[Fic] The Ending of Flowers - Al+Ed, PG
Title: The Ending of Flowers
Pairing: Alphonse + Edward Elric
Author: cryogenia
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
30_gens theme number: 02 - Unfamiliar Territory
Warnings in effect: Either sad, or melodramatic. You pick XD
02. Unfamiliar Territory
He could almost pinpoint the exact moment their house became the enemy, the heartbeat after the clocks had stopped and the crying had started. When the building lost its soul and turned empty, unfamiliar; ceased being their home. A house wasn’t a home without its people in it, and there were so many people now and none of them belonged here.
Too many people trying to touch him. They all showed up with their fancy black suits and their sad, patient faces, and tried to hug him and pet him and none of them were right, felt too warm or too cold or too clammy or too dry. Didn’t they know things weren’t right? They were trapped in a house that no longer belonged to them, rigid and cold, and the least they could do was leave them alone.
And Alphonse, trying to touch him. Edward couldn't quite bring himself to let him. His scent was too cloying.
Lily petals, crushed beneath his fingernails.
“Brother…” His brother whimpered, pawed at his shirt. It was the first thing he had said since they’d opened the anteroom. If it weren’t for the visitors, mother would still be resting. Too many people in there now to let her sleep. The doctor too, but not in his white coat-
-I’m sorry boys, she’s-
That goddamned doctor. A flicker of rage. He didn’t care what Gramma Pinako said, they were never going to see another goddamned doctor for as long as they both lived. Al was afraid of them now, and Ed couldn’t blame him-
Something feathery brushed over his fingers, would probably feel ticklish if he were able to laugh. He looked down, then away, tried not to look again.
It continued to be real. Tiny flowers, rubbing over his knuckles, and his brother was kneeling there begging for him to hold it.
“Y-you don’t have to make them anymore.” He husked, and damn his eyes were leaking. His brother snuffled again (was there anything worse? He had thought the clocks stopping would be the worst) and he conceded. Took the goddamned flowers and let the kid crawl into his lap, let his sobs stab like a knife and wished for all the world he could just make it stop.
So many things wrong, and his brother was still warm.
He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, counted to a thousand and back again. If enough tears leaked out the edges of his eyes it would be enough to make up for the oceans he wouldn’t cry later, when they dragged them into the light and Al had to see.
And the lights were too bright, when Granny Pinako pulled them out into it. They clung to each other desperately in the face of hallways that went on too long, ceilings that went up too high, and in spite of it all, the sun was still shining. Grass was still green. Somewhere outside, a bird was still singing.
What did you do, in the face of so much insanity? He wanted to run, but that would scare his little (only) brother. Had to keep walking.
Murmuring voices around them now, too many faces. The parlor had too many angles. He swallowed and kept moving, tugged Al along with him. Had to keep walking. Had to keep walking.
Mother, in a box.
Had to run. Had to run.
All of Alphonse’s (our) flower chains, twisted around her, sweet-scented mockery. Draped like a blanket, one thousand day lilies(and one for good luck), dried, fresh, and wilting alike. One thousand flowers, one thousand hours, all of it wasted and going to earth.
And they had to stand with it. Another layer to this strange world of injustices, where one’s house became a prison. Where a kiss didn’t awake Sleeping Beauty anymore, and woodcutter’s sons never grew up to be King.
Where people still worsened, and died, even if you wove a thousand flowers.
He almost faltered as he stepped up to the altar (in a box! in a BOX!), but his brother’s grip on his forearm stayed him, gave him focus. Al’s presence, the only thing certain in a world gone insane.
He swallowed hard and steeled himself. The whole world was watching, his brother was watching, and he could not look away.
“We are gathered here in remembrance of…”
A voice started up, a thousand miles away, and he bit down on his lip and embraced his little (precious, only) brother, looked out the window, and somehow endured.
The funeral party walked silently through a field with thousands of flowers, all twisted together into the semblance of chains. Nervously, because they hadn’t been just hours before. Somberly, because there were symbols etched into the dirt along the way.
Hundreds of thousands of flowers, maybe, torn free at the roots where they had risen up and woven themselves.
There would never be enough.
::i never said thank you for that…now i'll never have a chance::
Pairing: Alphonse + Edward Elric
Author: cryogenia
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
30_gens theme number: 02 - Unfamiliar Territory
Warnings in effect: Either sad, or melodramatic. You pick XD
02. Unfamiliar Territory
He could almost pinpoint the exact moment their house became the enemy, the heartbeat after the clocks had stopped and the crying had started. When the building lost its soul and turned empty, unfamiliar; ceased being their home. A house wasn’t a home without its people in it, and there were so many people now and none of them belonged here.
Too many people trying to touch him. They all showed up with their fancy black suits and their sad, patient faces, and tried to hug him and pet him and none of them were right, felt too warm or too cold or too clammy or too dry. Didn’t they know things weren’t right? They were trapped in a house that no longer belonged to them, rigid and cold, and the least they could do was leave them alone.
And Alphonse, trying to touch him. Edward couldn't quite bring himself to let him. His scent was too cloying.
Lily petals, crushed beneath his fingernails.
“Brother…” His brother whimpered, pawed at his shirt. It was the first thing he had said since they’d opened the anteroom. If it weren’t for the visitors, mother would still be resting. Too many people in there now to let her sleep. The doctor too, but not in his white coat-
-I’m sorry boys, she’s-
That goddamned doctor. A flicker of rage. He didn’t care what Gramma Pinako said, they were never going to see another goddamned doctor for as long as they both lived. Al was afraid of them now, and Ed couldn’t blame him-
Something feathery brushed over his fingers, would probably feel ticklish if he were able to laugh. He looked down, then away, tried not to look again.
It continued to be real. Tiny flowers, rubbing over his knuckles, and his brother was kneeling there begging for him to hold it.
“Y-you don’t have to make them anymore.” He husked, and damn his eyes were leaking. His brother snuffled again (was there anything worse? He had thought the clocks stopping would be the worst) and he conceded. Took the goddamned flowers and let the kid crawl into his lap, let his sobs stab like a knife and wished for all the world he could just make it stop.
So many things wrong, and his brother was still warm.
He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling, counted to a thousand and back again. If enough tears leaked out the edges of his eyes it would be enough to make up for the oceans he wouldn’t cry later, when they dragged them into the light and Al had to see.
And the lights were too bright, when Granny Pinako pulled them out into it. They clung to each other desperately in the face of hallways that went on too long, ceilings that went up too high, and in spite of it all, the sun was still shining. Grass was still green. Somewhere outside, a bird was still singing.
What did you do, in the face of so much insanity? He wanted to run, but that would scare his little (only) brother. Had to keep walking.
Murmuring voices around them now, too many faces. The parlor had too many angles. He swallowed and kept moving, tugged Al along with him. Had to keep walking. Had to keep walking.
Mother, in a box.
Had to run. Had to run.
All of Alphonse’s (our) flower chains, twisted around her, sweet-scented mockery. Draped like a blanket, one thousand day lilies(and one for good luck), dried, fresh, and wilting alike. One thousand flowers, one thousand hours, all of it wasted and going to earth.
And they had to stand with it. Another layer to this strange world of injustices, where one’s house became a prison. Where a kiss didn’t awake Sleeping Beauty anymore, and woodcutter’s sons never grew up to be King.
Where people still worsened, and died, even if you wove a thousand flowers.
He almost faltered as he stepped up to the altar (in a box! in a BOX!), but his brother’s grip on his forearm stayed him, gave him focus. Al’s presence, the only thing certain in a world gone insane.
He swallowed hard and steeled himself. The whole world was watching, his brother was watching, and he could not look away.
“We are gathered here in remembrance of…”
A voice started up, a thousand miles away, and he bit down on his lip and embraced his little (precious, only) brother, looked out the window, and somehow endured.
The funeral party walked silently through a field with thousands of flowers, all twisted together into the semblance of chains. Nervously, because they hadn’t been just hours before. Somberly, because there were symbols etched into the dirt along the way.
Hundreds of thousands of flowers, maybe, torn free at the roots where they had risen up and woven themselves.
There would never be enough.
::i never said thank you for that…now i'll never have a chance::