Guess what today is, people? Yes, it is October the third! So I decided to post this today because it makes it all the more special… to me in my own little world, that is.

I got this idea after watching CoS... from when Ed says something about how this world runs parallel to his and that there are people and places that run parallel as well… or something like that.

Since this is my first upload EVER I'm a little nervous about it… even though it's short. Tell me what you think, please! Enjoy!

Lullabies

Brilliantly hued red and gold leaves swirled lazily on the meandering breeze, bringing with them the sweet scent of autumn. The scent of another stagnant summer just past, and the promise of a harsh winter yet to come.

For a moment the leaves eddied gently around the feet of the man, as if to shroud him from the world. He stood on a hill before an old tree, overlooking the valley.

As he gazed up through its branches, now bare save for a few dried leaves, memories flooded his mind.

He ran his fingers along the bark, tracing the creases and folds thoughtfully.

For a long while he stood lost in thought, looking out over the valley. After a time his gaze settled on the town's cemetery.

As the blood red sun sank behind the mountains it glinted off the distant river and bathed the man's face in a golden light.

Slowly he began to walk the familiar path, noting every subtle difference in the landscape as he passed.

His feet carried him as if they had a mind of their own, and in a short time he found himself standing before a single grave.

The letters and numbers had long since been eroded by time… but he supposed it was better that way.

He knew this wasn't it. Not really. The "real" grave was close by, though. Somewhere that, from here, was really nowhere.

As he gazed upon the granite headstone his blonde hair blew in the wind and a look of sorrow settled on his features. Only as the last rays of sun faded into the indigo sky did he sense the presence of another.

"Brother? It's getting late…"

Without turning to look at the sandy haired man standing behind him the blonde nodded his head slowly.

"Al… do you know what today is?"

Alphonse shivered as the wind bent the treetops, making the crisp leaves flutter and whisper in the breeze.

Sadly, he nodded.

"It's funny… I know this isn't really her grave… but maybe…"

Edward raised his face to the heavens, and Al noticed the glint of tears in his soft golden eyes.

When he spoke, his voice was filled with pain and fear.

"Do you think they'll… do you think he'll… forget?"

Alphonse felt his own heart twinge with sorrow as he thought of everyone they had left behind… of Winry…

For a moment he too shifted his gaze to the sky, studying the infinite cosmos.

"All the people we met… all the places we saw… how could they? We never will… Inside your pocket watch, before it was lost, you wrote the date we burned our house down… so you would never forget. You carved it into the metal, so that it would always be there as a reminder, even if it reminded you of something unpleasant… what we went through is the same…"

The blonde laughed through the tears now coursing freely down his cheeks.

Alphonse smiled, as if reading his brother's mind. "Misfortune always did seem to follow us, didn't it? Or maybe we sought it out… either way there was a balance. You've helped so many people, brother, and for that I think they'll always remember us… remember you… and we'll remember them. They'll never forget, and neither will we."

Edward turned to look at his brother and smiled sadly.

"C'mon, let's go back… how 'bout we stop for a bite to eat on the way… I'm starving!"

Alphonse grinned. Some things never changed.

As the two men made their way down the hillside a gentle breeze embraced the night, whispering its lullabies to the stars.

Somewhere, worlds away, Roy Mustang sighed and stared out his window onto the sleeping city of Central. Half-formed thoughts flitted restlessly through his mind, and as he gazed out on the waning moon memories of a certain blonde alchemist rose from the depths of his consciousness.

The wind blew through the open window of his office, rustling the unfinished paperwork on his desk and whispering a lullaby of its own.

Le Fin.