Edward Elric had always longed to feel the warmth of his brother again. Or the soft tuffs of blonde hair tickling against his cheek as they wrestled and fought hard amongst fresh blades of summertime grass and angel's breath in songbird winds. The trail they left that echoed their presence to the listening birds, who'd flutter away into a mist of idolized formation.
But unfortunately, the mere idea of it...it being the true touch of hot damp flesh after a satisfying fight, was said to be impossible. Metal clad, metal bound, just plain and entirely medaled Alphonse Elric would not emit the warmth his brother so wanted.
And even now, in the tall masculine body of a grown human man, as Edward took hold of Alphonse's hand. The already near dead eyes of the former State Alchemist dimmed even further as the sad and despairing registration that the skin of the younger Elric was ice. Eighteen years had shed away the childhood shortness that had dubbed Edward the name "Shortie". Tall, slender, but muscular, Edward had also, become a man. Blonde strands of hair that escaped from it's messy braid fell across pained eyes that quietly urged his brother to awaken.
Every day, and every night for the past week...Edward would urge and plead. Plead to nothing but air and shadows. Until she told him that he needed to go. To slumber dreamless dreams of what could've been, would've been, should've been. She, Winry. The flowered woman who stood beside him, a faint smile painted upon her lips, as long hair fled about her shoulders. She had never grown out of her mechanic hype. And Edward was glad that at least something remained constant.
"Visiting hours are over." A women with the white nurses cap popped her head in, and said in a hushed tone, loudness deprived of the lonely sterile atmosphere, the aura that washed away all tones of happiness leaving a dangerous noise of deepened emptiness. Echoing harsh realities over and over again. The room itself was entirely white, lacking in any sort of color except the faint tint of pink flesh on the unconscious Alphonse, and the slightly wilting roses that Edward had brought three days ago.
A rejected nod from the red coated alchemist, as he trudged passed the tired looking nurse. Winry following after slowly, a faint "Thank you." to the white clad woman, a last glance at the comatose form. Edward following her gaze for a long moment before tearing away somber yellow eyes.
The corridor was white, a sanctified area dubbed clean by hospital doctors and running nurses. All bent on carrying away the illnesses of patients...or their money. The two friends walked along, their silence pounding against their ears, an unusual attitude for the normally loud alchemist.
The end of the sprawling hallway, grey couches of the lounge appeared into view, another reality designed for the pseudo-comfort while people waited with injuries. Physical and mental. Physical being broken limbs, aching bodies. Mental being not the actual patients, but the close relatives and friends waiting in good faith for hope and well being.
Edward had not given up his own faith for Al's return. But he had moved out of the dreary waiting room, with pretentious paintings of friendly flowers and shining lakes, oils that had never seen the real sun. Paintings that brought fake color to the room, a reminder of why people were ever there in the first place. The forgotten atmosphere that relished in the hanging tension that was truly a weighted scale between life and death and everything else.
The blonde was beyond the waiting room, and the two headed towards the exit. The alchemist pausing for a moment, his gaze moving to the right, his long braid falling after him, as his direction changed. Thick black boots with a red strip stopping as they reached the two figures in solid blue that stood by the double doors of the hospital.
"Hagane." Fuhrer Roy Mustang said in a cordial voice, friendly distaste falling from his lips, never losing the extreme seriousness of the hospital aura about them. The pretty stoic blonde woman with rather new black framed glasses that stood beside him, a familiar stiff greeting, "Edward-kun." A light nod of the head from Riza Hawkeye. Her eyes softened slightly as she asked in her naturally commanding voice, "How is he?"
Winry smiled at them, her features brightening as she gave a cheerful greeting to Hawkeye, a mildly hesitant look dawning when her eyes landed on Roy. Her family had departed elsewhere because of him, it was known. But deep within her heart, it was pitted and a seed had planted itself over the years, a fevered loneliness that couldn't be shredded. Roy Mustang, Winry knew was a wonderful, kind, and honest man. The sad thing was, her thoughts of what was and wasn't a fable kept her from the truth she knew.
"No change." Edward said dully, having walked passed the two, and towards the car that was waiting for the four of them. It had been four years since he had last seen Roy Mustang and his companion. However adventures never ceased, danger never dissipated. Life stopped, hearts resounded, and went on and on and on. Theories, memories, and the present depriving him of the future that he and Al had imagined.
Now Edward didn't know if that would ever happen. He didn't know if his brother would ever waken . In the past one of them would only have to shout and the other would come tearing out of anywhere or nowhere. The car ride was on mute, and the only thing for Edward to do was watch the town go by, falling into the hypnotic passion of the painful week before that had crushed Edward's will to live. The entire scene that played and replayed to the blonde alchemist's demise. The fury, the force, the irony.
The seven sins.
Envy. Greed. Wrath. Lust. Gluttony. Pride. Sloth.
They didn't die.
They never die.
As long as mortal men give up their souls to the devil.
As long as people throw themselves on their knees to Gods.
As long as gates that should be locked, remain open...
They don't die.
...They never die.