Kill Kimblee
by Kurama-Sweethart (Moe Shmoe)
Genre: Angst, Horror
Rating: T (PG-13)
Words: 876
Warnings: Insanity, Spoilers
It had taken months to rid himself of the nightmares; the feeling of someone dying inside you is never easy to forget. Al had lied there in the courtyard for what felt like forever, mumbling things of comfort to the dying creature slumped against him, inside him. When the Colonel had found him, that evening, the blood had stained the steel, iron binding with iron. The scars were visible now.
Roy had pulled away his breastplate, carefully removing the limp body of a chimera from him, wrapping her up in cloth and disposing of her properly. By that time, Al was too incoherent to care. Carefully, the Colonel had scrubbed away the blood, cautious of the blood seal and not daring to touch it.
Al would've been better off if he had.
He sat in Roy's estate for weeks, never speaking or showing any sign of movement. Just leaning there, against the junction of a bookshelf and a wall, unable to remember anything but the feel of her blood mixing with his, her spirit screaming in agony as her flesh burned, and he unable to do anything but sit there, gaping.
Kill Kimblee, she said to him. Kill Kimblee and that Fuhrer bastard.
Alphonse nodded, slowly, so jumbled and devastated to realize that the Colonel had long since taken her from his armor.
For you, Martel. Anything for you.
She hissed something in reply, stroking the sides of his face, her face. We'll do it together.
The snow was falling steadily outside, snaking its way into every crack and crevice. Alphonse could feel the cold; feel the airlessness in his joints. Unwillingly, he stood, knowing that the Colonel had already left for work. Martel walked slowly along the bookshelves, browsing the titles with idle interest.
Nothing here worth looking at, he said to her. Nothing I haven't read.
Martel looked up at him, curious. You've read all these?
Yes, Al answered, Brother and I stayed here, once. A long time ago.
He seemed worried about you, she replied slowly, there was compassion in his eyes. The same look that Greed always had; ambitious.
They didn't say anymore for a long while, simply enjoying the other's company. They wandered up through the Colonel's room, into the study; looking through the volumes there, reading things that Al had never been interested in before. Supernatural things, folklore about devils and angels, creatures of frightening ambiance.
Where do we go from here? He asked her, hopelessly slouching against the wall, again.
Martel looked at him sadly, remorseful wrath blazing from her eyes. We do what we have to.
"Al? Alphonse!"
Brother, Al screamed, streaking from the study to the front room of the Colonel's flat, almost thankful.
Almost.
"Oh my god, Alphonse." Ed threw himself at his brother, clinging to the cold steel. "Oh god…"
Al stiffened, and wanted to say something in comfort for his brother. Something to ease the pain.
"The Colonel told me everything. About… Martel, and I-I'm sorry, Alphonse, I'm so sorry…"
The armor stood there, cold and unfeeling. Why didn't he move? Why couldn't he?
"Alphonse? Talk to me, please. Tell me that you're okay. Please."
He couldn't deny his brother anything.
"I'm sorry, too." The armor croaked, a rasp voice too unlike his own.
Kill. Kill Kill Kill.
Ed stopped. "Alphonse. Please, no." Revenge. "Please tell me it's not true."
I must kill Kimblee.
Was that what he said?
There were tears now. Real tears. No tears since Nina had died. Four years ago? Had it really been four years?
Ed climbed up and tossed Al's head aside, peering into the darkness of cold metal. His eyes widened. The seal. The seal he had made with his own blood was…
One big blurry splotch from where Martel's blood and smeared it. The lines of the array were undetectable, he was unable to decipher where his blood started and hers ended.
Kill Kimblee. Kill Kimblee. Kill Kimblee.
"No." He whispered. Why didn't Al care? Why was there no compassion?
Kill Kimblee.
"Don't say that," Ed snarled, backing away as Al replaced his helmet. "You can't kill anyone."
Kill Kimblee.
Was he really saying that? Al couldn't remember. Everything was fuzzy, now, everything was so strange.
Kill Kimblee.
"You wouldn't. Alphonse, please."
Kill Kimblee.
He didn't remember Ed dying. He didn't remember killing him. Mustang didn't believe him, but he didn't remember. With wide eyes, Mustang didn't believe him, crouching over the small, crumpled form that looked like a discarded rag doll, crying and kissing and whispering.
He didn't remember the mangled bodies of the soldiers that got in his way.
Kill Kimblee. Kill Kimblee. Kill Kimblee. Kill Kimblee.
What did he remember? He wasn't sure. Who was he, anyway? The only thing he could make out was two thin, snakelike eyes, fiery and red.
Kill Kimblee.
He didn't remember killing anyone.
The only thing he could remember was their blood, more and more blood bonding with his seal.
Was he really Al, anymore? So many souls now, occupying him, he couldn't remember who he was.
Kill Kimblee.
After a while, the only thing he could remember was the two words repeating over and over and over until he would rather die than hear those words again.
Kill Kimblee.
Fin.
My own little disfunctional reply to Martel's death.
Faves are nice, Reviews are better.