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Fic: Armored
Because apparently, finding out that it had been done did not remove the urge to write it. XD
Armored
Fullmetal Alchemist
AU, angst, no spoilers
Edward had always wanted to be tall.
It was so frustrating, being so short. People teased; he was too small to reach things, too small to be a proper big brother. Al was taller than him and it just wasn't fair; wasn't he supposed to be the big one? Wasn't he supposed to be the strong one? Wasn't he supposed to be able to take care of his little brother?
Despite his size, he had always done his best, always tried to be the strong big brother, even as Al, growing up, matched and then exceeded his height, even as Al seemed to always beat him in everything. (And that was okay - Al could win at things, Al was allowed because Al was Al and deserved everything good.) Rizenbul held few hardships for a pair of tiny, bright-eyed boys, but Ed knew that if it ever came to it, he would fight tooth and nail for his brother. Nothing in the world, he swore, would hurt Alphonse without coming through Edward Elric first. Even when they suffered the greatest loss of their small lives, when he felt small and pathetic and lost in the world, Ed had always done what he could.
Sometimes, he almost, almost thinks he has been perversely rewarded for their transgressions on that night; this body, cold and makeshift though it was, can no longer be hurt. He is tall, taller than everyone, unkillable, invincible. He can stand between Al and the world, and nothing would harm him; his brother can be kept safe. During the first long nights, when Al had lay bandaged and broken on the Rockbells' bed, when he had screamed out in pain and the guilt had threatened to fill up Ed's empty spaces and swallow him whole, he had told himself that over and over; if he could not touch he could not feel pain, and if he could not be killed he could always protect Al.
(Al had looked at him once, one sleepless night, bronze eyes tracing the lines of Ed's helmet before falling away, unable to look any longer.
"Al," Ed had said.
His little brother had reached out his left hand then, laying it on Ed's hollow arm.
"You can't feel that, can you?" he had asked, his voice sad and small.
"I can tell when you touch me," Ed had protested. That much was at least true; it was not the same as real feeling, but his soul had learned to understand the workings of its new shell, learned to perceive differences in air pressure, the vibration caused by a touch.
"But you can't feel that my hand is soft," Al had said quietly, looking at the floor between Ed's feet. "I'm sorry, Brother."
And Ed had hurt more than he ever had in the flesh.)
Al's guilt stings worse than any cut or scrape. He smiles all the time, but there is a weight that never leaves his eyes, that only grows deeper when he looks at his brother. Ed hates that, hates to know that he causes his brother any kind of pain. What good is a body that can repel bullets if it is the cause of Al's sadness? What good is it to be tall and powerful if it drives Al to wear the military's leash, and sit on that bed of needles alone?
(He had wrapped two small hands - one flesh, one gleaming metal - around Ed's big one, bringing it up to rest the leather glove against his cheek.
"I'll get your body back," he had whispered. "I'll become a State Alchemist, and I'll find a way to get you back to normal. I promise."
"Not before I get your arm and leg back," Ed had said, his voice low. "This mess is all my fault. It's not fair that you're suffering."
Al had looked up at him again, and given him a slow, mournful smile. "Automail is nothing compared to what happened to you, Brother," he'd murmured. "I'd switch places with you if I could.")
Ed doesn't care so much about height anymore. A part of him bitterly regrets every time he had ever wished to be taller - you got your wish, Edward Elric, and it cuts your brother inside - it seems such a petty thing to bitch about in hindsight, when Al lost a leg and gave an arm, when now Al wears a silver watch and faces the hatred of the people, all for the sake of his stupid brother who dragged them both too close to the sun.
He is taller than Al now, so much taller, and never before had Al ever looked so small, so fragile, as he does seen through Ed's new eyes.
He would take it all into himself - the emptiness of the armor, the pain of the automail, the burden of being a dog of the military, the whole weight of their sins - and he would bear it with a smile if it would take that look from Al's eyes, if it could make him happy.
Instead, he does what he can - he walks beside Al on their quest for absolution, protecting him, supporting him, and thinking of a day when he'll be able to feel the warmth of Al's right hand, and look him in the eye.
Armored
Fullmetal Alchemist
AU, angst, no spoilers
Edward had always wanted to be tall.
It was so frustrating, being so short. People teased; he was too small to reach things, too small to be a proper big brother. Al was taller than him and it just wasn't fair; wasn't he supposed to be the big one? Wasn't he supposed to be the strong one? Wasn't he supposed to be able to take care of his little brother?
Despite his size, he had always done his best, always tried to be the strong big brother, even as Al, growing up, matched and then exceeded his height, even as Al seemed to always beat him in everything. (And that was okay - Al could win at things, Al was allowed because Al was Al and deserved everything good.) Rizenbul held few hardships for a pair of tiny, bright-eyed boys, but Ed knew that if it ever came to it, he would fight tooth and nail for his brother. Nothing in the world, he swore, would hurt Alphonse without coming through Edward Elric first. Even when they suffered the greatest loss of their small lives, when he felt small and pathetic and lost in the world, Ed had always done what he could.
Sometimes, he almost, almost thinks he has been perversely rewarded for their transgressions on that night; this body, cold and makeshift though it was, can no longer be hurt. He is tall, taller than everyone, unkillable, invincible. He can stand between Al and the world, and nothing would harm him; his brother can be kept safe. During the first long nights, when Al had lay bandaged and broken on the Rockbells' bed, when he had screamed out in pain and the guilt had threatened to fill up Ed's empty spaces and swallow him whole, he had told himself that over and over; if he could not touch he could not feel pain, and if he could not be killed he could always protect Al.
(Al had looked at him once, one sleepless night, bronze eyes tracing the lines of Ed's helmet before falling away, unable to look any longer.
"Al," Ed had said.
His little brother had reached out his left hand then, laying it on Ed's hollow arm.
"You can't feel that, can you?" he had asked, his voice sad and small.
"I can tell when you touch me," Ed had protested. That much was at least true; it was not the same as real feeling, but his soul had learned to understand the workings of its new shell, learned to perceive differences in air pressure, the vibration caused by a touch.
"But you can't feel that my hand is soft," Al had said quietly, looking at the floor between Ed's feet. "I'm sorry, Brother."
And Ed had hurt more than he ever had in the flesh.)
Al's guilt stings worse than any cut or scrape. He smiles all the time, but there is a weight that never leaves his eyes, that only grows deeper when he looks at his brother. Ed hates that, hates to know that he causes his brother any kind of pain. What good is a body that can repel bullets if it is the cause of Al's sadness? What good is it to be tall and powerful if it drives Al to wear the military's leash, and sit on that bed of needles alone?
(He had wrapped two small hands - one flesh, one gleaming metal - around Ed's big one, bringing it up to rest the leather glove against his cheek.
"I'll get your body back," he had whispered. "I'll become a State Alchemist, and I'll find a way to get you back to normal. I promise."
"Not before I get your arm and leg back," Ed had said, his voice low. "This mess is all my fault. It's not fair that you're suffering."
Al had looked up at him again, and given him a slow, mournful smile. "Automail is nothing compared to what happened to you, Brother," he'd murmured. "I'd switch places with you if I could.")
Ed doesn't care so much about height anymore. A part of him bitterly regrets every time he had ever wished to be taller - you got your wish, Edward Elric, and it cuts your brother inside - it seems such a petty thing to bitch about in hindsight, when Al lost a leg and gave an arm, when now Al wears a silver watch and faces the hatred of the people, all for the sake of his stupid brother who dragged them both too close to the sun.
He is taller than Al now, so much taller, and never before had Al ever looked so small, so fragile, as he does seen through Ed's new eyes.
He would take it all into himself - the emptiness of the armor, the pain of the automail, the burden of being a dog of the military, the whole weight of their sins - and he would bear it with a smile if it would take that look from Al's eyes, if it could make him happy.
Instead, he does what he can - he walks beside Al on their quest for absolution, protecting him, supporting him, and thinking of a day when he'll be able to feel the warmth of Al's right hand, and look him in the eye.