Had Al possessed a human body, he would have probably been shaking. As it was, his soul was quivering with nervous energy that demanded to be burned somehow, and the walk from the train station to the hospital didn't seem to help. He wrung his gauntlets together, shifting restlessly side to side as the elevator slowly rose from the first floor to the second.

Three months. It had been three months since his brother had left the dorm with a suitcase slung over one shoulder and a smile on his face. He had told Alphonse not to worry, that he would see him in one week tops, and then they could get back to the "stuff that actually matters." Then he walked out the door, and disappeared.

Those months had been a numb blur for Al. He had visited every town, every farm, every abandoned shack. His metal body was beaten and rusted, his gauntlets worn. He didn't have time to stop for self-maintenance, though, not with Ed missing. He had called the Colonel often to see if he had heard anything, but was always met with disappointment, and every day, he could feel his soul slowly crushing under the strain of it, the anguish.

The guilt.

What kind of little brother couldn't save their missing sibling? Did Ed blame him? Ed had probably thought that Al gave up, was just going to leave him to rot in some prison cell or ditch on the side of the road. Or maybe he was scared that Al had abandoned him, welcomed the chance to be rid of him. Or had he just accepted that Al was better off without him and gave up?

All of those possibilities drove him, fueled his desperation as he tore apart the countryside. He had been at the very border when he found a phone. He was about to cross into Drachma, and he hadn't been sure if he would have access to a phone again for a very long time. Drachma was dangerous. It could get him killed, but he had exhausted his options in Amestris, and if there was even the slightest chance Ed was there, he was willing to risk it.

But when the Colonel's secretary had said to come straightaway, he knew. She didn't have to say why, because Al felt it in his soul. It was like seeing the sun rise after an endless night, and if Al could have cried, he would have.

That was two days ago. Two days was enough time to worry about what condition he would find Ed in.

The nervous energy was about to shake him apart from the soul out as the elevator finally settled at the second floor and let out a merry ding, doors sliding open.

He almost collided with Mustang in his haste.

"Alphonse," Mustang greeted, taking a calculated step back from the suit of hard metal and dangerous spikes.

"Sorry, sir," he apologized quickly. "Where's Ed?" He started to brush past the Colonel, but was halted by a hand on his chest plate.

"Alphonse, we need to talk."

"In a minute, sir. I need to see Ed," he insisted, the faint beginnings of hysteria creeping into his voice as he again tried to push past him. It had been three months. Talks could wait until after he had seen his brother with his own eyes.

"Alphonse."

Something in the Colonel's voice stopped Al cold. He turned slowly to face Mustang, really looking at him this time. The man was bedraggled, dressed in rumpled trousers and a wrinkled shirt. He was pale and his dark hair was an untidy mess on his head. One thing Mustang prided himself on was his appearance. He was the definition of immaculate, and the fact that he looked like something the cat dragged in set off alarm bells in Al's head.

But probably the most distressing thing of all was the Colonel's eyes. At the surface, they appeared calm and collected, but Al had spent years observing the Colonel, watching those eyes, and though they seemed strong and resilient, Al saw the haunted look there, a trepidation and an anguish that couldn't be described with words.

Al stopped. "Sir . . ."

"Come with me."

The Colonel led Alphonse down the quiet hallway to a small waiting room. The sun was just beginning to paint the horizon a pale pink outside, softening the room in a delicate, hallowed sort of silence. It was far from comforting, though; it reminded Al of their mother's graveside. It was haunting, and Al didn't like the way Mustang watched him, observing him as if he were a ticking time bomb.

The Colonel continued to study him, not speaking as his eyes raked over his dented and scarred suit, as if trying to determine if Al himself was alright. Al felt his notoriously infinite patience trickling away. Ed was on this floor, probably less than a hundred feet away, and the Colonel was here wasting the time Al could be spending with him.

"What is it?" he snapped. Maybe he would be ashamed of that later, of nearly biting off Mustang's head when he had saved his brother and was only showing concern for Alphonse, but right now he had to get to Ed, and Mustang was standing in his way.

Mustang flinched, as if catching himself. He took a deep breath and looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze cautious. "You know we found Ed."

Alphonse wanted to scream. Of course he knew they found him! Why else would he be here?! Some small, muted part of him that still held fast to manners made him keep his mouth shut, though, and only offer a nod in response.

"There are some things you need to know before you go in there, Alphonse."

And he told him.

And never had Alphonse wanted to cry more for his brother.


It took Alphonse almost half an hour to regain control of himself. If he had possessed a human body, it would have taken much longer.

Finally, when he was ready, the Colonel put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and guided him to Ed's room.

The Colonel had warned him that Ed might panic at the sound, that he might shy and try to get away from him at first, but as soon as Al rounded the corner, Ed was sitting up, propped on his only arm and sightless eyes fixed on the doorway.

"Al?" he whispered.

Alphonse knew everything about that voice. He knew every inflection, every tone, but this was new. Ed's voice sounded dry, almost painful, as if he hadn't used it for more than screaming in a very long time, and it made Al wish he could cry. There was a desperate edge to it, too, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

And fear. Ed's voice should never sound like that . . . "Al, is that you?"

If he had been human, he wouldn't be able to stifle his tears.

As it was, he just felt his soul break.

Ed's eyes, once golden and beautiful, were a cloudy shade of withered leaves and bleached sand.

"Al?" he asked again, desperation escalating to near panic. He looked to be about a breath away from leaping out of bed.

"I'm here, Brother." Just because he didn't have a body didn't mean he didn't have emotions. He choked on his, the sentence barely making it from his metal body. "I'm here."

The corners of Ed's eyes softened and Al saw tears glisten. "Al," he choked.

With some difficulty, Al wrenched his body from its position frozen in the doorway and flew to Ed's side. "Brother, I'm here," he said again. Ed's hand was reaching, searching through the air, so Al let him touch his gauntlet, afraid to do anything more.

But Ed latched onto his glove like a lifeline, tugging him closer to the bed and trying to get his arm around Al's metal waist.

"Careful, Fullmetal," Roy cautioned from the door, voice oddly soft. Al had never heard him address Ed like that before. "You'll hurt yourself."

Ed ignored him completely, whipping off the covers in frustration and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Brother, don't—" Ed was out of bed before Al could get the sentence out, leaning heavily against Alphonse, clinging to his armor with his only hand, the tears coming freely now.

"Al," Ed whispered, burying his face into Al's side. "I'm so glad . . . I thought—"

Without warning, his legs buckled underneath him. Al caught him before he hit the floor, gently lifting his older brother into his arms and cradling him close, not ever wanting to let go. If Ed had been himself, he would never have allowed such contact, but he wrapped his hand around Al's collar tightly, like a child might latch onto a parent. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Al was glad Ed was allowing him to hold him. It almost quieted the panic in his soul, the tension in his metaphoric heart.

"I thought I'd never see—" Ed cut the sentence off abruptly, face twisting into an anguished look. The slip up was not lost on Al. "I mean, I . . . you're here, Al. You're here, and that's all that matters," he said decidedly, tears streaming down his face as he pressed his cheek to Al's chest plate. Al wished he could feel it.

"No, you're here, Brother. That's all that matters," Al whispered, holding the delicate body as tightly as he dared.

Ed shook his head, a watery smile lighting his face the barest bit.

Alphonse wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. He was vaguely aware of Mustang leaving with Havoc in tow, though Al didn't know when Havoc got there, or if perhaps he had been there all along. A nurse walked in at one point, but was dragged back out by a pale hand that looked suspiciously like the Colonel's. The sun rose high in the sky, but Al didn't let go. They didn't say anything, but neither of them needed to. Ed just clung to him, and Al just held him and they simply were.

They were finally together as they should be.


Al finally managed to convince Ed to get back in bed, but only by staying by the bedside with one enormous hand wrapped around Ed's, the way Mustang said Ed needed it. Al didn't necessarily understand it yet, but he trusted the Colonel's judgment.

After releasing him, Al got a chance to look over his big brother, and he didn't like what he saw. Ed's normally tanned skin was pale and marred by stitches and bruises, and his hair was a tangled, limp mess instead of the neat braid he usually kept it in. He was so thin, ribs clearly visible under the cheap hospital gown, and even as Al watched his shoulder port seeped a small rivulet of blood where it met the skin, staining the bed sheets a horrible crimson from the recent strain.

But his eyes . . . those were by far the worst.

Al knew Ed. He knew him almost better than he knew himself. Ed was the kind of person that had to be doing something to feel useful. He was someone that needed a battle to fight, to do something physical and active and dangerous, and a goal to channel all of it towards.

More than that, Ed saw that his little brother needed him, and he tried his best to be everything that Al needed: a brother, father, mother, a friend and teacher, the disciplinarian, the rule maker and the rule breaker. Without a doubt Ed was the rock of their small, fractured family. He always tried to fill in all the roles that had been vacated in their lives, accepting challenging responsibilities forced upon him when he was barely seven.

Ed was also prideful, almost to a fault. He was fiercely independent, always needing to do things for the both of them all by himself. He accepted no charity, no help. He lived his life by Equivalent Exchange, and he wouldn't accept what he felt he hadn't earned.

And now all of that was jeopardized. There was no sense denying it. What those men had done to him, they compromised everything Ed was. They compromised his independence, his pride, his self-sufficiency. They compromised the only thing he wanted most in the world; the ability to find the Philosopher's Stone and get their bodies back, all in one felled swoop.

Edward without independence, without a purpose, was a terrifying thing to contemplate. Al had witnessed it firsthand, when they had tried to bring their mother back. When everything they had worked and sacrificed for came crashing down around them. Confined in that wheelchair, the look in Ed's eyes was much the same as it was now; raw, haunted, despaired.

There was something else there, though. Something Al only rarely caught glimpses of, but it always made his heart stop when he did. It was an expression that looked so foreign on Ed's face that Al wanted to wipe it away, to tell Ed to stop, it was scaring him.

It was fear. And fear was the last word Al associated with Ed. It wasn't like the quick, starting fear you feel for dark alleys and Homunculi, or even the desperate edge of possibly loosing someone close to you. It was something much deeper, much more broken. It was like the kind you see in the eyes of abused dogs.

"Hey, Al?" Ed murmured, unable to disguise a quiet edge of desperation in his voice, as if he were afraid Al wouldn't answer.

Al gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "What is it, Brother?"

The gesture seemed to take some of the tension from his face and he closed his sightless eyes with a slow, steadying breath. "Nothing," Ed responded with a small shake of his head. "Nothing."

Al stared at his brother, taking in the pained lines on his face. "Liar."

A feeble smile flitted across his face, like catching the reflection of the sun in a mirror, then it was gone. "Are you okay?"

It was a long moment before Al regained the ability to speak. Was he okay? After all Ed had been through, he wanted to know if Al was okay? "Don't be stupid, Ed. You have a lot more to worry about right now."

Muted gold eyes opened, a tiny frown appearing between them. "You haven't been taking care of yourself, Al," he chastised lightly, his pale hand stroking Al's leather gauntlet. "Your gloves are worn out."

Al found himself laughing, a shrill, almost hysteric sound. "I'll let you fix me up as soon as you get your arm back."

Ed's expression immediately closed. Al recognized it. It was the look he got when he was trying to protect Al from something, something that might hurt him to know. "I don't think that's a good idea."

If Al had possessed eyebrows, he might have frowned. "What do you mean?"

He turned his head away from Al, up to the ceiling, mouth turned down into a grimace as if finding the words was painful. "You know as well as I do that alchemists need to actually see what they're transmuting, Al," he said, voice muted. "I'm not risking you for something as silly as maintenance. You can do it yourself, it'll just be a pain."

Al didn't miss the longing in his voice. One of the things they stopped to do, just the two of them, was maintenance. The time was special to them both, one of the rare times they were forced to slow down and just focus on each other and not the problems of the world around them. There was a level of vulnerability and trust to having metal bodies repaired and automail limbs oiled and cleaned that made talking that much easier. Some of their most meaningful conversations had taken place while performing maintenance on the other, and Ed was grieving for it.

"We can talk about it later, Brother," Al assured him. "I think you need to rest now."

Again, that awful fear flared behind his eyes, and it didn't dim like it was supposed to. "I'm not tired," he insisted.

Was it wrong of Al to be despaired that his brother could no longer hide such a un-Ed-like emotion like fear? Before, if Ed had felt afraid, he would cover it easily behind his blasé comments and his cocky grin, but that armor had been broken, pierced and destroyed from abuse no one should have to endure. All he had now was a tortured soul, laid bare and vulnerable with no way to hide it.

But maybe that was Al's job now. Ed had always taken such good care of him, doing the best he knew how to make sure Al was protected and safe. Maybe it was Al's turn to step up, to be there for his brother now that he couldn't do it himself.

Maybe it was Al's chance to pay Ed back for all he'd done.

Al made a decision in that moment. He was going to get Ed's eyesight back. He didn't know how he was going to do it, but he couldn't let his brother continue living like this. He knew in his heart that Ed would never be happy this way, even if he ever recovered enough to the point to pretend to be.

He would fix this, somehow.

Ed seemed to sense Al's thoughts. "Al? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Brother," he promised, hoping he could hear the smile in his voice. "Go to sleep, Ed. I know you're tired. I'll be here when you wake up."

Ed sighed heavily. "Okay." He rolled gingerly onto his side, taking Al's hand with him. He held it close to his chest and let his eyes close. "I'm glad you're here, Al."

Al almost choked on his words, soul smiling softly. "I'm glad, too."


Don't worry, Edo! Al will save you! :D /shot/

Shorter chapter than last time . . . hope that's okay haha. I found this chapter emotionally draining to write for some reason, so I felt the need to cut it off before it sucked my soul dry. Maybe it was all the feels? Or maybe because I found it really challenging to write . . . I dunno, I hope everything turned out believable, regardless.

I'll reply to all the signed reviews from the last chapter tonight/tomorrow, and if you're still waiting to hear back from me on your reviews on Heart, I WILL have them responded to by my next update here. It's silly it's taken me this long, so I apologize profusely -.- I've been insanely busy with commissions and play practice, and that silly thing called "life" that likes to slap me in the face every time I get a break, so unfortunately things like that get stuck on the back burner, and they shouldn't. It shall be remedied.

Thanks for all of your wonderful support! Each and every view/favorite/review means the world to me :) So do drop a review if you would, and I'll see you next chapter :D

God Bless,

-RainFlame