I'm standing here, holding my older brother back from killing some innocent child who just happened to comment his height, as usual, and once more I realize just how much I'd like to do the same thing myself. Not for the same reason, of course- no one ever calls me short, or mistakes me for my younger brother, even if I had a sibling younger than me- but I need to yell sometimes, too. Except I can't.

I'm the angel of the pair, the perfect child, the polite, smiling, adorable little kid. No one ever stops to think that maybe I've got a mind of my own, emotions of my own, like any other teen my age. I'm 17, damn it. Not some stupid 9-year-old. They see me just the same as they did when I was human, before the armor. Not stupid, perhaps, but someone to be kept safe and to treat like a pane of glass, someone too naïve to see the dark side of the world. I see it. I've seen far too much of it, in my opinion, but I brought that on myself. The things that happened to us were just as much my fault as my older brother's, even if he won't admit it. He insists on blaming himself, on keeping me on this pedestal of perfection. He doesn't realize that the pedestal's imaginary.

But insubstantial as it is, that pedestal is also a prison. I can't do anything I truly wish. Yell at my brother when he's being an idiot? Of course not. Instead, I'll stand in the corner and try to talk him out of it, because that's what I used to do, and that's what everyone expects now. Get in a fistfight once in a while? Perhaps it's not always the best option, but the oh-so-innocent Alphonse Elric isn't allowed to fight, period, even though he's had the exact same training as his dog-of-the-military brother.

The kid's run off now, so I let Ed go, glaring at the back of his head as I do so. As soon as he turns around, though, the evil stare has vanished, replaced with the slightly reproachful one he expects of me. Sure, I'm allowed to be mildly annoyed, but only in the vein of 'that's not nice, don't do it.' Words to this effect- the second half of that thought, of course, because I don't ever yell at my oh-so-dear brother- are spilling out of my mouth, and he mutters a noncomittal apology, and we go on with our lives, because that's what we do.

I'll admit, I haven't seen or done as much as my brother, but that's to be expected. I'm not one to go for the military, and we both know it's corrupt anyways, but he stays because alchemy is all he knows. I'd never kill someone, intentionally or not, but he will if he has to, to protect me. Stupid older brothers. I could take that behavior from him, if everyone else didn't decide to jump on the bandwagon and play 'Pamper the Adorable Baby Alphonse Until He Wants To Scream!'

I'll be a doctor, and help people, perhaps, but even doctors have their dark side. The side I supposedly don't have. It's tempting to snort out loud at the idiocy of that statement, but I don't, because that would raise questions from the ever-suspicious Edward, questions I can't answer. I don't like lying to him. I'll do it, occasionally, but I don't like it. Not because it's 'bad' or anything, but we've shared almost everything in our lives, and it's become second nature to do so. But I'll keep this one thing to myself, because that's what expected of me.