Alphonse had taken part to few funerals during his brief life, surely not as much as others – like General Mustang and Granny Pinako – had. For several reasons, he was also spared the pain to attend Mr. Hughes' and his own father's. However, Alphonse was growing sick of people dying.

The very first funeral he remembered vividly was his mother's one, and even after almost twenty years it still hurt to think about it. He remembered how he had clung to his brother for the whole duration of the ceremony, how he had wept while the bare coffin was buried underneath a thick level of damp earth. Ed had always been at his side, straight and strong back even in his own evident grief, caressing his little brother's hair in a soothing gesture. And then, when everybody had left and they were the only ones still standing in front of the grave, he had voiced the idea that had doomed their lives: "I want to bring Mom back".

A couple of years later they were again standing in the cemetery, as Winry's parents' bodies, brought back from the harsh land of Ishval, were lowered in the newly dug holes in the ground. Ed had been standing next to Al, looking uncomfortable as he obviously wanted to comfort Winry but didn't know how. Winry and Granny had been at their worst that day, faces contorted with pain and covered in tears. Alphonse had wanted to console them so badly. After all, if – no, when – they'd manage to bring Mom back, surely they could also revive Aunt Sarah and Uncle Urey, too. But a voice in the back of his mind, that sounded so much like Ed, had told him to shut up, they couldn't let anyone know about what they were planning, not even Granny nor Winry. If words of their project got out, they could very well be arrested even for having just researched human transmutation, let alone try it. And besides, Granny was not a huge fan of alchemy, she would prohibit any attempt of bringing someone back, had she known. No, that had to remain a secret, at least for the time being. Maybe, when Mom was back, she could talk to Granny and convince her, with her very healthy presence, that there was nothing to be afraid of.

There had been some other funeral after that, of people in Resembool, that he remembered confusedly. The old mailman's, surprised by a stroke in his bed, Mr. Bruges', a bad fall while he was on his barn roof, little Tom's, who used to go to school with them and hadn't recovered from pneumonia. Of all those moments, he remembered only sober suits, women's weeps and Ed, standing at his side, bold and resolute as he always was when his little brother needed someone to hang onto.

But, this time was different. This time Alphonse was the one that had to be strong and keep it together, for the sake of the others that clung to him, even though he desired to weep and cry and let himself fall on his knees and punch the ground because it was not fair.

Soon after the brief ceremony, he escorted his charge back home, where he set up the kettle and served black, hot tea to everybody. Ed and Winry's children were too young to understand fully what was going on, the meaning of dead and never coming back still obscure to their mind. Maybe that was a good thing, Alphonse thought with a grimace, while he helped to put them to bed. He didn't know if he would be able to return their glances or if he would lose it all, knowing they were going to grow up with a gaping hole in their hearts, much like he and Ed had.

That night, when the other inhabitants of the house were asleep – probably worn out of exhaustion after crying for so long – Al sneaked away, under the starry sky, towards the cemetery. Arriving in front of the grave, the soil uneven where the coffin had been placed, he realised he must have run, because now his breath was fast, and he couldn't fill his lungs with enough air. Or maybe, he though bringing a hand to his cheek and finding it damp, it was because he was crying and the sensation of a heavy rock set on his heart that had been there since the news had reached him, almost two whole days before, was stronger than ever.

The rays of the moon lighted up the fair marble of the headstone. Alphonse had shaped it with alchemy so that it could be ready for the funeral that day. It was the least he could do, even though engraving those words had hurt so much.

Edward Elric

Fullmetal Alchemist

Hero of Amestris

Brave Soldier, Devoted Husband, Loving Father

1899 – 1924

He heard, more than felt, his knees hitting the ground. His hands – his flesh hands, that his brother worked so hard to return to him – grasped the soft terrain of Ed's grave. This shouldn't have happened. Hadn't Ed suffered enough? He had gone through automail surgery, sold himself to the military, risked his life multiple times – he got impaled, for heaven's sake –, gave up his alchemy, all to retrieve his little brother body. It really wasn't fair. Why was Ed the one to suffer the most, when the fault was both brothers'?

When Ed had told him of what he had to do in Baschool, at first Al had been horrified. They had no means to estimate how many years this would cost Ed, but then his big brother had brushed it aside, saying that it had to be done, and probably it wasn't that many years anyway. That it was all worth it.

Alphonse wanted to believe him so badly, and Ed was so healthy and strong even without alchemy, that in the end he stopped worrying about it. They went on with heir lives, enjoying the little things that they missed during those years of constant travelling. A home, a family. Now, Alphonse whished he hadn't listed to Ed, that he had kept researching, maybe he could have done something, maybe he could have saved him.

Flashes of Ed's last night came to his mind.

Ed was lying in bed, sweaty and hot with fever. Winry hurried to the medicine cabinet, in desperate search of something to quench his symptoms until the doctor arrived, and when they were left alone in the room, Ed grabbed Al's wrist with a strong grip. "This is it, Al," he had murmured through sharps inhales, breathing difficult from the pain "I'm kicking the bucket. Watch Winry and the kids for me, will you?" Alphonse froze. "Don't say that, Brother. Everything will be alright; the doctor is coming" he almost begged. "Al, don't be stupid. If your Alkahestry could do nothing, a country doctor isn't going to save my sorry ass". Ed closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in a particularly strong wave of pain. "Now listen," he whispered when he was able to speak again "back in Baschool I traded my lifespan to heal myself. If I hadn't done it, I would have died right then and there. I wouldn't restore you, I wouldn't defeat Father, I wouldn't marry Winry and have the kids. I wouldn't get to see you grow up in the fine man you are". Alphonse was tearing up as the grip on his wrist grew weaker. "It was all worth it. I am sorry I won't see my children grow up, and I'll made Winry cry again. But please, Alphonse, watch them for me".

Ed had died later in the early morning, amidst the doctor and Winry's futile attempts of saving him.

Alphonse looked distractively at his palms, now caked with dirt, and the vivid memory of a complex transmutation circle came to his mind. He knew the theory, he knew the ingredients, he knew the value of a soul was only that of another soul. He knew very well that dead people couldn't come back but, in that moment, it was like all they had gone through was erased and he was again a little child grieving for the loss of the most important person in his life. It would be so simple, trade his body for his brother's, trade his soul for Ed's. Alphonse brought his palms together, ready to circulate the alchemic energy. He knew this wouldn't work, but dying trying to bring his brother back seemed better than carry on living with the knowledge that if he hadn't wanted his body back, there would have been no need for Ed to sacrifice part of his life in order to grant his wish. A distant part of his mind pointed out that now he could really understand what Ed had felt when he was left alone after the human transmutation, the hollow despair that drove him to sacrifice his arm to save his soul.

He stopped with his palms a hair from touching, shaken with hiccups and muffled cries, his eyes burning from hot tears.

Watch them for me.

Suicide would be the easier way out. He could either reunite with his family wherever souls went after death, or simply cease to exist – and suffer. But what good would that do? Winry and the children would be alone for good, then, grieving for the loss not of a family member, but two. He would fail his brother.

Watch them for me.

Alphonse wiped his eyes dry with his sleeve and stood up. He would honour his promise.

At the first light of dawn Alphonse stepped into the house. He knew that he would never fully recover from Ed's death, but he wasn't supposed to. His brother had always taught him, after all, that life never becomes easier, you just learn how to keep moving.