Edward Elric rocked gently in the rocking chair on the front porch, watching the gentle breeze ripple the grass that coated the hills of Risenpool. His younger brother watched him silently through the open front door. Ever since Winry had died, Ed had taken to sitting out on the porch, staring off into the distance. Al knew that he was thinking about those of their friends who had died, and wondering who would be next.

Most of their friends were long dead, since so many of them were much older than they were. The Mustangs, Brigadier General Havoc, Lieutenant-General Breda, Colonel Farman, even Lieutenant Fury. Armstrong, Ross, and Bloch were all dead, and Scieszka had died just a week ago, squinting as she tried to read a book in bed. Glacier had died long ago, and Elysia was raising her own children now. Sensei and her husband had died, as had Mason. Few of their old friends were left.

And now Ed sat in the rocking chair, staring into the distance where they had met all those friends long ago, as if he wished he could bring those days back. He was old himself, old and stooped, his white hair wispy and his golden eyes tired. Al didn't like looking into those eyes; he didn't like thinking about how old his brother was becoming. Ed's natural limbs now creaked as much as his auto-mail ones, brittle and fragile, but Al's body never changed. He hated how his body never changed, how he looked the same at ninety as he had at fourteen. It seemed that the older his brother grew, the greater the rift was between them.

At last Ed rose from his chair, leaning heavily on his cane, and tottered back into the house. Al rushed forward to help him back into his room, and Ed let out a long sigh as he lay down in his bed, his eyes closed as though he was weary beyond words.

Al was about to tiptoe out of the room when Ed grasped his wrist with his right hand, the metal joints creaking. "Stay, Al," he said, his voice raspy like dead leaves rattling together on a bare-branched tree. "I don't want to be alone."

Al sat down next to the bed, not liking the tone of his brother's voice.

After several minutes of silence, Ed opened his eyes once more and said in a stronger voice, "It's like we've switched places now, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

Ed smiled up at him, just the shadow of the cheery smile of his youth. "You always used to say that you didn't like being left alone at night. And now...I can't stand it either." He reached out to grip Al's hand. "Al...I don't have much time left."

"Don't say that, Brother!" Al cried, holding Ed's hand in both of his.

"Ah, but it's true," Ed sighed. For a few moments, he was completely still. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring you back, Al."

"Brother, don't worry about it," Al reassured him. "We made our decision long ago. We had no regrets."

"Yes..." Ed murmured sorrowfully. "But I...I would have liked to see you smile again."

"Brother..."

Ed turned his face away, and his voice was a little muffled when he said, "I've always wanted to say this in words, but... Al...I love you."

"I know." Al waited for him to say more, but Ed was silent. When several minutes had passed, Al bent over his brother's face, to see if he had fallen asleep. But then he saw those golden eyes, blank and staring, and he knew that no one could wake him now.

Risenpool's cemetery sprawled over a hilltop, slightly removed from the scattered farmhouses and fields. It was deserted that evening, deserted except for the suit of armor that knelt before one of the graves, head bowed, the setting sun casting a long shadow out behind it. Al had been kneeling there all day, ever since he had finished making the grave with alchemy. It sat right next to one bearing the name 'Trisha Elric', and Al remembered another day when he had knelt before that grave. So long ago, yet it seemed like yesterday. Once again, he was cold. Once again, he wanted to say to his brother, "Let's go home."

Al truly was an empty suit of armor now. A deep pit yawned inside him, a great nothingness that threatened to blot out the sun itself. His heart was empty, his emotions spent. He had done his share of weeping without tears, of calling his brother's name and remembering all the things they had done together. They had accomplished many things, and overall their lives had been happy. But Al had seen too many deaths, too many deaths of too many dear friends. This last one, the death of the one person who had been dearest to him, was the killing stroke. Inside, he was dead. He only continued to exist as an empty shell of the human that had been Alphonse Elric.

As Al knelt before his brother's grave, he knew that he couldn't continue to live anymore. He was practically immortal, but what use was immortality when the one who made life worth living was gone forever? In his despair, he made a decision. Al pulled off his helmet and set it before the grave. Then he reached inside his armor and pressed his finger against the symbol marked in old blood. For a moment, the suit of armor remained upright. But then it tipped over sideways, falling onto the ground with a resounding crash.

Sometimes, even the immortal can die.