A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticwriter. Part one of the (What is) series.
It's not that he doesn't care, he muses with dull golden eyes staring at the floor. Blood seeps from the chest of a man that's more monster than he is and he is drowning in souls (drowning in the ghosts in more ways than one if you want to be a shitty poet). It's going to stain his shoes like it has their paws if he doesn't move.
"Why?" They cry like a little girl; howl like a dog but they are neither. It's ugly and it hurts and he knows the feeling. "Big brother Ed-ward why you hurt dad?"
He winces and still is silent. He hadn't forgotten that name. He remembers it because he remembers the life of that name (of who he use to be). There's pain in their voice and because of that there is an ugly, nasty ass pain in his chest but not the kind his philosopher stone can heal.
He looks at her for the first time. Eyes searching at something he has never forgotten but had forgot how they looked. It's like comparing a worn photo to the real life experience of being upfront to the good, bad and the ugly.
His knees drop the harsh floor with a thud. Blood soaking his leather trousers as well as his shoes. He thinks briefly that he'll have to take bath along with hide his clothes from Alphonse if it's gotten in his hair. He grimaces at the thought because dried blood in hair is a bitch to get out. He vehemently remembers the annoyance Edward felt at scrubbing it out of their golden hair and really he does not want to experience that pain in the ass.
"I'll tell you a secret," he whispers as if they aren't the only ones there besides the fresh corpse that's staining the floor and a bloody discarded heart.
"Because I care too much," he explains softly. "Edward cared too much. Edward loved too much. Edward had too much hatred for doing anything but helping or annoying the ones he cared for that even after dying - I care too much. I want to protect. I want to annoy."
Alexander's big eyes peak up from Nina's brunette strands of hair. "Like us?" They ask.
Dull, tired golden eyes blink. A small smile flickers on his lips. "Yeah," he agrees, his voice still soft. "Lets go home."