Without Contentment

Summary: He was very vigilant on becoming alone, but it took a friend's death to show him he truly has a home.

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA and the Sandman.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading my story. For comments and constructive criticisms, feel free to review.

Her hair was scraggly and wet, her fingers stubby with its tips bleeding from too much feeding from it. She was naked, but her body left nothing to desire with. He saw his mother etched on that skin, his brother's whimpers, and his own regrets that he had kept even from himself.

He held his breath as hers reeked of dead rats and rotting fish flesh. "You must remember. Must, must," He dared not to look at her. He dared not look at her eyes which told nothing and everything. She was everything he did not want to see, to admit or to remember. He shut his eyes closed.

She chucked his chin while tracing his face with her ring-hook, her sigil. Her hook traced his neck, searing his thin skin but he felt like being cleaved into two. He wanted to run away, but the desolate darkness of those mildewed, broken mirrors, mossy slippery floors and endless bolted doors would make escape impossible. The place was not breathing; it stank of forgotten happiness and broken lives. And the hallowed nothingness echoed wails of desperation and of wanting death but not having it.

"It would be beautiful if every single speck remembered," she stopped her ring-hook on his chest. He glanced at her eyes which told of his sorrow and he dropped to his knees.

"Let me go," he choked.

"I won't. Unless you let yourself," she countered. Her voice was hoarse.

Every tear and every sob was in her skin, etched permanently. She stuffed herself with humans' failed desires, engorging her body with their pain and left her as a flabby, gassy stump of a woman. Desire is the last thing that Edward would feel for this woman, but he could not let himself be angry with the woman. He knew she was right, he needed to let go and let live. But he could not. He must not lest he forgets why he was on this side of the Gate in the first place. He needed to go back to his world, he needed to see if his brother was alive or if he failed big time. He wished for the former, as the latter would be the end of him. Alphonse must be alive.

Or he would kill himself.

She sat on the floor with him, listening to his sobs. And she smiled, pleased with her work. Another being on the edge. How beautiful this creation was. She tapped the back of his head like a father would do. She remembered how this boy almost escaped from her clutches, but here he was in her realm. Here he was in this world of wars and desolation. Despairing and desiring death but not having it. She would not let him go. Not death, not delirium. She would keep him here until he withered.

She patted his head and muttered something.

Then she tugged the hook, and with it, his heart.

Edward sat himself upright. Breathing heavily, he clutched his chest and dug his fingers on it, making sure that his heart was still inside, and that he was just having a bad nightmare. He looked aimlessly, forehead crinkled in concentration as he tried to remember that lady's words. But he cannot. Irritated, he stood up and only then did he smell the breakfast Alfons, his flatmate, was making.

"Good morning, you're rather early today," The younger boy mused; noting the thinking expression on his friend's face, he added, "Do you have a concern? You look off."

The remark zapped Edward to earth, "What?" And with a sheepish grin, he admitted, "I'm sorry, what's it? I wasn't listening, sorry."

"I said you're off. You're thinking too much this early in the morning," Alfons smiled kindly, turning to his cooking again.

"Oh yeah, I was thinking about my dream," Edward replied, looking at his right side to rack his brains again. God, that bitch, the fuck did she say?

Here we go again, thought the younger boy but he decided to rephrase his thoughts. "What did you dream about?" He let the words flow from his mouth carefully, lest he might sound exasperated. He hoped that this conversation would not turn again to some angsty exchange of his going home and this world being a dream with him comforting his friend that all is alright, which is pure bull, he thought grimly. Just not let it be that, it's half past five, Chrissakes.

"A fat ugly bitch." Edward sighed, shaking his head.

"A fat, excuse me?" Alfons turned around and gave Edward his soup, not quite believing the remark, but he noted the frustrated tone in the other's voice. So he sat down with his own meal, leaning on the table towards his friend.

Edward sighed again, careful not to mention anything about the hook and his heart. "I was in this dark place, and there was this lady who was some sort of a queen there and she said something to me before I woke up. But I can't fucking remember what she said. It's killing me."

Alfons leaned on his chair and commented, "You'll remember that later. And it will frustrate you." He started eating.

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"It's the same thing I experience whenever I want to say something to you, and then suddenly I forget it. Then I only remember it once you're already out, say, I'm still here and you're already in the library."

"It's different."

"It's the same. Requires you to remember things."

Edward shrugged his shoulders, letting Alfons win,"I hope so."

Silence ran between them as they ate. Alfons was relieved that he did not have to deal with a depressed Edward so early in the morning, but wondered why something so fleeting like a sentence be of importance to his friend. He really would not understand Edward completely. Edward, however, was looking at his friend, and with the way Alfons spaced out told the former that the boy across the table was thinking of him.

So he ran a spoon on his bowl of soup and smirked. "Is this water that we're eating?"

Alfons stared at him, not knowing where this turn of topic will go. And instead of blurting out the hell are you expecting? Rabbit stew? The younger of the two chose to hedge and replied, "That's potato soup, Edward," He then took a bite of bread and continued eating.

"You sure?" Edward surveyed the walls. "As far as I can remember we didn't buy potatoes last time. But how come…"

His voice trailed off and gazed at a particular spot on top of Alfons' head. With an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders, he mused. "…the wallpapers are still intact though."

Edward's motives dawned on Alfons, and he blushed thinking about the stupidity of what Edward wanted to imply.

"Are you saying I used the potato paste from the wallpapers to make…"

"I wasn't saying anything like that." Edward smiled widely, feeling elated that Alfons was able to figure out what he wanted to say.

"Oh. Ugh. Fuck you, Edward," Alfons retorted weakly.

"Whoa. What did just you say, Alf-"

"Just eat! Jesus, Edward, I didn't use the wallpaper paste," Alfons said with a hint of finality. But on second thought, he added, "If you didn't ask for too much money from me two nights ago for your beer, then I would have bought enough potatoes for this."

"Oh, so suddenly it's my fault?" Edward smirked, as he knew this will irk the other boy all the more. He really enjoyed seeing the other one blush.

"Yes," The other one replied quickly, "and stop smiling!"

Edward burst out laughing and an irritated Alfons took his bowl.

"No, no, I was joking! You really don't have a sense of humor. Get a grip, Heiderich."

"Shut up, and eat."

Edward put his hands up in surrender and took hold of his bowl and spoon. But he gazed at Alfons. He could have been his brother. If only he was from this world, he would definitely want to be. But no, he, Edward, an intruder from another world, was not included in the ordered nature of this world's existence; that sooner or later, he would leave. Suddenly, he thought of Alfons' life without him. Would Alfons remember that he once befriended a madman with stories of a world not his own? Would he remember that he laughed at his stories? Would he remember that he cried shamelessly in front of him? Would he care? Would he remember to even care?

"Alfons…"

"Hm?" The other one, feeling the intensity and the dream-like gaze of Edward, widened his eyes in confusion.

"If I get to find my way home, would you…" It was almost a whisper; he could not understand why his eyes stung. This world is a dream; I couldn't be mourning for a dream. A dream doesn't remember reality. He bent his head down.

Alfons' features softened and thought that this was something new. Edward has never been the one to ask for favors. He had always thought of himself to be alone, and he was successful at it. He was very alone. And this was by the virtue of Edward being too vigilant and stubborn to let anybody in his world, in his reality. Even he, of all people, could still not understand him. And he waited for that favor which the other one was withholding.

"Edward, I'm waiting," He put his hand on his chin, "I can wait."

With a murmured, "Just don't mind," the older of the two stood up to leave, but the other one scrambled and reached out across the table to get the former's left wrist.

"You've trusted me with your stories. You said you're from another world, and you will find a way home. You've trusted me with that much. What's one more favor? I have time for this," Hearing his last sentence made Alfons smile at himself. No. He definitely did not have any time for this. He was counting his own dying breath. He was bleeding; searching for somewhere to hide his transience. He was bleeding, knowing that this man did not and would never care. So he would not let Edward shove him aside this time. Not now that he thought he was seeing him as he was and not a replacement for his missing piece.

Edward sat down again, careful not to show his face to the younger man, he put his head on the table. He wanted to run and make Alfons think to death, but he also wanted to say what he wanted to say to soothe his feelings; to let this gnawing question out of his system.

He sighed and whispered, "If I, you know, find my way home, would you…"

"Would I?"

"Remember me?" He covered his face with his hands and shut his eyes tight, bracing himself for the other one's rejection. Why did the idea even enter his mind? Here he was sucking up the life of this boy, rejecting him for his countenance, using him as a sort a spare part and he was asking for a favor still?

"Remember you?" Alfons queried. He laughed inwardly at the irony. He was the one who was working very hard for immortality but here he was being asked for it.

"You can hit me now if you want," The older one offered.

Alfons smiled. It was very unusual of Edward to be this emotional. What was even confusing was that Edward was like this because of him. He wondered when Edward cared about him, when he started talking to him as Alfons, and when he started thinking about him.

He smiled and whispered, "Yes, of course. I won't forget you."

Edward snorted; his face still away from those blue eyes.

Alfons thought he heard a sob some time later.

"I told you, leave my collar alone!" Edward hissed dangerously.

"Just stop moving so we'll be done with it," Alfons retorted as he circled the other's neck with a tie.

Retreating in the dance that covered the entire living room, Edward dodged while asking, "What's the point? I don't like ties!"

"So you'll look human!"

"Am I not human enough?" he screeched, not believing what Alfons was implying.

Alfons dropped his arms and sighed, "Edward, we need to look sharp. It's our sponsors that we'll be facing. We can't look like hooligans."

Sensing his friend's frustration, Edward also toned down.

"Sponsors for our rocket project, yeah," He sat on a nearby chair and confessed, "You know, I discovered, I can't really go back. Not with Physics, not the rockets. I just don't want anything to do with rockets anymore. It's just…It's hopeless. I need to know…If he is still alive. I just need to know. Just that," he looked at Alfons who sat in front of him, his face expressionless. "Is that too much to ask?" his question echoed in the room, as if the walls were listening. "Had I asked too much?" it commanded the walls to answer his despair.

"You will find him," The German broke his silence.

"How?"

"I will help you. Just don't give up. Not now, you've reached this far. And you are going to turn back?"

Alfons stood up and smiled, "And I'm still here," he then wrapped the tie around the other's neck.

"Hn," Edward snickered but rested his head on the other's torso.

"The fuck are you doing, Alfons? Wake up!"

As he beheld Alfons' dead body, he remembered the broken mirrors, the slippery floors and the hoarse voice which told him many things. All gushing to him, all slapping him in the face.

Despair told him many things, and yes, he remembered now.

But her words would never bring him back.

Without contentment; without happiness, my work will be for nothing.

He embraced the corpse that was his friend, clutched his chest, and wept.

This time, he felt the hook tugging at his heart.