Many nights, Ed woke screaming. He'd stare into space, golden eyes wide, trembling, before he'd stumble out of bed and into the bathroom. The sound of retching would echo on and off for hours after that, the teenaged boy babbling about Greed.
The next morning he'd be found with the blankets curled around him, staring into absolute nothingness, eyes rimmed with red, face dirty with streaks of tears, a disgusting smell coming from his discolored lips.
Some days, he had no voice, his vocal cords torn from the constant rejection of nutrients. He was growing unnaturally paler by the day, and the whole of his manner faded into a sort of nonexistent quietness for hours on end.
Al never ceased to worry, but quickly stopped trying to help. He could do nothing to take away his brother's memories.
It seemed, sometimes, that there was nothing left between them.
Homonculi were not human. They had no souls. But they were sentient. They behaved like humans.
They had wishes and dreams and aspirations.
Killing one could tear anyone apart.
...Ed had never killed before.