Prison!fic Interlude - for Kalika
Not officially part of the prison-fic, but I had fun writing it anyways. (And no you don't have to reciprocate; I'd share my spam with you anyways <3 )
The train stops somewhere for refueling around two in the morning, and Edward jolts immediately awake, watches the bunk above him sway. The closeness of the sleeping car, the stuffy heat in the darkness, throws him briefly back into a cell. There is a body, pressed up close against him, and it makes him shiver even though he recognizes it as Al. An old, nameless fear. It is first on his list to get rid of, assuming he can. He isn't sure yet he won't still need it.
He stretches his arms above his head and exhales slowly through his nose, wills himself to stay quiet, stay silent and calm. Alphonse squirms a bit and harrumphs at the disruption, but only stirs, does not wake. He reaches over and tossles the boy’s hair fondly, revels in the feel of its glossy, spider-web strands. Alphonse grunts and smiles a little, and Edward smiles too. All his life, it feels like, the only thing he’s wanted has been his little brother’s happiness.
And now what. Alphonse’s favorite question. What was he supposed to wish for? His needs were all small things now; better clothes, some shoes that actually fit. The train had stopped and let them order box lunches at one point early in the evening, and all they could afford was chipped beef and rye. He had eaten so much of it - fuck, so nice to just EAT and not have to start fights - that he’d thought he’d offended. Alphonse had kept staring at him until finally, he had said:
Sorry Al, it’s just good, I’ll slow down if you want me to-
-you never used to like rye bread, brother. Alphonse had replied. Asked what other new favorites Edward had acquired. And that was when he’d realized that he had none. Nothing. Nada. Nothing real he looks forward to. The days all blend together and that’s just fine with him.
Even if his sibling had been horrified. He can’t conceive of a world where dinner is set, and Edward wouldn’t wish him to. His brother belongs to a future where he can choose his own sandwich bread, and he woudn’t change that for the world.
He rolls over and looks at his sibling now, watches the slow, inevitable rise and fall of chest. Could watch this forever, needs nothing else. Once upon a time there were bigger things, bright individual sparks of obsession; chemistry sets that came with birthdays, plans to build the proverbial better mousetrap. Dreams that he dreamed and had all to himself. Those were gone now, left only muzzy trails in their wake. Alphonse is the only thing real now, and that is over, too.
A candle-lamp sways somewhere further down the cabin and reminds him of fireflies caught behind a jar; it probably doesn't look anything like this but that memory is fuzzy, too. He thinks he remembers perhaps, a time when he and Al and Winry had gone out to catch some, cupped their hands around and laughed; because Mother had said you could wish on them and make things real, and they had believed her because she was Mother and in those days she was infallible. He can’t remember what he wanted, back then, but he does remember it was terribly grand - castles in the sky perhaps. Or a victory in a fight. He wonders sadly, if perhaps he could topple the Adamantine Alphonse now...he has seen his brother run. He snorts at the absurdity but cannot deny it - after all these years, he might finally have won.
Strokes his sibling’s soft, definition-less arm with rough fingers and remembers that yes, we always get our wishes at cost.
He closes and eyes and listens to the rhythm of Alphonse’s gentle breath, his brother singing to him even now in his sleep; and its sound pulls him down into nothingness, doesn’t let go until it is time to awaken.
::the dream is over, we survived::
The train stops somewhere for refueling around two in the morning, and Edward jolts immediately awake, watches the bunk above him sway. The closeness of the sleeping car, the stuffy heat in the darkness, throws him briefly back into a cell. There is a body, pressed up close against him, and it makes him shiver even though he recognizes it as Al. An old, nameless fear. It is first on his list to get rid of, assuming he can. He isn't sure yet he won't still need it.
He stretches his arms above his head and exhales slowly through his nose, wills himself to stay quiet, stay silent and calm. Alphonse squirms a bit and harrumphs at the disruption, but only stirs, does not wake. He reaches over and tossles the boy’s hair fondly, revels in the feel of its glossy, spider-web strands. Alphonse grunts and smiles a little, and Edward smiles too. All his life, it feels like, the only thing he’s wanted has been his little brother’s happiness.
And now what. Alphonse’s favorite question. What was he supposed to wish for? His needs were all small things now; better clothes, some shoes that actually fit. The train had stopped and let them order box lunches at one point early in the evening, and all they could afford was chipped beef and rye. He had eaten so much of it - fuck, so nice to just EAT and not have to start fights - that he’d thought he’d offended. Alphonse had kept staring at him until finally, he had said:
Sorry Al, it’s just good, I’ll slow down if you want me to-
-you never used to like rye bread, brother. Alphonse had replied. Asked what other new favorites Edward had acquired. And that was when he’d realized that he had none. Nothing. Nada. Nothing real he looks forward to. The days all blend together and that’s just fine with him.
Even if his sibling had been horrified. He can’t conceive of a world where dinner is set, and Edward wouldn’t wish him to. His brother belongs to a future where he can choose his own sandwich bread, and he woudn’t change that for the world.
He rolls over and looks at his sibling now, watches the slow, inevitable rise and fall of chest. Could watch this forever, needs nothing else. Once upon a time there were bigger things, bright individual sparks of obsession; chemistry sets that came with birthdays, plans to build the proverbial better mousetrap. Dreams that he dreamed and had all to himself. Those were gone now, left only muzzy trails in their wake. Alphonse is the only thing real now, and that is over, too.
A candle-lamp sways somewhere further down the cabin and reminds him of fireflies caught behind a jar; it probably doesn't look anything like this but that memory is fuzzy, too. He thinks he remembers perhaps, a time when he and Al and Winry had gone out to catch some, cupped their hands around and laughed; because Mother had said you could wish on them and make things real, and they had believed her because she was Mother and in those days she was infallible. He can’t remember what he wanted, back then, but he does remember it was terribly grand - castles in the sky perhaps. Or a victory in a fight. He wonders sadly, if perhaps he could topple the Adamantine Alphonse now...he has seen his brother run. He snorts at the absurdity but cannot deny it - after all these years, he might finally have won.
Strokes his sibling’s soft, definition-less arm with rough fingers and remembers that yes, we always get our wishes at cost.
He closes and eyes and listens to the rhythm of Alphonse’s gentle breath, his brother singing to him even now in his sleep; and its sound pulls him down into nothingness, doesn’t let go until it is time to awaken.
::the dream is over, we survived::