Rated: K (G)
Written: October 29-November 29, 2005
Summary: At the darkest of times, Alphonse muses bitterly that Mommy likes it when Ed gets sick; she can shut him out and just love Older Brother. Big brother, smart brother. First brother.
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When the Elrics were younger, dear Edward would come down with a cold all the time. Be it musty, rainy, frigid (every one was sick then; it's normal), sweltering (if one if sensitive to country heat, this is natural as well), even pleasant (completely obscure, poor Trisha admits to Mrs. Rockbell), there was always a few days when he was confined to bed rest and runny, watered porridge.
'You'll just throw it up, anyway. What does it matter how it tastes?' Al points out, stirring weak retorts and helpless displays of anger.
'If you were sick, I wouldn't be mean to you.' Ed flushes, feverish pink, and coughs a little for emphasis.
But Al never became seriously ill. Of course, he sometimes sniffled, or had a stomachache, but after a day of sleep he would be perfectly fine again. (Though usually he would end up giving Edward his virus, and the unfortunate Al would be out of a playmate for a week anyway.)
And then Mommy would croon to her eldest boy, 'Don't worry, baby, it'll be okay.' And Edward never once points out that he isn't a baby anymore. Her cool hands on his forehead he likens to cool water within a blazing inferno. A moment of refreshing placidness… But then she leaves and his buffer dissipates, fires roaring up twice as high.
Of course, Al knows not of these tangible, scalding nightmares. All he knows is that Mommy tells him to be quiet, to not stand in the way, to go fetch something from the cabinet.
And he minds, scrutinizes, observes. Watches Mommy kiss him, thread her fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. Feed him. Sing to him. Dream with him.
And Al gets left out, sleeping in Mommy's bed while Mommy sets up the old rocking chair next to Edward's bed for her to sleep in. 'No, you can't come in. You might get sick, too, and no one wants that.'
At the darkest of times, Alphonse muses bitterly that Mommy likes it when Ed gets sick; she can shut him out and just love Older Brother. Big brother, smart brother. First brother.
'I want a cold, just once, so Brother can see how if feels to be me. All the time.' Remorseful tears spring to (Little Brother, Second Brother, Failure Brother) Al's eyes and he rocks himself back and forth in the lonely darkness of his mother's room.
'Sh-sh-sh. Don't cry, dearest. You're not going to be by yourself. There, there…' It's Mommy, and she's picking him up and singing to him and kissing him. Too.
The next morning, Al throws up promptly at 8 a.m. He's ill now as well. A cold.
But now Edward has double pneumonia, according to Mrs. Rockbell. And Al takes second place once more.
--
Ed has long since outgrown colds and child-sickness, but this morning he woke up hot and dizzy and miserable. Al listens to him moan, snapping and seething; how Goddammit, he had better things to be doing and ohhh, Mustang wouldn't let him live this down for weeks—no, years.
Al humours him with sympathetic condolences, and avoids any form of logical reasoning.
But all Al can think after a while is lucky. Lucky. Lucky.
He still wants that cold.
-fin
My beta reader said that you don't throw up if you have a cold. I have living proof that that isn't true—my sister tends to swallow her phlegm, and she throws up when she has colds. End of story. XP This is my first finished fic in the Fullmetal Alchemist fandom, so I'd appreciate it if someone could tell me if I'm going the right direction. And if I'm not, someone please shove me the correct way. Thank you!