This is something I wrote to help myself develop the back-stories of the Elric boys in a longer fic I was writing. I decided to post it since I'm not sure I'll keep going with the original fic but I actually liked this stand-alone bit and didn't want it to go to waste. Like the description says, a major plot point has been changed in the form of the sacrifices the boys have to make because of their big mistake.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of its characters.

Thank you for reading!

I woke up in a basement—the basement of our old house, though I didn't know that's what it was at the time. I don't remember much about that house, and I couldn't tell you a whole lot about what the basement looked like, but the feeling I've associated with that basement is something I'll never be able to get out of my memory. It was sickening. Like something horrible and ugly was living in the walls.

Of course, that impression was entirely due to my wretched state of mind when I woke up in that basement and says nothing about the place itself. My brother tells me we spent a lot of time in that basement, studying, researching together, but I think his pleasant memories of that place were ruined that night, too.

When I woke up, a strength-less, dead weight, I couldn't conjure up any kind of coherent thought. My mind was clouded by an overpowering sensation of fear. I was confused, confused and afraid of what I didn't know. Which was everything.

It took me a while to find something definite to focus on, and that turned out to be my sense of sight. I concentrated on what was directly in my field of vision: a hard, dark floor, connected to an equally dark wall, and against that wall was something metallic and slightly gleaming from the light of a solitary yellow bulb. A suit of armor, I realized.

That suit of armor kept me grounded in the present, safe for the moment from drowning in the gaping void that I wanted desperately to keep away from, until another sense broke through the hazy cloud of my mind: sound. Someone, or something, was nearby, and they were choking.

Somehow I gathered the presence of mind to turn my head away from the wall so that it was facing the greater part of the room.

There was a boy there, not too far from where I lay, on his hands and knees, his head down so that his blond bangs fell to cover his face. He was the source of the choking sounds. It was wet and unpleasant to listen to, and didn't help the already nauseated feeling twisting my gut.

A stream of red suddenly surged past the boy's lips, splattering on the floor as he heaved. A bit landed on my outstretched hand and arm. The haze over my mind was quickly retreating and I wished it would come back. I was more alert than I wanted to be in this room alone with a boy who was choking on his own blood.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, him gagging and coughing up red, me lying motionless on the floor, thinking I should try to help him but not knowing how. It felt like forever. A small, horrible eternity, but then he was lifting his head and the retching had stopped and two eyes, gold in their irises but red with tears, were staring at me.

"Al," the boy gargled weakly. In a moment he was crouched over me, having crawled right through the rather large puddle of blood he'd left on the floor without a second thought. "Al, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for this—" He was crying. I could feel the wetness falling onto my face.

"But you're back now, you're back, aren't you? It worked? Al, please say something. Let me know you're really here. Alphonse?"

He was so pale, and there was still a small trickle of blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth and a few bright red drops standing out sharply against his white chin.

"Are you okay?" I creaked out.

His face crumpled in relief and he laughed, which I thought strange considering the circumstances. "Yeah, yeah... I don't know." He wasn't laughing anymore. His sudden seriousness was a bit alarming to see on such a young face.

"Come on, I'll help you sit up." And he did.

Looking down, I saw that the floor we were sitting on was marked up with chalk in an elaborate circular pattern. An array, a dim part of my brain supplied. My eyes followed the sweeping curves and lines towards the center of the circle, where something dark was laying, but the boy reached out and gently turned my face away.

"It's okay, it's okay, it didn't work, but there's no need to look." His words were shaky but tender, and I couldn't come up with a good reason to disobey.

He led me up a flight of stairs, apparently wanting to get me out of that basement, and again I had no objections. The whole time he murmured quiet words in my ear, seeming to want to reassure me of something. When we got to the top he swayed briefly on his feet, looking paler than ever, before collapsing on the carpet.

My eyes widened and I dropped to my knees beside him, trembling violently. He didn't stir. I was sure he was dead, and I was suddenly plunged back into being hopelessly confused and lost without him to anchor me. Tears streamed down my face and I didn't bother trying to stop them.

It was another dreadful eternity of waiting for something to happen, for some sort of guidance to come my way, but I'm certain this one was even longer than the first. Multiple times I considered leaving him to go find someone who might know what to do, but I couldn't tear myself from his side, nor could I really bring myself to look at him. I gazed at each piece of furniture in the room in turn without really seeing any of it, my mind a wreck.

The sun was weakly shining through the curtains when the boy uttered a low groan. I blinked in astonishment, hastily swiping a hand over my tear-stained cheeks. I hadn't stopped crying the whole time.

He opened one eye and then the other, both quickly finding my face. He smiled weakly.

"Don't cry, Al. You don't want people to think you're a baby, do you?"

"You're alive," I choked out.

"Of course I am."

"You—you must have passed out from blood loss," I said, pulling myself together a bit and realizing belatedly that in my pitiful state I hadn't even thought to check for breathing or a pulse. I had been so sure he was dead and just plummeted straight into despair.

He nodded, slowly sitting up. "It's strange. Something feels wrong...inside here." He put a hand on his stomach.

"We'll have to get you to a doctor," I told him.

"Do you think they took my heart, Al?" He looked at me fearfully. "I told them they could take my heart..."

I stared. "What are you talking about? First of all, you wouldn't be alive if you didn't have a heart."

He relaxed visibly. "Of course. It would have been worth it, but still... I'm glad to be alive."

I shook my head, thinking maybe his brain had suffered from the blood loss. Or maybe he was making perfect sense, and it was my brain that was off. I certainly wasn't in the best position to judge.

I drew my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. "I'm scared..." I said quietly. "I don't know what's going on, and I'm scared."

The boy scooted closer to me and put his arms around my frame. I stiffened in surprise at the contact, but relaxed after a bit, deciding it was comforting.

"It'll be okay, Al," he murmured, sounding like he was trying to assure himself as much as me. "I guess we shouldn't have tried it, and it had some unexpected consequences, but we got through it."

I shook my head, wanting to get some answers now that I knew he was okay, at least for now. "What are you talking about? And you keep calling me Al... Is that my name?"

The boy jerked away from me so fast, I let out a startled little yelp. The incredulity on his face soon morphed into a scowl.

"That's not funny, Al."

I just looked back at him. Something in my wide-eyed gaze seemed to give him pause, and I saw the doubt creeping in.

"Of course your name is Al... And you know me, don't you? Your brother, Ed?"

My eyes widened further. "You're my brother?"

The boy—Ed—my brother—looked absolutely horrified.

"No, no... You don't—? This isn't permanent, is it? What do you remember, Alphonse?" He was talking so fast and was so clearly distressed that I could barely make out his words.

"The first thing I remember is waking up on that floor. Before that...nothing," A shudder ran through me at the utterance of that cold, terrible nothing that had been haunting me, looming close by and threatening to swallow me whole and debilitate me if I thought on it too long. It was terrifying to say it out loud.

"No," he breathed. "No," he repeated, louder, the hot, brittle anger in his voice making me wince. He stood up.

"Damn you!"

I recoiled, but soon realized that he wasn't addressing me.

"Damn you, you stupid—Truth, whatever it is you are!" He was shouting now, fists clenched at his sides, face contorted, and I could only watch helplessly. "I told you—I told you to give me my brother back, you bastard, we had a deal, not—not this..." His voice cracked and gave out, and he slumped down to his knees, his fire extinguishing all at once. His shoulders shook.

Feeling like crying myself, but desperately wanting to be able to console him, I did the only thing I knew how. I drew him into my arms as he'd done to me a few minutes ago and let him cry on my shoulder.

After several minutes in this position, he attempted to choke out words between his tears.

"Don't worry, Al," I marveled that he was still trying to comfort me, "I'll fix this. I promise."

And I, bewildered and afraid, wanted nothing more than to trust him.

Reviews are always more than welcome.

Cheers,

Alice