Chapter 2

Many a time, Alphonse had collapsed during his sessions of physical therapy, having pushed himself too far, too soon for his weak body to handle, and it frustrated him to staggering heights. He wanted to be alone,away from the continuous poking and prodding of the dedicated nurses, and the pain of regaining his muscle strength. He could do things on his own at his own pace. He did not need help from the hospital staff. The one and only person he required for his recovery was his brother,his adoring, overprotective, stubborn, brilliant, hot-headed, beloved brother, the one who had been with him through everything, all of the pain he had endured in his short life. So comforting, so caring, so loving Edward had been in the days after their precious mother had passed, knowing that the little Elric needed somebody to care for him, to love him, to protect him, to hold his hand when he crossed the street. He had dried the tears that had stained Alphonse' cheeks and stung his eyes, all the while holding him close and reassuring him that everything would be all right. To his older brother, this had happened years ago, but to Alphonse, who could not remember those four years, the pain, the hurt, the sorrow, the loneliness, the heartbreak, the guilt, the confusion,the pain, the pain, the pain was so fresh, so real,so tormenting,so painful, painful, painful.The shock, the disappointment, the heartache of the failed transmutation to bring back the woman who had given him life was, to him, new and horrible and so painful,which is not to say that it did not sadden Edward as well, but he had had four years to handle it, whereas, according to Alphonse' memory, it had only happened the day before.

Countless times during his stay at the hospital, the poor, innocent, kind boy was rudely awaked by cruel nightmares haunting his once peaceful dreams, frightening him, torturing him, plaguing him, taunting him, mocking him, and he had screamed, and cried, and trembled, and whined for his mother, and cried, and cried, and cried. So many tearshad been shed, so many that they began to lose their meaning, their symbolism, their value,but nevertheless, Edward had been there at his side to dry every single one of the, perhaps, hundreds of tears that had been pumped out of Alphonse' beautiful obsidian eyes like rivers of water down the face of a snow-laced mountain. He had been there to calm the trembling, shush the sobs with warm embraces, ease the horrendous pain of losing their mom, yet again, with soft, reassuring, gentle words whispered into his ear. Every particle of his entire being yearned, begged, desired, longed for one last chance to at least just lay his eyes upon the strong, brave woman who had given birth to him and his brother. It wracked his small body with sadness, wore him down, weighed heavy on his shoulders, pounded away at him with hammers of dense sorrow, heavier than lead. Keep pounding a rock, and it will break.

But he would not. He promised himself he would not break. He would not give in to the despair, the sadness, the guilt, the remorse, the depression that danced with anticipation at the edge of the whirlwind of his mixed emotions, the doorway to mind, his soul, his heart, his being, awaiting its chance to stampede inside with its weapons drawn, trample any glimmer of hope, or happiness, or joy, or love,and destroy it like the monster it was, devour it, tear it to shreds. It was a truly enticing offer, to give up the struggle of maintaing his vicious emotions, to cease attempting to push his way through the crowds of uncertain thoughts and feelings, and let himself drift through life without caring what went on around him, apathetic. He had fought to push it away, and won, but the depression was a malevolent beast, always lurking in the shadows of his mind, watchingwith eyes scorching with evil intentions, waitingfor a chance to take over and wreak its havoc, stalking him. Oh, how easy it would have been to simply stop trying to fight against it and comply to its incessant demands to dominate his heart, but Alphonse had Edward, whom he loved to the moon and back, and as long as Edward was with him, he would have the strength, the will, the motivation to keep fighting, and win. He could not let himself fall, break, because he knew that his older brother would break as well. Alphonse' pain. Edward's pain. If fighting for himself was not a good enough reason to keep battling the war going on in his soul, then he would fight for Edward, and that was all the reason he needed. Edward's smiles and hugs and gentle whispers were all he needed. Everything would be for Edward, for Edward, for Edward, for Edward.

That is not to say that Alphonse did not feel joy. He was not depressed, despite its attempts to invade his emotional wall. He would not let himself become that way, for Edward's sake if not for his own. On the contrary, he was happy, chipper, humorous, delightful, bright, energetic, happy, happy, happy. He was happy to be spending so much time with his darling older brother, who was equally as happy to take care of him. The hospital stay was not one that was entirely filled with pain, and sadness, and guilt, and remorse, and fear,and pain. Not at all. The nurses, the doctors, the other patients he interacted with, they were kind, and supportive, and fun to be around. He enjoyed their companionship and care. He had been so excited, so ecstatic, so happywhen a relative of a fellow patient, who was a rather cute girl around his age visiting a loved one, had given him her telephone number. Perhaps, he would call her when he was released. Edward had laughed and patted his head while jokingly muttering, "You can't get a girlfriend before me, Al. I'm the older brother. You're supposed to follow in my footsteps. Haha," to which Alphonse had responded, "You may be older, big brother, but I'm cuter! Hehehe!" Oh, how they had laughed, and laughed, and laughed as they teased each other and poked fun at one nurse in particular, who had a much less than pleasant attitude about her. In fact, to put it candidly, she was the rudest and most aggressive woman Alphonse had ever met, but she was beautiful on the outside, despite how hideous she was on the inside. "I guess beauty really is only skin deep, brother." Alphonse had joked, giggling into his fist, and Edward had nodded heartily in agreement. "You ain't kidding! I don't think I've ever seen a woman as beautiful, but man, what a bitch!"

The good times most certainly outweighed the bad during Alphonse' admission to the hospital, and truly, he was perfectly content just having his brother at his side. The only moments where he felt the overwhelming despair, hurt, sorrow, remorse, guilt, heartbreak, loneliness, was when he was thinking, lying in the uncomfortable hospital bed. The period before he would fall asleep is when he would really think. It was not his intention to make himself upset, or cry. In fact, his intentions were quite the opposite. He thought about the good times, the happy times, the fond memories he had of his mother, hoping to get a smile out of it, or a chuckle, and it had worked for a time, but it soon turned sour, painful, when he realized that he and Edward would never again have moments like those with their mother. They would never see her again. They would never hear her voice again. They would never hold her hand again. They would never be comforted by her warm embraces again. Trisha was gone, and those thoughts were the torturous thoughts that broke through his emotional barrier, a shield to fend of pain, and sadness, and despair, and loneliness, and pain,but only slightly. The savage beast, who went by the name of 'depression', made a small crack in Alphonse' emotional wall into which it was only able poke its ugly,gruesome head. The tears would start, and his body would start to tremble as silent sobs wracked his small body. Edward, who had spent every single night sleeping at the hospital to ensure Alphonse' safety and wellbeing, would never let the hurt, the pain, the despair escalate farther than that. Hearing the boy's ragged breathing, he would immediately gather him in his arms and shush him, comfort him, stroke his hair until he fell asleep, reassure him that everything would be all right, and that he, in fact, was not alone at all. He would always be at Alphonse' side to pick him up when he was down. That was his job, his duty, his compensation for the all the heartache that, he believed, he had caused his little brother. That is what brothers were for, protection, reassurance, love, friendship, laughter, comfort, companionship, loyalty, fun, and it was that that repaired the cracks in Alphonse' mental shield, gave him the strength to fight, and win. He would not let himself break, for Edward, for Edward, for Edward, for Edward.

Through his strenuous efforts and multiple frustrating failures, Alphonse felt himself growing stronger, his muscles able to accomplish more than they had during previous sessions of physical therapy. He was able to lift heavier weights, throw the exercise ball farther,climb an increasing number of stairs, among other exercises that he had been unable to complete at the very beginning. He felt so empowered, so strong, so capable, so significant, so proud, so worthy,and what was even better, Edward was proud of him. His big brother was proud of him. Someone so strong already was proud of him. The person he looked up to was proud of him, proud, proud, proud, so proud of Alphonse' progress, his growing strength, and the little Elric was happier than he thought he could ever be; however, there was a set back. His muscles were regaining their strength much faster than his immune system, which was dangerous, leading to innocent arrogance. Alphonse, with his new strength, believed he could do anything, everything he used to be able to do, and he snuck outside during a thunderstorm, remembering the numerous times he had done that as a young child. It was facile to escape from his hospital suit, because his room was in close proximity to the exit doors. All he had to do was wait for Edward to take a bathroom break, and sure enough, soon after lunch, his older brother had taken to the restroom to relieve his bladder. It was then that Alphonse made his break for it. The opportunity was irresistible. He loved how the rain felt on his skin, loved the way it soaked his hair and his clothes, loved the sound of the roaring thunder, loved the transient, striking bolts of lightning that lit up the darkened sky. It had caused a riot and a panic for the hospital staff, and he was almost certain that poor Edward would also have to be admitted to the hospital, but for a heart attack, but he needed to at least get out and breathe in fresh air, instead of the stagnant hospital air that smelled of patients and medicine. He needed to have fun,and fun he had, until the next morning.

He had gotten so sick, oh so sick. The storm had been so punitive. His weak body put him at a high disposition to contract a virus, and luck had not been on his side. Immediately when he woke up in the morning, his nose was plugged, his throat ached, his stomach was in knots, his head spun, the fever boiled him alive, and his muscles were so sore, so stiff. The poor little boy was miserable.The agony, the discomfort, the misery, the horrible symptoms plagued him for nine long days, much longer than it would have if only he had not let his impatience and excitement get the better of him, or, perhaps, he would not have gotten sick at all, but he was stronger,he was growing more confident with himself, and he had not run through the rain in what felt like a thousand years. He could not help himself, and he suffered the consequences. He had been so tired, so drained, so listless, as if the virus was a vacuum, consuming every single ounce of his once plentiful energy, but the coughing, the sneezing, the aches, the pains, the hot flashes, the cold flashes, the knots in his stomach kept him awake. He could not breathe through the congestion squeezing his chest, he could not talk through the pain in his throat,he could not eat without his stomach rebelling and rejecting all its contents, he could not stand up to walk to the bathroom without the room spinning around him, bringing on more nausea, and he could not shift to find a more comfortable position without his muscles cramping. Oh, the poor, poor, miserable boy was so miserable, but Edward stayed at his side, placing cool facecloths on Alphonse' forehead to help bring down the fever and keep him comfortable, patting his back when the coughing suffocated him, holding his hair when his stomach decided it was time to expel all of its contents, and comforted him whenever the tears of misery, and agony, and pain started. Edward always comforted Alphonse. He was such a great older brother, and Alphonse felt as if he did not show his appreciation enough.

It seemed as though Edward did everything for Alphonse, despite how much trouble it caused him. For instance, when Alphonse had complained about the hospital cafeteria's food being bland and boring, Edward had gone right out and bought his little brother some delicious stew from a local restaurant, and Alphonse had accepted it with a smile and an enthusiastic "thank you!" Edward was doing so much for him, yet he was not giving him anything in return. Where was the equivalence? Where was the equivalent exchange? Edward had been there for Alphonse every minute of every day, comforting him when he was upset, buying him scrumptious meals when the hospital food made him grimace in disgust, taking care of him when he was sick, and giving him words of encouragement when he was feeling down. Did Alphonse even deserve such kindness, such dedication, such love, such loyalty? He felt as though he was not holding up his end of the bargain, which added to his festering guilt, boiling inside of his melting pot of vicious negative emotions. It began to pain him when Edward did nice things, such as brush out the knots in Alphonse' silken hair, or offer a shoulder to lean on when fatigue struck during their walks down the hallways, which were intended to build up the strength in the boy's legs. Edward did all of this and so much more, so much, so much, so much, and Alphonse kept taking, and taking, and taking without giving back. The guilt added weight to the hammer of feelings that was continuously pounding at Alphonse.

What was worse about the situation was the fact that, unlike the painful, lonely thoughts of their late mother, Edward's kindness, and dedication, and companionship, and respect, and loyalty, and generosity, and selflessness, and love was always there, always,which is not to say that Alphonse wished his older brother would stop being as kind as he was. He did not fault his brother for caring for him and protecting him. He could never find any fault in his older brother. To him, his older brother was so high, so mighty, so powerful, so great, so strong. As a scientist, he did not believe in God, in unprovable theories, but to him, Edward was his god, his savior, his guide, his salvation, the one who would always save him, and forgive him, and love him. He could never fault Edward for being kind, and caring, and loving. If Alphonse could find fault in anybody, it was himself, and the little Elric desperately wished, and hoped, and begged that he could have some way to return the favors. He had to do something, something, something, anything, anything for his older brother, but what? What could he possibly offer to compensate for all of Edward's efforts? The feelings of empowerment, and worthiness, and confidence, and strength began to fade, and he began to fall down the rabbit hole of self-loathing and worthlessness. Keep pounding a rock, and it will break.

And, perhaps, he was cracking under the pressure.