Prose Prompt: Dusk/Burnt Chicken
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Al/Ed brotherbond!
Description: His brother sacrificed everything for him for, so he would sacrifice everything in return.
A fading glow lit the brothers, creating an orange hue upon their features. One created the personification of flame: gold eyes, honey skin and burnished gold hair, that all combined with his brick red cloak, created an imposing if not commanding appearance. The other brother stood tall in spiked steel armor that glowed warmly in the light, softening the appearance of imposing steel to a submissively-stanced warm individual. Before an open flame, a pot hanged above containing oil, spitting, bubbling and popping, threatening to burn the equally spitting blonde; arms flailing, hair frizzing, mouth opened to spill foul words that sullied the peaceful air.
His brother with his submissive behavior hung behind him, with a frown that could be imagined across the armor's helmet as he tried to appease his brother with passive words. He pleaded; his words weren't moving his foul tempered brother. Instead the brother glared at him from the corner of his eye with a golden cold stare.
"Stupid flaming chicken; I can't even see it cooking! The flour is coming off to! Dammit," He violently his fist at the sky. "I bet that no good bastard would have a good ole laugh, no doubt!" His voice deepened to portray the mockery. "Full Metal, how many midgets does it take to cook a bird? Apparently more than one at the rate you're going!" He finished with scorn and began to mutter after his outburst darkly, his aura only growing in its ominous nature. His steel clad brother looked as if stifling a laugh, the imitations were a classic Mustang as well as keeping the classic Elric impressionism.
"Did you remember the little timer, Big Brother?" His looming brother asked in a desperate attempt to be helpful. But he was only rewarded by his brother slumping and turning around with a dangerous look upon his face. The brother's aura darkened by the second and it took everything within the steel clad brother to not let out the barest of squeaks of surprise and fear.
"What the hell do you think I was doing?" His golden eyed and foul tempered brother flailed with exaggerated emotion. And in his flailing, his arm smacked the pot with a metallic clang, sending the oil spilling from the pot. Another set of vulgar explicatives exited his lips and he jumped to save the chicken with his other hand. And that he did, with both hands holding oil frothing, spitting and gleaming chicken hot and apparently vengeful, judging by the increasing red tone of both the brother's face and his hands. For the chicken was all intents and purposes, hot and was currently scalding his hand. As he reached his breaking point, he let out a pained shriek, throwing the chicken once more into the air.
This time, it was the steel clad brother who plucked the chicken out of its midflight. Though unlike his brother, he seemed unaffected by its heat. A long pregnant pause followed as the golden eyed brother judged the situation. His face turning from his hands, to his brother's hands and back to his scalded blistered palm.
"Dammit Al! How can it…" he trailed off as with sudden realization. It was his fault his little brother couldn't feel the head of the scalding chicken, he couldn't feel anything. Not hugs given by the overenthusiastic Gracia, not of the soft supple smooth skin of the baby Elicia. Absolutely nothing penetrated the armor that only contained his soul, no body. And it was all his fault! His steel-clad armor brother, now identified as Al, only seemed oblivious to his golden eyed brother's plight.
"Ed, I saved the chicken!" His demeanor smiled happily, not his face. He continued to babble happily of their good fortune. The other golden eyed brother, now to be known as Ed, frowned.
"Yeah…" He grumpily trailed off and went to retrieve the two plates to be used. Even if Al couldn't taste the warm flavorful fried chicken, they could pretend that everything was normal. With the somewhat burnt chicken on its individual plate, they began to eat. Or rather Ed began to eat. Al, though, had begun to recognize the tense atmosphere and misinterpreted its cause. He blamed himself and sat sullenly, not bothering with the pretense of eating.
It wasn't long ago, in a fit of selfishness, that Ed had roped his brother in an attempt to reanimate their long dead mother. They had first learned alchemy to make their mother smile, but they had continued to bring her back. But on that horrid day, when they had tried to break that sacred rule, of bringing back the dead, it went all wrong. They had brought back a monster, a horrid writhing crying mess of a creation that lied on its back in a puddle of blood gasping reaching. And his brother, his poor brother gone, taking by a swirling black hole that left only his clothing. Gone. His leg gone, but he would sacrifice everything, his arm, his heart, the very breath that gave him life. It took all his concentration to overcome the torrents of pain that throbbed from the sluggishly bleeding stump all of which that threatened to drown him. His brother sacrificed everything for him for a stupid idea that costed him his body, so he would sacrifice everything in return. And even with his right arm gone, he still owed it to his brother. So he would sacrifice his name, as a military dog, he would sacrifice his home, by trapeizing around the country; all to search for a stupid stone, to give a proper body to house his brother's soul. Though originally they alchemized for their mother, he would continue for his brother: for redemption for his sins against his brother and for his sins as a person. He glanced over to his pouting brother and saw an image of his original younger brother, at the age of five, superimposed upon the antique armor. He shook the haunting image from his mind.
"Al?" He left his voice linger around them in an open question. Al perked up, straightening his back and turning to his brother, who was slumped next to him. His elbows rested upon his knees, forearms limp and hands dangling.
"Yes, Big Brother?" Al queried hesitantly. Ed looked from the corner of his eye, soft and filled with an equally hesitant warmth.
"Good job, it looks good," taste is taboo, he wouldn't mention it. But he would give him something; something to fill him with warmth, something to let Al know that he was Ed's world, vital, important. Ed needed his little brother; Al. Al seemed to straighten even more, his demeanor smiled though his armor was taciturn. Ed would always make sure his brother's happiness. It was the least he could do.