He's done it. He's solved the puzzle that's stumped alchemists for centuries. He's finally figured out how to get his brother back to normal. And this time, he knows exactly what he's willing to pay.
It was a cold day at the end of January. Snow had fallen six feet thick outside the house, which suited him just fine. If nobody could get in, nobody could stop him.
Al was restrained in the middle of a huge array, still a suit of armor. Ed rubbed his arms to get the blood flowing again, and tossed the nub of chalk into a corner. Al's eyes glowed, suddenly.
"Brother?" he sat up and Ed sat down. He had a plan, and Damnit he was going to follow through. He'd keep his promise. He sliced open his left palm with one clean stroke, watching the dark red blood well up in the palm of his hand and drip onto the floor. He'd cut deeper than he meant to, but it wouldn't matter soon. Soon nothing would matter. He looked up at Al and smiled tremulously.
"It's gonna be okay, Al." he used his blood to draw a smaller array inside the edge of the large one. He held his hands over the circles, and concentrated.
"Brother! Brother, no!" he was calm, suddenly, sure that this would work. He met his brother's eyes, and could almost see the little boy inside the armor, yelling for him to stop.
"I love you." And everything was white.
Back again, eh?
"I want my brother's body back. I want him to go back to normal."
And you? What do you want for yourself?
"Nothing. I want to trade my body for my brother's. That ought to be about equal. It's a fair trade."
Yes.
Al screamed long and loud, until his throat was raw and probably bloody. He pounded his fists into the ground, cried and yelled, begged for Ed to come back. He scratched the stone walls until his fingernails were cracked and bleeding. Then, when he was too tired to move, he curled up where he was and cried himself to sleep.
"Alphonse?" he opened his blurry eyes to see Lieutenant Hawkeye kneeling next to him. "Alphonse, where's Edward?" he opened his mouth, but couldn't force the words out, so he pointed to where Ed had been. The lieutenant walked over to where he pointed and touched the ground. "There's nothing here, Alphonse."
"He did it." The words were so scratchy and hoarse that he almost didn't believe he'd spoken them. Then his throat began to burn again, and he knew he had.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye." Colonel Mustang entered the room with a sheet of paper. His eyes lingered on Alphonse for a moment, and then went to his second in command. "Read this." He handed her the paper. As she read, her eyes watered, and she began to cry. When she was done, she hugged the colonel tight, sobbing quietly.
"Edward." She dropped the paper. Al crawled over to it and picked it up.
Al
It began.
By the time you read this letter, you'll be back in your own flesh and blood body, cursing me and my damn stupidity, right? Of course right. But, you have to understand. This was the only way.
He stopped to wipe his eyes, sniffling.
I figured it out a few weeks ago, and I knew what I'd have to do.
He thought back, and remembered how nice Ed had been, how much they'd done in only a few weeks. Why hadn't his brother told him?
I didn't tell you because I know you. You would have tried to talk me out of it. I couldn't let you.
A few splotches of water had soaked into the paper, but he could still read the words.
You're asleep, everything's in place, and I'm about to do it, but… I want you to know, Al. I didn't do this because I had to, or because I think your life is worth more than mine. I did it because I wanted to. Because you're my brother and I'd do anything for you.
If you love someone unconditionally, you'll do anything to see them happy. I know when you read this you'll be pissed and hate me, but… I want you to be happy, Al. Find someone, settle down, and have a little boy so you can name him after me. I've seen all I ever wanted to, and more. You've got your whole life ahead of you Al, and it's a life worth living.
It wasn't signed, but it was obviously from Ed. Al crumpled the note up, eyes squeezed shut.
"Ed." He whispered. "Thank you."
He knew, of course, why his brother had done it. And it wasn't because Al was his brother. He'd done it because he was tired, and he'd made a promise.