Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is property of Hiromu Arakawa, Bones, Funimation, and all those affiliated. I only lay claim to the compilation of words within this story.
Warnings: Yaoi, angst, incest, language.
Author's Notes: This is going to sound a bit harsh, and I sincerely apologize to anyone that I may offend, but I feel that it needs to be said. First and foremost, "I am pleased to write. I do not write to please." In other words, if you have a problem with the elements of this piece, (i.e. you do not like the pairings, yaoi and/or incest disgust you, etc.), I do not care. Save me a headache, and do not complain. I am writing this piece for fun, not to hear about how my taste in this or that does not live up to another's standards. I apologize if I sound rude, but I would just like to save all of us a lot of time, by saying that flames are not helpful, in the slightest.
Now, getting off of my soapbox, I would like to say, to those of you whom I did not just scare off, that helpful, constructive criticism is just fine. Suggestions are also welcomed, as well your regular old run of the mill comments. Aside from that, I hope that you enjoy your read!
The golden eyed boy stared up at the massive Gate. The Gate, the Keeper of the Truth, the Great Temple of Alchemy, and the current bane of his existence.
"Give me my brother back!" he demanded of the Wisdom. "I want my brother back!" He was desperate, wanting nothing more than to see his brother again, to inhale the other boy's scent, to look into his eyes, and to feel his true warmth.
Tear formed around the edges of those golden windows, and the boy choked back a sob. "…Please…" he pleaded, his true desperation beginning to override his anger and impatience. "…I just want my brother back…" With that, he hung his head, and clenched his eyes shut. He willed his tears back, with all of his dedication. No, he willed himself. You will not cry. Hold your resolve. Do not show any further weakness.
As the boy kept his head down, the Gate slowly began to open. The Eyes slowly began to appear, one by one, each set blinking in an eerie cadence. The eyes, collectively, seemed harsh in their observations of the young blonde boy on the ground before them. Judgement. Loathing. Scorn. This human was attempting the greatest sin of the alchemic world. Should this be looked upon with a tsk, tsk, and a time out in the corner? No. Such a treasonous act against a founded set of principles would not be taken so lightly. The only question was one of trade. What was the return of this "brother" worth to this boy? What would he be willing to give? Limb, love, life? What would he sacrifice to have this "brother" returned to him? Was there a price? Would the Eyes ask too much?
The blonde looked up, once more, meeting a truly uncountable number of cold, unforgiving stares. He knew the ritual, knew that the Eyes were evaluating his presence, deciding what was to be given. What would they ask of him? It did not matter. Whatever the price, he was willing to pay. There would be absolutely no question. If they wanted his arm, they could take it. If they wanted his heart, it was theirs. After all, what were a few organs, in the grand scheme of things, when his entire life was on the line?
The merciless stares reigned down upon the youth, save for one particular glance, tucked into a corner, though still amidst all of the others. This pair seemed to dawn a simple recognition of the soul before them. There was something about the boy, the vibrant blonde hair, the pained golden eyes; it all sparked something of a sympathetic look. A brother? Was that what he had asked for? That particular request seemed familiar.
The boy moved. The one pair caught sight of a glint of metal, something that should not have been there beneath the blonde's clothing. With that simple revelation, a four year old recognition was flared back into existence. A right arm. A left leg. Screams, cries, pleas for a mother, a brother, for the bodies and souls of those lost to the Other Side, asking for their returns. This poor child had already been through hell for this brother. And, without overwhelming fear, he had returned for a second attempt. Such devotion, such love, was very endearing.
However, despite the fact that this boy had offered up any price, had placed his very existence before his greatest judge, in the name of brotherly love, he had sinned. Sinned, he ultimately had, and judged, he ultimately would be.
"Describe this brother, young alchemist," came a voice, from within the Gate. This caused the Eyes to look upward, accusingly. The sympathetic pair ignored its brethren, casting its gaze directly at the boy. "What does he look like?"
Golden eyes flickered, something akin to hope flashing over the irises. "He looks like me!" The immediate response was urgent, eager and excited. "Darker eyes, darker hair! A little taller!" All manner of pride was cast aside, as the boy gave the Gate the necessary details. "He is smart! Funny! Gentle! Loving!"
"Easy, Child," the Voice interrupted. "That is enough." The boy closed his mouth, and the Eyes all returned their glares to him. Then, without warning, the Gate slowly began to close.
"No!" came the distressed scream of protest. "Give me back my brother! I will do anything!" Tears began to flow down pale cheeks, and the boy lost all patience in the face of potential refusal. "GIVE HIM BACK!"
As the doors of the Gate groaned to a complete close, golden eyes seemed to lose all hope. He had been so close, he knew it, he had felt it. Then, just when his heart had been ready to accept his success, it had been pulled away from him. The vision of the Gate began to blur, fade, and the boy felt so lost, so incredibly and hopelessly lost.
Suddenly, and completely without warning, the blonde youth felt his insides begin to tighten. He coughed, sputtered, and gasped for breath. His head began to spin, and the tightening began to subside, as his vision was flooded in white light. For a moment, surrounded within that light, he felt warm. He felt at peace. And, for just a split second, he would have sworn that he could feel his brother's hands slowly caressing his face. The touch felt so real, so alive. So wrapped up in his sudden state of bliss was he, that the boy did not even register the final twisting of his entire being, the spiraling of his consciousness, as he fell into darkness.
-o-o-
Those Eyes, the pair that had looked upon the desperate creature without malice, began to search the Beyond. It would make this work. That boy would have his brother back. The purpose of alchemy was to make the world a better place for its occupants, and the empty eyes of the boy had been a driving signal that this creature had nothing left to live for. If his use of alchemy could preserve his well being, his love, and his sanity, then he ultimately saw fit to put it to the task. And, these Eyes, despite the harsh debate of its brethren, accepted such a principle.
But, then, where was the line to be drawn? If they were to grant the exact wish of one lonely child, without repercussion, and without some fly in the proverbial ointment, how would they handle the pleas that were surely to follow? A widow searching for her husband? A parent begging for the return of his child?
Another young boy willing to give his all, for his brother?
The simple fact of the matter was that the line needed to be drawn, outlined in black, and shaded in with the brightest of reds, with a bright yellow yield sign sticking out in front of it, along with the a direct warning posted underneath.
We of the Gate do not give without equal exchange. No matter how deep your desperation, do not expect a miracle.
The sympathetic pair regretted this knowledge, but it knew that its own plans could not be put forth. Something had to be sacrificed, something had to be exchanged. Either the plea bringer would have something taken from him…
…Or, something would have to be omitted from the expected miracle.
For, after all, even perfection has its price.
-o-o-
Edward Elric regained his consciousness, only to immediately curl into a ball on the surface upon which he lay, and let out a long, lonely, pained whimper. His arms tightened around his midsection, as he felt the last traces of the happenings at the Gate still constricting his insides. Tears pooled into his tightly clenching, now much too dry eyes, and he could not help but to cough out a strangled sob.
It had not worked. He had offered it all! Why had they not accepted it! What more could he have offered? He only wanted two things: A body, a soul, two things that were worth his life. What more could he have put on the proverbial table? Nothing. There was nothing else. Was there?
"…Alphonse…" he whispered, mind still slight foggy, tear flooded eyes open and downcast, to look at his still gloved hands. "…Al… I'm sorry... I-I tr-tried…" With that, the young man curled into a tight ball, still resting on his left side, and began to tremble, with sobs.
A soft groan came from several feet in front of the alchemist, causing him to look upward. His eyes, still blurred by moisture, took in the vague sight of a body.
A male human body.
One that was breathing.
"…Al…" he whispered, once more. Finding a sudden, untapped spurt of energy, Edward began to crawl forward. "…Al… It… It worked… I got you back…" As he moved closer, Edward took in the appearance of his very nude younger brother.
A long, lean, well toned figure, with the proper curves in all of the right places. Flowing, shoulder length, light blonde hair, with several strands ever so slightly sweat slicked to the sides of his face. Skin of a sun kissed angel, though slightly pale, even for -.
Wait. Red flag.
Blonde hair? Alphonse had never had blonde hair, at least, not as light as it currently was. Nor had he ever kept it quite so long.
And, come to think of it, since when had Alphonse's body ever been given the chance to grow, period, let alone to the extent that it appeared to be? Should he not be a wiry, under developed adolescent?
…Alphonse's skin had never been that color…
But, it had to be Alphonse! It just had to be! Edward had asked for his brother, and his request had been granted! This was his brother!
…But, then… Why did he not look like his brother…?
Another groan escaped the throat of the body, and Edward's eyes widened, considerably.
He doesn't even sound like himself.
Reaching out two shaky hands, Edward prepared to grasp onto Alphonse's shoulder. He had to know. He had to be certain. He needed to prove it, not to himself, but, to a currently absent rest-of-the-world. He knew that he had brought back his brother. Now, he just needed to show everyone else. Once he saw it, they would know it. This was Alphonse Elric, fourteen years old, originally of Risembool. The same little brother with whom Edward had spent the majority of his life, chasing down dreams, attempting the impossible, and just trying to survive. This was his Alphonse.
Then, prove it.
"I will," he whispered, to himself, as he grabbed a hold of a fragile feeling shoulder. How did that happen? He had looked so solid. In one careful motion, Edward turned the body around, to lay him out on his back. He allowed his eyes to flit upward, and to the face that he was fully expecting to be that of his younger brother; he had his heart set on it.
He let out a gasp, as he felt his heart positively shatter. This isn't Alphonse, he though, pained. I did fail. But, then, who…?
As if on cue, two golden lashed eyes slowly fluttered open. For the second time that moment, Edward gasped.
"…E-E-Envy…!"