see
Cause all my hair's abandoned all my body...
"I knew it was bad..."
The sound of his brother's strained voice, so hushed, so sad, so unlike what he had come to know, made Ed lean closer, in sudden anxiety.
"... I knew from the way the nurse looked at me. The way you look at a child's grave. Like I was already dead..."
Oh my agony...
Ed forced a smile, even into his voice: "Al, don't be silly, you'll-"
The sheets almost seemed to hiss at Al's sudden movement, as he turned to face his older brother, eyes alive with sorrow and anger.
"I'll what? I'll make it?! Honestly, brother, I look like one of the colonel's victims!"
Ed recoiled in shock at Al's sudden outburst, staring at him in something like disbelief – almost like he himself had not fully relized until then. His eyes tarvelled up as red spots slowly began to appear on the bandages around the young boy's head, and he fell back on his pillows, cheeks paling fast.
Know that I will never marry
Baby I'm just soggy from the chemo
But counting down the days to go
It just ain't living...
Ed stared wide-eyed at the form in the bed for a while, not knowing what to do. Al's breathing gradually slowed, until he seemed to have fallen asleep. A little colour returned to his cheeks, or maybe it was just a trick of the light? When he spoke again, the boy's voice was little more than a whisper, yet the sound of it made Ed flinch.
"Brother... I'm going to die..."
And I just hope you know...
"Al... Please..."
Ed hardly recognized his own voice as it crept past his lips and into the golden haze around the white covers of the bed. He sounded like he was slowly breaking apart from the inside, starting with his heart. He looked blank-eyed at his brother, brushing across his forehead with one bare hand. Al winced at the soft contact, but smiled up at him.
That if you say
Goodbye today
I'd ask you to be true
"Brother... Remember all those things we did together... All those good times... Remember?"
Ed somehow managed to keep the tears in his eyes out of his voice: "Sure, Al. I remember"
"I'm... sorry..."
"No, Al – don't be..."
"I'm sorry... we have to... part again... already"
Cause the hardest part of this
"Brother..."
Is leaving you
"... goodbye..."