Disclaimer: DISCLAIMEDDD!

A/N: Yes. Thank you. I would like some of what he's having. No, no, not him, the other man. Yes, that one. With the pasta. Yeah. Him.

III.

How do you prove that something that can't be described, can't be seen, exists?

"It's been bothering me Al,"

"What has, brother?"

"That you thought you weren't real, that you never were, that you were fake and I'd made you up and –"

Alphonse stopped him before they began to tread on ground he thought they'd left behind (because sometimes, in the dead of the night, he still wasn't sure. That he was real, that he wasn't imagined, created. Wondered if he had ever even known what it was like to feel, to be of flesh and the sweet makings of a child. But he would never let Edward know this) "Ed," the rarity of his brother's name made the golden-child on the bed across from him tense up with the seriousness of it, "don't."

Edward suddenly sounded horrified, "Al! No! I wasn't saying that it bothered me, I only meant that I'd been thinking about it," he sat up, his covers and sheets flying in all directions, his hands came out in a pleading gesture, "Oh God, Al, don't think that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it that way,"

"Brother! Brother, it's fine, I didn't think you meant it like that, calm down," Alphonse was repulsed by the sheer number of times he had to inform his brother of things of this sort – the "everything can't be your fault", the "you couldn't do anything about it", and even, more recently, the "I promise I don't hate you, I could never hate you," sort.

Edward visibly relaxed, laying down ever-so-slowly and raising his hands so that he could tuck them neatly behind his loosed hair. A position reminiscent of each and every one of their night time conversations, and one that would be repeated in many nights to come, "I was thinking, I just want you to know, that you're the most... The most real thing I've ever known Al... You're so real to me, more than anything, and I'll spend the rest of my life convincing you that you are if that's how long it takes."

Alphonse made to reply, but Edward was far from done.

"I mean, you're my brother Al. I couldn't even possibly make up something so real. I don't even have enough good in me to imagine something as great as you, just look at yourself, you're great... I might not... Act like I see you that way all the time. I get mad at you a lot, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that it's taking so long for me to fix everything. I need you to know that I'll do it. No matter what it takes I'll fix you."

"...and you'll fix yourself too," Alphonse reminded him, because it seemed as if that part of the deal appeared less and less as time went on.

"...yeah... Just, I haven't... I mean... Al, if anything wasn't real, it wouldn't be you. It'd be me, or... I don't know, the world. This whole world Al, you're more real than everything in it. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Alphonse nodded, the creak of metal sliding against metal alerting Edward of his acknowledgment. His brother knew of every sound that every joint of his body made. (He'd watched Alphonse so closely, so dearly, because he could do nothing more than stare at the horrible thing that he had done to him sometimes, memorize every part of it so that he always knew what his brother was thinking and needing and wanting, so that he could do his best to try to keep him happy where he was. But surely he couldn't be happy. So he'd fix him. He'd fix everything) Even though sometimes Edward said things that Alphonse was positive he understood, but found later that he hadn't even come close to understanding. Some things just seemed impossible to Alphonse but were very much a feasible reality in Edward's psyche.

Like him hating his brother, that was positively ridiculous, and yet Edward has said it with such fear in his voice that for Alphonse, it had actually been made real for a moment.

(Edward could make anything real, with his words and his selfish-selflessness and his stubborn nympholepsy, frenzies of indescribable emotions as for all things unattainable.)

"Brother," Alphonse ventured, his own thoughts tearing through his mind like controlled fire, so perfect, so bright, "I understand, and I know I'm real. I wouldn't dare doubt you anymore. Because you could make anything real, Ed, I believe in you."

"Good," Edward sighed, and he sounded suspiciously as if he had been holding his breath, "because I'm gonna make you being whole real, I'm going to make us being happy real, and I'm gonna make this whole world real if I have to to fix you."

"Maybe first you should start with getting some real sleep," Alphonse mumbled happily, proudly observing his brother. (He loved his brother so much. Edward didn't have to keep reassuring him, he'd never doubt his brother's abilities ever again. He believed in him. He'd be whole again someday. And Edward would save him, in the end, because that's what he did. Help people.)

Edward made an unintelligible string of words before turning over and pressing his face into the pillow as hard as he could, letting out a groan, "Are you sure you don't want me to stay up and talk with you Al?" his words were hard to hear from beneath the filter of the fabric. Alphonse looked at the clock upon the wall, it was two in the morning, and the guilt in Edward's voice was having trouble competing with the weariness.

"Don't be silly, brother, I'll still be here when you wake up."

A/N: Just a short little bit of a story that fell through my head a while ago. Hope you liked it alright :)