One of my head cannons that I've never really had the chance to explore, especially not in my AlMei stories because those are all supposed to be fluff and happiness, is that shortly after the events of the Promised Day (like a year or two) Amestris would end up getting dragged into a their world version of the Great War, or WWI. The war as well as a couple of other circumstances is going to provide some of the backbone for the story that I'm going to be working on after I'm done with Refuge From Darkness, but the war itself isn't going to be getting that much attention in the story. So when I got this scene in my head, I decided that I was going to write it up and post it separately.

Warning: It's a lot darker than a lot of the writing I post here.

Alphonse Elric had never seen so many broken men.

He had had his fill of broken men. He had watched his brother bend over backwards until he very nearly broke trying to get their bodies back. He had watched Lieutenant Hawkeye shatter when Lust told her that the Colonel was dead. He had watched wives and children fall to their knees, sobbing with all the strength left in their bodies when the news was delivered.

This was something else.

This was fields, waves, floods of men who were all broken inside. Every single one of them. Some stared with sightless eyes, others twitched at the slightest noises. Some were physically disfigured, entire faces turned into scared masses of flesh with a few holes in them. Other walked with canes, some in wheelchairs. There were many, many slings.

Al felt his heart clench in his throat.

That's all this war was. Mindless fighting. Human beings thrown at each other with deadly weapons in their hands until everyone was injured or dead. Until every man had been bled dry. Until every citizen had shed more tears than they could count.

The war had taken everything from everyone. It had taken almost everything from Al. It had taken his brother, his sister, his grandmother, his safety, his blood, his sweat, his tears, and it sure seemed like sometime it took his sanity. It took hours of his life watching the mailbox, sure that today, today for sure he would get the letter he was looking for. Today for sure he would get just one precious word that would assure him that his brother was still alive. It took his peace of mind. Even he, who Ed would have never even allowed to step one toe on a real battle field, flinched at loud noises that even resembled gunshots.

The war had broken everyone.

He had buried his grandmother alone, Ed too busy on the fields to come and Winry too busy patching up men as quickly as she could, just desperately trying to do something to treat the never ending flow of the wounded, the gallons of blood, the screams of the thousands of tortured. There was no time to fix anyone like she had done for Ed what seemed like so long ago, no time to heal. Only enough time to keep them from dying and move on to the next poor soldier. A missing arm here, internal bleeding there, punctured lungs, screaming, always screaming, until it became background noise.

I can't even hear the screaming anymore, Al. There's no end to the wounded, but there is to our supplies. There's nothing left to treat the men with. I won't turn any of them away, but I know some of the other doctors are. There just isn't enough to treat them all, especially not those that don't seem like they're going to make it. I can't do it though. I always find a way, I always manage to do something for them… even if it's just making their death easier.

Now I know what my parents felt like. If a Drachman soldier was carried in here, I would treat them just the same as any Amestrian.

Her sentences were written with a shaky hand and they described a scene more horrible than Al ever wanted to exist in human imagination, let alone real life, but he was glad for them none the less.

It proved she was alive. It proved she was still Winry. It proved that she hadn't broken.

Ed's letters were even less. Entire pages of censored sentences, some of them censored by Ed's own hand, others by the government so that the information wouldn't get out.

By the time it was all accounted for, Al was lucky to get two sentences out of the letter.

I think I would give up my left arm for some of Granny's stew, instead of what they're feeding us. Especially where we are— the rest of the letter was illegible, except for a note at the bottom.

I refuse to become a monster out here, Al. I refuse.

Al pushed through the crowds of broken men, searching, searching. He had said, he had promised, he had to…

A hush fell over the crowd.

Al turned to see why.

A man had just exited the train, in a wheelchair. He was dressed in the same uniform as the rest of the soldiers around him, but his sported different trimming than the rest. A row of medals that didn't appear on any other man's glinted off his chest. His left trouser leg dangled from the chair, without a leg to fill it.

The distance and the hat prevented Al from really being able to see who it was being rolled down the train ramp to all the reverenced awe around him. But he knew. He knew.

Then the cheers started.

They were chanting his name, and Al just pushed through all the men, fighting to get to him, but everyone else was too. Everyone wanted to be close to him, to cheer for him, to thank him.

He finally managed to push through the barrier of bodies, only to be stopped by a man who was holding the crowds back.

"No, you don't understand, I'm here for him, I have to—"

The decorated officer turned.

"Al?"

Alphonse Elric breathed out the name that had never left his dreams, that was always on the tip of his tongue, always in his heart and on his mind.

"Ed."

The man holding Al back let go, and he ran at his brother, sobbing and not caring that he was sobbing and threw himself in his brother's arms. Despite the fact that it was Ed that had just returned from a battle field, despite the fact that it was Ed that had watched human beings with families and loved ones and lives and worries and cares die by the thousands, despite the fact that it was Ed that had crouched in a cold tent waiting to see if he would survive to the next night… it was Ed that held Al while he cried. There were tears in Ed's eyes when Al finally pulled away, though, and the brothers laughed and cried, and smiled, happy to be where they always should be.

Together.

And as Al took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed his brother out the doors, into the sunlight beyond, he knew that he had never seen so many broken men in his life.

But his brother was not one of them.

Love to hear your thoughts :)