1924- the deal with Death on a great personal sacrifice and a tormented soul
Alfons liked to, in his spare time, pretend Edward wasn't lying to him.
He like to entertain that maybe when Edward said he was not his friend because of the similarities between himself and his bother, that maybe he wasn't lying.
Most of all he liked to imagine that Edward had seen something in Alfons that was worthy enough, to be his friend. But at the same time, was something he hadn't seen when he looked at his younger brother.
The week leading up to the funeral, Alfons spent hours locked up in his room just pretending. Pretending there wasn't an unconscious Elric in the room next to his that had saved his life, and he pretended he didn't see the worried and angry stares from Edward that softened every time he thought of his brother who was now so close he could touch, but still not close enough.
Alfons always made sure though, never to think too hard about how deeply Edward cared for the man who bore the same name as him, because it made his heart ache with loneliness, he was not an Elric. And he never could be.
But he wondered if Edward closed his eyes could he tell the difference? He wondered when Edward would close his eyes while he prattled on to Edward about his day, he was really imaging someone else, that I am not there.
As ridiculous as that sounded, for he ended up sounding like a jealous lover, which he was certainly was not. Alfons had never really had a friend of his own, that he'd found on his own. Someone that he could call truly a friend.
He used to call Edward a friend, but maybe the only friend he could count on to not judge him, or leave him or even think of someone else was just himself.
He had spent the better part of a week ignore everyone, they probably thought he was in shock, he had died you know. But nobody cared they were still fawning over that precious little… boy that had ruined him, everything he cared about, maybe he'd have been better off if Alfons was dead.
Then Edward would have been happy with his brother and he could have seamlessly taken my place… like I was never there… and no one would remember me.
But maybe they'd remember him. And through him, I'd be remembered… maybe?
He was dead anyway, to the rest of the world at least. He even attended his own funeral thanks to some cut hair and the guise of one, Alphonse Elric. Noa even danced, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and mournful even if he wasn't dead. Privately Alfons thought watching her dance for him might have been worth dying.
It was unavoidable anyway, his apparent death that it is. So many people saw Alfons die before they were ushered out of the factory, they saw a rocket scientist, a henchman and all that blood. However only Hughes, a deranged blonde women with false ideals of another world, a few henchmen, Noa and two Elric brothers saw Alfons be beam full of light as two hands blood coated clapped together and press on his chest bringing him back to life.
He didn't get to see this. He did however see a small brunette collapse in front of him; as several people rushed to his attention, worry for his health.
Alfons learned that day that almost anything could be dealt with, with large amounts of hush money.
Alfons also finds himself wishing he wasn't so terribly cynical and bitter, as he's looking back on events but what was the use of two Alfonses in one world, it shouldn't even be possible. He was the weaker link, the impurity, the left over he was supposed to die so that the other could live in happiness. He was supposed to make a difference and that, that Boy ruined everything.
He felt as if he could cry in anger, that boy had ruined his whole life, and the carefully constructed lies and promises he had believed that his whole life had balanced on were now toppling over.
But now he's finished with all of that crap. He's so sick of it.
He was done. He had it, he was being melodramatic and angsty and that was really that had always been Edward forte over his. He got out of bed, it may have taken a week but he was beginning to see the good in not being dead.
For one thing he wasn't dead.
In fact he was very much alive. He tip toed out of his room to the one next door. Edward was asleep in a chair, as he should as it was well after midnight, but Alfons in his more weak brotherly moments did wish he would sleep in a bed for a change.
He peered over the bed into the face of a boy who could have easily been him if his hair was a shade or two lighter, and a year or five older. He looked so innocent, and so young and suddenly he was over come with shame. He hadn't asked him too but the boy had ruined his life again, and over someone he didn't even know.
Alfons recalled when he had asked why Edward had struggled so hard for the philosopher's stone, he had told him that Alfons could never feel the shame, the guilt the hopelessness or the responsibility of when someone sacrifices everything for you, for your cause or maybe even for the greater good. He said he would do anything to be able to give that back. To return it, or replace the loss, so they could pretend and carry on like it never happened. Or if not maybe he could carry on like Edward had never happened.
Alfons could feel it now, he wondered if maybe that boy, that very young boy might ever wake up, and he could be released from this feeling, because he was drowning and gasping in this sea of emotion. He couldn't understand how Edward had dragged himself up in the morning on the faint ideal of hope.
He stared longingly into the closed lids of the boy, wincing at the burns so vicious circling around his eyes that the scars would probably be horrendous, he willed for a sign, a clue anything that could suggest life.
Then, almost sudden two scared lids flew open to reveal two dark holes where he was sure two eyes were supposed to be.
Equivalent exchange: The rule that alchemists that is considered to be the foundation of Alchemy, or even the fundamental law of the world: to obtain, something of equal value must be lost.
It seemed that to reattach a just released soul from a warm body was; one pint of blood, one skilled willing alchemist, the ability to detach ones soul to bind the soul to a body and most importantly a suitable sacrifice: one set of misty grey eyes.
Alfons felt this an appropriate time to faint.
So he did.
authors note: please forgive me, first graduation, then work, then the ball- which had serious high school drama I'm never talking to you again 'stuff' attached, and then when I felt like writing my computer died.
2 months and one computer later I'm still floundering on this chapter, I realised I was writing ahead of myself and had to convey Alfons traumatic feelings (which any normal person would feel under the circumstance) and so I cranked this out. I was in a rush to finally finish, so it aint perfect, but then again life never is. Thank you for any reviews given bows and heart felt appreciation.
