Title: Dream Reality
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for manga chapter 53

One moment he was slamming his hands down onto cold cement and the next he was screaming. One moment he was being ripped painfully apart and the next all was silent. One moment he was staring at his brother with wide, tear-filled eyes and the next all he could see was a giant gate. One moment he had his soul and the next he didn't.

Alphonse -- was he still Alphonse, or was he something else, something different now -- knew very well that life was not supposed to occur in a series of moments. It was within the knowledge he had brought with him that ordinary people lived in a continuing cycle, not a staccato series of reawakening. But there was little he could do about it, especially with this gaping void in his heart where his soul should have been.

There wasn't any real urge to leave other than that he knew he should.

He didn't belong here.

It felt wrong.

But he continued alongside the Gate -- the only constant feature in his life since his brother vanished in a storm of purple light -- and awoke rarely, spending most of his time in a strange sort of dreamworld. There, he was with his brother -- maybe his brother; he was older, with long hair and metal limbs, and he seemed different from the Niichan he remembered in small flashes of memory -- and there were strange new people around them. He wasn't quite certain of anything, because it was all tossed around in the dream world, surreal in its intensity and oftentimes being nothing more than brief segments of speech or action.

It was never constant, this sleeping world; it would be faded out one day and all backward the next. Black and white shifted to bright color, too intense to focus on. Sometimes the dream would be entirely sound, and maybe-notquite-Alphonse would listen to strange new voices and an echoing version of his own, or perhaps no voices at all, simply noise. One time the dream was physical and nothing more; he could feel himself moving, running, touching and then bang and explosion of pain so fierce that he would have screamed if he could use his voice. He could feel himself shattering into a million different pieces but still being somehow intact before the dream abruptly ended, and he woke beside the Gate once again.

Over time, he grew used to the new world; dreams came and went, leaving his memory as quickly as they had arrived. Whenever he woke up beside the Gate, maybe-Alphonse could remember them faintly, more as a knowledge of what he was missing than a conscious memory of it all. His favorite not-memories were of his brother; he clung to those desperately as they slipped from his grasp, the sight of his brother smiling, laughing, eating, talking, sleeping... It hurt when he couldn't remember the sound of his brother's voice, or the dimple that creased on his cheek whenever he smiled, or the way he didn't snore so much as breathe heavily. It was all lost to the dream-world; he had nothing more than the memories he had brought with him, and even those were fading out like nothing more than weathered fabric.

Not-quite-Alphonse only knew that he was missing something.

He had lost his soul, and he knew that if he could simply find it again, he might be able to keep those memories of his brother that kept visiting him in dreams. But life was nothing more than constant different feelings, paced only by the Gate and only then for moments -- minutes? hours? days? -- at a time. And he knew nothing more than that -- the dreams would fade within a second of waking, so all he knew was that they happened and little more.

He would cry if he remembered how, but everything about him felt dulled, even the sharp spike of hunger gnawing in his stomach.

And now another dream, another memory; not-quite-Alphonse was sitting in front of the Gate, but sometimes the dreams were nothing more than sounds, and he didn't always sleep for those. He heard breathing, loud in the emptiness of the Gate; unlike the previous sounds, the breathing was definitely coming from behind him, not just everywhere around him.

He turned.

Niichan -- older, taller, with longer hair and a bandage around his head -- stared back, sitting beside another Gate. Not-quite-Alphonse latched onto the sight instantly, drinking in the image of Niichan and wondering how long he could keep the memory this time.

"AL!" Niichan shrieked, lunging at him, and suddenly maybe-Alphonse realized that his older brother could see him, could see not-quite-Alphonse, and wasn't talking through his dreams at someone else that he couldn't see. He turned slowly, unused to the movement, as the Gate opened and grabbed at Niichan.

"AL!" shouted Niichan again, struggling fiercely and reaching out for him.

And for that moment, maybe-Alphonse remembered the days before he came to the Gate; nights curled up with his brother in bed, warm and sleepy; days of running around in the long grass, catching bugs and playing games; fights over crackers during snacktime where they eventually wound up splitting anyway. It all burst in his memory, swirling and twisting in a way that he hadn't felt since he had last felt true air on his skin, since those awful, pain-wracked moments before his soul left him.

"Al! Come here!" Niichan cried, and not-Alphonse rose slowly to his feet. He hoped, for a brief, painful second that he could; that he could just grab onto Niichan and leave. But then he felt the emptiness in his chest, his head, his body, and knew that he couldn't.

"HURRY!" Niichan screamed, sounding desperate.

His soul wasn't here.

"I can't," not-Alphonse whispered, the words scratchy on his dry throat. His older brother stared, wide-eyed.

Uncomprehending.

"You're not my soul."

Pained.

"I can't come with you."

Desperate.

His brother trembled and made a tortured noise, cursing furiously. Then, as the Gate dragged him further backwards, he snapped, "Alphonse! Someday... I'll come get you no matter what!" The Gate closed on him as he spoke, forcing him back into the darkness. Before he disappeared, he ordered, "Wait there!"

And vanished.

Maybe-notquite-Alphonse watched even after the Gate left his sight, smiling without realizing it. He clutched to the image of his brother, ducking his head and holding it in his mind, dreading the moment that it would vanish as well. It was such a clear memory, perfect and beautiful, that the thought of it leaving him as the other had made him shake in fear; never in his dreams had Niichan noticed him, never had he told him to wait.

It was only after awhile that not-Alphonse realized that the memory wasn't slipping away this time.

Maybe that meant it was real.

His eyes widened, even as he felt another dream begin, wrapping around his consciousness; even as he saw flashes of other places, dark and dank, he kept the memory of Niichan close at heart; even through the sounds of fighting and screams, he could hear Niichan telling him to wait until he could come back.

Niichan had called him "Alphonse."

Maybe it meant that he was real.

And maybe, once he found his soul, he could be Alphonse once again.