Dark.
The room was dark. A heavy curtain made of thick fabric covered the single window in the room, blocking out the reddish orange hues that would have otherwise come through from the setting sun. The room was sparsely furnished - a simple dresser and bed placed together by the shrouded window. The occupant of the bed slept fitfully, brow furrowed until the skin on the forehead creased and wrinkled, punctuating sunken eye sockets and cheekbones. Dull, chapped lips were parted to allow shallow, raspy breaths to pass through. All around the figure were thick, heavy blankets that weighed down on the chest, already burdened by the effort of merely breathing. In spite of this, the person shivered intermittently, his pale, clammy skin slick with a sheen of sweat.
Sick.
He was deathly sick. A fever that would not come down. Coughs that kept him up all hours of the day and night. A failing heartbeat that fluttered and fluxed. Intense pain in his head that kept him in a constant state of agony, dulled now by the approach of death the way the medicines never could, never had. Most of the time, he was unaware of his surroundings. In those rare moments when he was alert, he could not even recognize his own brother, his caretaker. This delirium was joined by fits of stupor, leaving him unable to do anything but lie in pain and feel his body break down on him, fail him for the first time in a long time. The last time.
A sliver of light pierced the stillness of the room as another man slipped in, mindful to quickly shut the door to keep the unwanted light out. As he slowly crossed the room to the bedside, his fingertips delicately skimmed the surface of the dresser, activating an array which caused a single candle, standing in the center of the runes, to feebly spark to life. Its glow was so dim that it barely did more than change the shade of the room from pitch black to stone gray. The figure in the bed gave a twitch of his eyelids, the only sign that he had noticed a change at all.
"Brother," the healthy man murmured softly, his words weighted with sorrow like a stone tied around his ankle, dragging him down under the murky, icy waters. He knelt by the sick man and brushed his knuckles across a protruding cheekbone, its edge looking pronounced and gaunt in the weak light.
The sick man's lips twitched open a little farther, and a wheezing breath escaped. He put his tongue behind his back teeth, inhaled shakily, and forced out the ghost of a name.
Al.
"Brother," Alphonse repeated quietly, trailing his fingertips along his brother's cheek affectionately.
Typhus had hit Alphonse's brother like a shot in the dark. He had just returned from a campaign that had taken him all the way from the Central City to the northwestern border. The Fuhrer had called specifically for the aid of the Fullmetal Alchemist to lead a brigade in a skirmish with the neighboring military state of Drachma. Fights breaking out on Amestris' border with Drachma were frequent, and the team had been confident that this battle would be as short-lived as those before it; they were correct. Victory came easily, and the soldiers returned to their homes within a few days.
Most of them died the following week, quarantined in temporary housing near the hospital. Edward was the last of his brigade left – almost three thousand men dead - and the military doctor that had treated him did not anticipate the alchemist living through the night. Friends, peers, and admirers had been through all afternoon to see the Hero of the People, and the few that were actually allowed in to see Edward had all been given a mask to protect themselves and a very short moment to say goodbye. The disease needed to be contained, so extreme caution had been exercised. Only Alphonse was allowed to attend to his dying brother now.
A soft knock on the door broke the stillness. Alphonse mumbled for the visitor to enter, eyes never straying from his brother's pained expression, his clenched jaw, his matted bangs.
General Mustang knelt down next to the boy, eyes fixed on his subordinate, his prodigal pupil, the Fullmetal Alchemist. He said nothing, merely knelt there next to the bed. Eventually, Alphonse let his gaze slip from his brother and up to the General. Even in the low light, Alphonse could make out the broken look on the other man's face, so similar to his own. General Mustang made it clear that he thought of the younger Elric brother like a son, but Edward had always been special to him. When those two were in the same room, it was like fireworks were going off in brilliant reds and blues. Everything was loud and fast and colorful, the air practically crackling with sarcastic wit and banter gone out of control. They breathed chaotic, beautiful light and magic into each other and everything around them. Now, though, that was all gone. The energy that had once radiated from Edward was gone, leaving nothing for Mustang's to react with. He seemed so fragile, so broken, kneeling next to his subordinate. His Edward.
"May I?" Mustang asked quietly, voice tight and hesitant.
Alphonse inclined his head in reply, curious as to what the man would do but more than willing to accommodate his wishes. A second later he was holding his breath, staring in wide-eyed wonder as the General leaned forward and pressed his lips to Edward's forehead. The tenderness of the action, so unlike the military man, struck a chord within Alphonse, and tears that had been bravely held at bay all day now sprung silently from his eyes. He watched on with rapt attention as the General smoothed Edward's dirty blond hair away from his face, ashen and still. He pressed another kiss to the bridge of the man's nose. Edward made a small noise, a tiny whimper of acknowledgment. Gloved fingers traced the shell of Edward's ears before those large hands cupped his whole jaw and Mustang's lips touched Edward's. The action was so tender, so painful, that Alphonse had to look away. As the General pulled back, a tear fell from his eye, landing on Edward's cheek.
"Thank you" was all Roy Mustang said as he slipped out of the room, leaving the brothers alone again. Alphonse watched with bewildered anguish as the corner of Edward's mouth twitch upward.
Within the next hour, he was dead.
Notes:
It's been a while, ladies and gents, but we're back at last. This piece is currently being cowritten by my esteemed colleague, Jason Elric, and will hopefully be updating regularly! We appreciate your readership.