Epilogue

His ass was freezing and his teeth were chattering in ridiculous protest. Damn it was supposed to be spring already, but of course, the world had other plans for him.

The early morning hues in the sky drifted over the horizon; inky purples and blues were scattering towards the west, for in the east, a mass of pastel pinks and reds were brewing. The sunrise wouldn't be far to come. A serene mist was rising over the mountains and the grass was saturated with dew. Birdsong drifted through the air and smoke profusely rose from the chimney beside him.

Ed coughed lightly. That was probably Winry making her cup of tea for the day.

But there wasn't time for that!

"Hurry up, you two!" Ed shouted, thumping his foot on the roof. It shook; dust was probably trickling from the attic now. He would probably have to clean it up later. Probably. Living with that gearhead meant he would certainly be doing the tidying up for the damage he had caused.

He smiled; despite the uprooted chaos which was guaranteed living back at home in Resembool, things had returned to his definition of "normalcy".

And this journey, he thought, is nearly over.

Ed had woken up when the sky had been as dark as coal. The moon had set, although the stars had still been glimmering in their aqua light, minute halos glimmering in the heavens. He had lain there awake, watching and wondering about what was going to happen next. His goal of bringing Al's body back had been accomplished. But there was so much that he wanted to do-

The pain that had been caused through alchemy had tormented him since the failed resurrection and Al's "death". He had been haunted by the ghosts of his mind, driven to a despair and madness that he didn't think he would be able to escape from; it had been better to blot out of the pain like ink over a letter, a memory, and wait until those feelings went away.

That only caused for them to bite back harder.

He had drifted back into a semi-conscious state, dreaming of ink and letters and quills when-

The letters.

Al's letters had been scattered across his desk for months, lying untouched and abandoned. After Al had his body back, he had been admitted to the hospital in Central for bedrest and hadn't been discharged until weeks later; Al's body had had a lot of growing to catch up on. And his dexterity and motor skills had been appalling considering in the suit of armour all he had to do was extend his control along the limbs and will them to move. With muscles and joints at his disposal, which had atrophied through the time spent at the Gate, it was no surprise that the nurses had plugged him with IV. Al disliked the medical attention but he knew it was the fastest way for his body to heal.

There would be time to do everything once he was fully recovered.

Ed had remained with Al, with Winry, Granny, Mustang and his team paying regular visits. The Colonel used the visits as an excuse to slack from his work. Yet Hawkeye didn't seem to mind her superior officer spending hours talking to the Elrics; hours drifted by unknowingly and already, hospital visiting hours would have ended.

Cheap, manipulative bastard harassing his younger brother.

Ed wouldn't have been able to return to sleep now. He stretched and arched his back like a tiger and heaved himself to his feet, balancing on his left arm. Careful as not to wake Al, he had tiptoed across the room to the stack of letters buried on the desk.

He looked at the meticulous handwriting; Al was the gifted artist and musician in the family, while all Edward seemed capable of producing was slop and illegible handwriting. There was such care poured into his cursive prose labelled Colonel Roy Mustang… but Ed skipped over them parts.

The address wasn't important, but the dates imprinted in the corner of the letters were. Ed wanted to read the letters in chronological order and tab the journey that Al had been on through their endless search for their bodies.

Al had always been by his side, but his brother's personal experiences of their journey remained a mystery to Ed.

Damn what if Al thought he was a reckless, hot-headed midget who left destruction on their wake and some sort of shenanigans were centred on them on a daily basis?

Ed groaned internally; his shoulders slumped and with his left hand he moved the letters into a row. There were at least several dozen of them; Al had sure been busy. But why had Ed never seen these letters before?

The darkness which surrounded him silently gave the older Elric his answer; Al didn't need to sleep. Al could spend the night tabbing on the events of the day while Ed dreamed uneasily of Gates and chimeras.

However he had not had a bad dream since Al had returned.

Rubbing his eyes to dispel the last traces of tiredness, Ed moved back to admire his handy work. There lying before him was a complete collection of letters written by Al to the Colonel, which had returned to Ed's possession. Here was a chronology of Al's experience of his lost childhood in which the two brothers had been forced to grow up to quickly and enlist themselves to the State in a last hope to get their bodies back with a legendary substance – the stuff of fable.

Ed's heart had started pounding. What if…

What if Al had hated their journey?

What if Al had been pretending about it all along?

What if Al hated him?

"Shut it, Elric," Ed hissed to himself. He should never think such things about Al. This was a telling of Al's experience. What was etched on the paper was final.

He drew a steady breath in the hope to slow his pounding heart down. With his foot, he dragged the chair away from its place tucked behind the desk and slopped into the seat, but then pushed himself upright, as if he was attending a formal gathering.

Even though he was a fast reader, there always had to be a place to start.

He tentatively reached for the first letter, its papery touch delicate and soft like a feather. Ed pulled open the rickety drawer to his left slowly and delved into its contents, his hand reappearing with a match. Hoping Winry wouldn't notice the mark that would be left behind, he flicked the match across the table like chalk. And on his first try, a spark ignited in the otherwise dark and silent room. The candle was unlit as yet (and Ed briefly wondered how long it had been waiting there for him) and its waxy touch embraced the flame as they were brought into close contact. Like two lovers entwined, the melting wax and quivering flame, the shadows cast on the wall resembled those lovers dancing by moonlight.

Ed peeled the corner of the letter open and it opened easily; it had obviously been read by its recipient before. However, the ease with which the envelope popped open signified that it had been read more than once, more than twice…

He cocked his head in confusion…strange.

But he was even keener to read through their contents. The candle wouldn't burn on forever; already its wax was crashing in globules to the floor like shedding skin.

The paper slid onto his desk like a pond skater skirting across the water's surface, far more delicate than the flickering flame beside him. There was not a crease to be seen, and even though this letter was five years old, it didn't contain the musty smell of books being locked away in a cupboard for years. It smelt of nature and trees, of a world contained within the confines of ink and paper, like a voice yearning to be heard.

It smelt like Al.

It was strange what the night gave to Ed; he focused on the tiny details he would have deemed insignificant in the daylight. Perhaps it was because in the night, even the quietest of voices could be heard in the rolling pastures of Resembool.

However, as his fingers furled around the paper's edge, he was suddenly reluctant to open it any further. He was about to see the world from a whole new perspective; the prospect was terrifying.

Ed closed his eyes and took three deep breaths.

And then he opened the letter's contents.

"About time you two made it!" Ed called as he heard the clambering of moving bodies climbing up the ladder. He bustled over, drawing in his cloak closer around him – its blanket warmth caressing and gentle.

Al's head appeared first. Messy bed hair stuck up in all directions, and he had bags under his eyes. However, his golden eyes were gleaming with vigour that Ed couldn't ever stop looking at. Whenever he thought about their journey – and his sacrifice – he knew that everything was worth it

Winry quickly followed. She carried with her the aroma of kitchen and caffeine; Ed wondered smugly if they were going to get an apple pie as a treat for coming home.

After all, this was the first night that the three of them were back in Resembool.

He had thought of inviting Granny, but the old short bat would have declined straightaway.

"Granny not coming then?" he asked teasingly.

Al chuckled lightly but Winry scoffed at the thought, "She's getting on, Ed. Her back just wouldn't cop-"

"Or maybe she's just too goddamn short," Ed said heartlessly.

"I heard that!" a voice shouted from below.

"Don't get Granny cross, Brother, you know what her temper can be li-"

"Heard that too you dull lack wits! Some of us are trying to sleep!" Pinako bellowed. Ed heard a window snap shut.

Well that was that, it seemed.

The three blonds stared at each other in silence and burst out into a fit of laughter a moment later. Ed's stomach heaved painfully; his ribs not having fully healed yet, but he didn't stop laughing. Al was doubled over and Winry was wiping tears from her eyes. The reaction was so natural.

Several months ago, this would not have been possible.

All of that pain and sacrifice; this is what it had been for.

As the laughter died away slowly, Ed's thoughts trailed to his automail. His leg's connective motor had been severed and with a quick inspection from Winry and a few beating of the wrench over the head had led her to say that even though the parts would be expensive, it was easily fixable.

But his shattered automail arm it seemed had left Ed's nerves capable of feeling beyond the shoulder port, as if a part of them had been lost. Because when he had braced himself for the connectivity of his automail, he had felt nothing. No pain, no sensation, no feeling.

It was as if his arm was a deadweight being carried around by him. Even on the rooftop, it dangled uselessly by his side. He had tried to spend hours at a time focusing on recuperating the fragile nerves he had shattered by moving one finger at a time, trying to lift each part of his automail slowly. Although despite his efforts, he still felt nothing.

It was as if that had been Ed's toll for bringing Al back. If he ever found a way to get his flesh arm back (not that he was too keen to meet face to face with Truth anytime soon), there was no guarantee that he would be able to control the nervous movements of his arm, as if the nerves were not only damaged, but that there were no nerves left to control.

And he had refused to have his leg refitted. He wanted to carry a part of Al around with him wherever he, knew that his brother was helping him to stand on his own and walk. It was a fact true both literally and metaphorically.

As if Winry was responding to his thoughts – she probably could – Ed was prompted away from his mind. "How is my useless lump this morning?"

Her blue eyes glistened like pools and even though Ed scorned himself for being so goddamn ridiculous, he blushed momentarily. He was suddenly at a loss for words and didn't know how to reply, "It's cold."

"Well at least I'm trying to show an interest in your moronic lifestyle, alchemic freak!"

"I don't tinker all day at metal; I transmute it in seconds!"

"Don't bring this back to alchemy, you dummy!"

Before Ed could reply, he heard a quiet laughter beside him. While Winry was distracted fuming over alchemy, Ed shuffled around to look at his younger brother.

Al was twittering happily to himself, and Ed heard the whisper of "my useless lump" under his breath. He nudged Al but Al only beamed at Ed, shuffling around to face the east.

The sunrise would appear at any moment.

In a matter of minutes, the sky's palette had shifted from inky and pastel hues to vibrant pinks and oranges, flaring like crystallised amber. Trails of clouds had been scorched red and violets, as if every path the dawn's light took encroached its surroundings with fire. It looked like Heaven had come to Earth and everything bright and warm was shining in the sky in one second.

The stars had vanished, as if they were fleeing from the Heaven's light.

No longer did the crimson remind him of blood.

No longer did the clouds remind him of rain.

No longer did the hills remind him of the loneliness and barrenness which had haunted his soul at the funeral.

He could hear the echo of birdsong, and the building of Al and Win's anticipating breaths. Ed was wedged in the middle of them both, but he took each of their hands into his left and clasped them with his own.

And then-

Brilliance.

Radiance.

Light.

Warmth.

Beauty.

Mesmerising, illuminating beauty.

Ed closed his eyes as the warmth seeped through his soul; it felt like every trace of a nightmare and bad memory were being burnt to a crisp, much like Roy's dancing flames.

He didn't have to be haunted by his past now.

Watching the sunrise with Al and Win…

Was it?

Yeah…

This was his perfection.

Roy didn't want to do this. The task, this arduous, gruelling task was too painful for anyone to have to undertake-

Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to be the wait of this horrific burden?

And yet the pile of paperwork sat on his desk, unfinished, and he released an exasperated sigh. It was still too damn early for his brain to function, and even the coffee wasn't working. He had two cups of empty espresso littered across his papers. Their job was to keep him awake. Roy Mustang wasn't supposed to think before midday.

Damn military protocol. Damn these hours.

He fiddled with a cap on his pen and let it fall loosely on the table. He drew a chess piece from his pocket, staring at the King in silent admiration.

Could he persuade one of his team to have a game with him?

Of course not. Since Hawkeye had returned to her babysitting duties, she was as diligent as ever.

He yawned and surveyed the room, his charcoal eyes watching his subordinates work tirelessly while he lazed around; finally things seemed to be returning to normal. However, he couldn't see the Lieutenant around.

This wasn't unlike her. Roy expected to be harassed by her sharp tongue every ten minutes at least, and that was when she was in a good mood.

Suddenly, the door opened. Roy shifted straight into his chair, but sank immediately when he recognised Hawkeye coming in through the door carrying two cups of…cocoa?

The reason why followed after.

Alphonse Elric stepped into the office, his previously atrophied muscles lean beneath his grey coat. His eyes were alert and his hair neatly cropped. Far more professional from what followed behind.

Edward Elric – scowling. Edward Elric – short.

"Good to see you, Alphonse," Roy greeted. "Oh and you're there too, Fullmetal! Sorry, I didn't see you there."

A vein bulged. "Who are you calling so short that he couldn't even be seen under a magnifying glass!" Ed lashed out while Al shrugged indifferently and started sipping from his hot chocolate.

Nobody else offered a reply to the indignation. It would have to be him. It would always have to be him.

"I wouldn't call you the size of a runt anymore, probably closer to a dwarf…"

"I'm average now. Did you hear that bastard – average!" Roy had to admit that as he looked at Ed standing next to Hawkeye, he was nearly her height. But not quite.

"Are you really sure he's the older brother, Al?" Roy called over to Al. Al tilted his head quizzically to the side but before he could reply he was interrupted by a very volatile Edward.

"Don't support him with this, Al! Don't let him get his own way!"

"I'm not supposed to lie though, Brother," Al said softly, which only fuelled Ed's rage even more. His left arm flailed around in the air, while his right arm was still. Roy then remembered – Fullmetal had lost sensation in his arm. But he was sure Fullmetal would agree with him on that one point – anything was worth watching Al drinking cocoa in spring when it was getting warm again.

"Seems strange though, Fullmetal. I thought you said you would 'never set foot in the bastard's office again'?" Roy questioned, leaning back into his desk, his feet resting on his pile of paperwork. Sunlight was shining through the slanted window, even though outside, it wasn't warm enough to leave the building yet without a coat.

Only a blink of time would pass before summer would come again.

Sticky work uniform and damn insects buzzing around in his office. Hell.

"You're damn right, bastard. But Al persuaded me to come." Ed slopped into the sofa set beside his brother and brought the cup of cocoa to his lips, where he started to blow on the mixture. When he set the cup down again, a trail of froth had been left. Roy had to suppress a taunt. He could easily forget Ed's age with a fearsome title like Fullmetal.

"Oh, why is this?" Roy queried, his interest sparked. He leaned forward in his seat, and brought his hands close to his head, the King pressing tightly into his palms.

"Envy," Ed growled the word.

Roy watched the blond in silence.

"That damn Homunculus wasn't the only one of its kind. If there's a whole immortal legion out there responsible for the wars in Amestris, they have to be stopped. I won't let anyone go through anymore Hell in my lifetime!" Ed refuted.

The prospect of hunting down an army of Homunculi was initially terrifying. They had so much power and could blend into the darkness like shadows. But if he wanted to lead this country one day, being the bane of the Homunculi was an impressive feat in his favour.

Although for Roy Mustang, that wasn't the most important thing at all.

They had threatened the lives of his team. There was no punishment too small for that.

He wiped his forehead with a marine sleeve. Roy was supposed to be the CO here, but not only was he bossed around by Hawkeye, but also by this pipsqueak. His fingers itched to set his blond braid on fire – now that would be amusing. However, Roy wouldn't be able to do that – the brat was too short for there to be anything to burn.

He surrendered reluctantly to the demands of the alchemist.

"Alright, Fullmetal. Where do we start?"

The end! I'm sorry about Ed's arm, but I think by bringing Al back, everything couldn't be perfect ;( although Al is here, and that is what matters.

This story has been an incredible journey for me - I've wanted to pull my hair out in frustration, I've cried my eyes out and I've laughed in random places for no apparent reason. But would I do it all again? In a second.

Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and favourited. In my eyes, you are all gems. Stay fabulous everyone, and I hope to see you soon! Even if this story is over, the writing definitely isn't. *stares at pile of unfinished stories o.O*

Turn over for Al's last letter. It deserved an update of its own. ;)

Dawn