A/N: Just an angsty little drabble, that began small and ran on and on till it ended up as this. Inspired by the title page of Chapter 4 of the manga, and an adorable scene of Al carrying a sleeping Ed, from the opening theme Undo. Oh yes, and 'Nii-san' means elder brother, and its how Al refers to Ed. I normally don't include Japanese words in my fics, but I felt the significance and meaning of this one would wouldn't be quite the same if translated.
Disclaimer: Own FMA? Nope, no such luck. It's not for lack of trying, though.
Helpless
The rustle of pages turning distracts me momentarily from my thoughts, and I raise my head to look at the table where he sits, his hair glowing a muted gold in the light from the small lamp perched on the table. A stack of books is piled precariously on the edge of the table, and many more are scattered over its surface, along with loose-leaf manuscript papers and pages of scribbled notes. He is chewing absent-mindedly on the end of his pen as he pores over a particularly heavy leather-bound volume, brow furrowed and lips pursed in almost laughable concentration. The clock on the wall shows the time to be past eleven, but I know it's the last thing he'd notice. When Nii-san gets into his work like this, he loses track of everything around him. Sometimes, I think he'd forget to eat and sleep if I wasn't there to remind him.
"Nii-san," I say hesitantly, torn between concern for his well-being and not wanting to disturb him.
"Mmmph," he mumbles distracted, not taking his eyes off his book.
I sigh to myself, then try again, louder this time. "Nii-san!"
That seems to get his attention, and irritably throwing his pen down on the table, he swivels to face me. "What?" he scowls.
I glare back at him—figuratively speaking of course, for armor does not have facial expressions. But Nii-san can always tell what I'm feeling even without needing to see my expression, and I keep glaring until he looks suitably abashed. "It's late, Nii-san. Go to sleep."
He waves one-white gloved hand dismissively. "Ah, I'm fine. I'm not sleepy at all, really—" With perfect timing, he is cut off here by a huge yawn, which he attempts to cover by clamping his hand over his mouth. Failing, he looks sheepishly at me through his fingers, attempting a guilty smile. He must have noticed the distress in my not-expression however, because his face grows serious, and he says, more gently: "I won't be much longer. Don't worry so much, Al."
That's my Nii-san for you. All the concern in the world for me, and none for himself. I nod, because what else can I do? If I were to press the issue further, let him see more of my worry and concern, it would only make him feel more guilty. And God knows, he carries around enough guilt as it is without my adding to it.
He nods in acknowledgement, and with one final slightly concerned glance, turns back to his books.
It's at times like this, that I feel so helpless.
People call my Nii-san a genius, and I guess that's true enough. He is brilliant, quick to grasp and evaluate, adept at figuring out a complex alchemical equation or solving an obscure theory. Yet, for all his brilliance, there are some things he just can't (or won't) understand.
He blames himself for everything that happened. He feels it his responsibility to atone for both our—both, both, our, our!—sins. He tried to shoulder the weight of the world alone, and thinks that by punishing himself, by suffering in silence, he is somehow protecting me. It never fails to astound me, how someone so brilliant can be so dense. Sometimes, I just want to grab him by his shoulders, the flesh, and the metal, stare into those golden eyes, and just scream at him, what is wrong with you, you think I was the only one who lost something, you think the sin is yours alone?
But of course, I don't. Because for all that my Nii-san suffers, knowing that I am in pain would hurt him ten times more. He is fragile, my Nii-san, for all his tough exterior, brash talk and cocky attitude. It's ironic. I cannot attempt to absolve his guilt, lest I only increase it. I am helpless.
And so, I hide my worry and my fear, letting him believe that I am happy. I watch helplessly as he works himself past the point of endurance, straining himself both physically and mentally. I watch as he sacrifices his innocence, sells his very soul in this mad race to reach a goal that always eludes us. I trust him implicitly, and would follow him anywhere, but it pains me to watch him do this to himself…straining, pushing, always trying to do more than he can, always blaming himself, always feeling responsible. It's like I'm watching him race towards the brink of a chasm, and I am powerless to stop him.
I feel so helpless, making my feeble attempts to exert some control over him. Nii-san, it's late, go to sleep. Nii-san, don't go out in the rain, you'll catch a cold. Nii-san, you need to take a break before you drop dead from exhaustion. Nii-san, it's not your fault, you did everything you could. People are always commenting on how I act like the older brother, while he acts like a willful child.
The clock strikes twelve, the dull bass notes of the gong echoing through the room. I shake my head as if attempting to clear it (old habits die hard, even when you no longer have a body), and look over at the table once more. Nii-san's head is pillowed on his book, the pen still clutched loosely in his hand. His eyes are closed, his breathing soft and even. For once, his face is serene and devoid of worry, and for once, he almost looks like a normal child.
Sighing to myself, I rise to my feet, wincing at the creaking of my metal joints, loud in the silent room. Careful not to make too much noise, I lumber over to the desk, and lifting the cloak hanging over the back of the chair, carefully tuck it around his shoulders before turning the lamp off. I smile inwardly. Yes, I may feel helpless. But I'll keep trying, being there for him in his moments of weakness, trying—no matter how in vain—to get him to slow down, ease up, share some of the burden with me.
Because helpless as I feel now, it is nothing compared to how I would feel if I lost him.
A/N: R & R, please! My first ficcie, so be nice. Remember, arson is a criminal offence.