Skeletons Chapter 3!
Yo! 'Tis me! XD Happy Memorial Day to those who celebrates it-- and here's a chapter of Skeletons for everyone to commemorate. (Though what exactly we celebrate on this holiday, I'm not too sure... eh heh.) ^_~
Title: Skeletons
Type: Chapter Fic-- Chapter Three
Rating: PG-13 (may be upped later)
Pairings: Elricestx2
Warnings: In addition to the warnings for chapter one, I come baring warnings of fluff. Yes, I know, horrifying as it is, there is SOME fluff in this chapter. ^_^;
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet-- and Edward and Alexander Elric are about to find their grandfather's.
Disclaimer: Edward, Alexander, Rosalie, and all of their little friends are sorta mine… but that’s about it.
Author’s Note: Okay! Here we are with chapter three. XD Sorry, no smut in this one, but on a related note: I’m still shocked by how many people enjoyed the Skeleton!Porn bonus chapter. Thank you so much for your reviews! *blush*
…have I told y’all lately that I love you? ‘Cause I do. :3
Anyway, here we go-! Let’s see what happens next. ^_~
XXX
X
X
X
I really don’t know when it happened.
My falling in love with Alex, I mean. It’s not something that happens often, not even to gay people. At least, that’s what I assume-I went on a search at the library for books and movies on homosexuals-wanting-to-fuck-their-baby-brothers-senseless; came up with nothing. And we all know that authors’ and screenwriters’ like to write the raunchiest stuff they can think of.
Either this is way too raunchy, even for them, or they just don’t think of it.
So I don’t really have many cases to compare mine to. I wish I could say it was ‘love at first sight’-‘cause you know that those situations never work out and then I could explain this away. (Seriously. Look at Cinderella a couple months down the line and I promise things won’t be quite as happy as I’m sure she’d thought they’d be.) But no, in fact, I hated Alexander for years. We’re so close in age; it’s hard to play big brother to someone who’s so much smarter than you. Really-you’d think I’d have had the advantage, being taller and stronger, but when your opponent has brains; not to mention, being the somewhat sickly runt he was, mom and dad on his side…
Well, let’s just say that Alex won a majority of our fights in the early years. I’d raise a fist, he’d cough out for help, I’d be in time-out. God, I could have killed him. And I distinctly remember wishing on the candles of my fifth birthday cake for Alex to get chickenpox; revenge for all the joy he’d taken from seeing me suffer with them.
But of course, he just happened to be one of the few lucky bastards who never had to endure them. It figures, you know? Though he had to go through quite a few more bouts of the flu than I did… equivalent exchange, I guess.
By the time Al was six, we were almost always at each other’s throats. Wresting, scuffling, biting, punching, kicking… Oh, sure, we got along sometimes-when we visited Grandpa, when mom and dad were in the room, when Rosalie was crying, or when we both wanted to stay up late. But you show us a cookie? We were on the ground, ready to kill for possession of it.
… Maybe that was when it started. My little “crush” on Alex, that is. During all of that fighting.
Because after a while, he finally started fighting back. In fact, by the time he was four, he stopped screaming for mom and dad entirely-he was ready: feet placed, fists raised. And God, he’s beautiful when he’s mad; face flushed, lips pursed, silvery eyes rippling like mercury. He could take my breath away. Literally, too, by that point-he packs a strong punch. And I adored sparring with him. Heck, I even began to find that I had a growing respect for him… that he could take a beating, but never stop trying. That he didn’t give up.
In the end, I think he realized the same. He began to listen to me more. Obeyed, once in a while, when I asked him nicely to do something.
And I found that his smile was even more adorable than his frown.
Of course, now I can list a year’s worth of things I love about him-his laugh, his blush, his intelligence, his honesty… the way he looks when he’s asleep… all of those corny things they talk about in the movies.
But unlike the movies…
Well, he’s my brother. And if authors’ and screenwriters’ don’t want to talk about gay incest, why should he?
X
X
X
XXX
Skeletons
XXX
Fudo High wasn’t one of the worst schools in the world-of that, Alexander was certain. The teachers were nice enough, the students were relatively friendly, and the surrounding grounds were nice and green. They didn’t get too much homework, and there were plenty of after school activities for everyone. Heck, even their uniforms weren’t so horrible: plaid skirts for girls and plaid pants for boys, with white, button-up shirts and matching plaid ties. Rosalie looked like a goddess in hers; Edward a supermodel… Personally, Alex thought he looked like a dork, but it didn’t matter anyway. Of the three Elric kids, he was the least popular. Not to say that he was hated, not by any means; he had dozens of friends. But he was nowhere near as beloved as Rosie-who had nearly the entire freshman year at her command- and Ed, who, despite all but screaming his sexual preferences over the PA system, continued to be drooled over by the entire female student population. (And a good share of the male population, too.)
Still, Alexander hated the place. And not, as he told his parents, just because it was boring-which wasn’t a lie, he felt absolutely no academic stimulation whatsoever in this hellhole-
But because he couldn’t stand having to deal with his brother’s admirers. Or, hell, even his brother in general.
Oh, it wasn’t entirely Edward’s fault, of course. He was naturally charming, there was no other boy in the school who could hold a candle to his looks (except, perhaps, Todd Multare, but everyone knew that Lisa Nightingale had her sharp amber eyes on him and consequently left him be-for fear of Lisa’s infamous wrath), and he had the annoying tendency of being nice to everybody, nerds and jocks alike. So everyone knew him, everyone loved him, and everyone (it seemed) wanted to get into his pants.
And that sucked.
For Alex, anyway. As he was the one to whom all questions were directed. ‘What’s his favorite color?’ Blue. ‘Where does he usually hang out?’ The basement. ‘Is he busy on Saturday?’ I dunno. ‘Is he gonna star in the next play?’ Probably. ‘Would he go out with me if he were straight?’ How the hell should I know?
And so it went. On and on until Alexander couldn’t stand it; ‘til he wanted to punch every squealing girl in the face. Thus, he spent a lot of time by himself, trying to keep his temper-eating his lunch alone on the top of a little grassy knoll near the baseball field. He found it helped to keep him sane, these moments alone: watching his peers play as he ate his PB&J or read a book. Always the same… day after day.
‘I hate this school,’ he mused darkly, biting loudly down on an apple. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched a short, bespeckled boy named Gary race after a pop fly. (Though he wasn’t mad at Gary so much as he was Gary’s little sister, Anna, who’d been the most recent victim of Edward’s indelible charisma. And now she was suffering from the undying desire to “eat him up with a spoon.”) ‘Dammit, Brother, sometimes I think you do this just to irritate me.’ Alexander muffled a yawn as his stomach did an uncomfortable somersault, dropping his half-eaten fruit back into his paper sack with a grimace. Then he flopped over in despair.
“…”
The sky was pretty today; a bright cerulean capped with mountain-swirl clouds. Ed was probably off sketching, as he always did on beautiful days during lunch break…and study hall…and any other class he could get away with it in. Al tried not to think about it. His brother was on his mind way too much as it was; and he had no right to be mad at him for things that weren’t his fault. What was he, anyway, jealous? Not of the attention-he had never been one who wished to be fought over or desired. And it wasn’t like he had any right to try and keep his elder sibling all to himself. Besides the fact that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t really… well, normal, either.
Alex frowned, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright sun. His head sorta hurt… ‘I do NOT have a crush on Edward,’ the boy told himself firmly, though the venom behind the words had long since run dry; replaced with weariness. So tired… ‘It’s just Grandpa’s stupid diary playing tricks on my head.’
Speaking of which…
He sat up again, his ponytail ruffled from the grass and his movements, reaching for his black school bag. ‘Where did I p-? Ah.’ It was there, stuffed in his front pocket-looking innocent and somewhat expensive in the warm, early autumn light.
Pulling it out with a hesitant glance to either side, Alexander allowed the book to fall open in his lap, picking up where he last left off.
X
October, 1921
Dear Al,
I’m sorry. I know it’s been months since I last wrote. But really, there’s been nothing to say. I spend all of my time looking for you-in the streets, in the sky, in my dreams. I’m withering away, Alphonse. I know I have to keep moving forward, I know I’ve got to-but it’s hard to wake up in the mornings. I’d rather just lie in bed until I die.
Or freeze to death. Fall is brutal here.
Heiderich has been trying his best to keep me sane. He really has. He’ll drag me out of bed, force food down my throat, and kick me all the way down the street to work. It must take a lot out of him, having to deal with me. In fact, I think all of the stress I’ve put him through is finally catching up with him; he seems to be developing a cold. He sure is coughing a lot, anyway.
I’ll make him some soup when he comes home. I hope I don’t burn down the kitchen.
Oh, there he is now.
I’ll write soon, Al. I promise.
-Ed
X
‘I wonder how many years these entries span…?’ Alex thought vaguely, lazily resting his chin in his hand. He sneezed, snuffled, then shook his head to clear it. His belly curled oddly again. ‘Originally I thought they’d cover about a year, but Grandpa sure didn’t write much. Only about once a month-if even. Though I suppose he couldn’t have had much to say, other then that he missed Al.’ The brunette frowned lightly, chewing on his bottom lip. ‘I wonder what I’d say in a letter if Edward and I ever got separated…?’ He couldn’t think of much. He’d be too preoccupied with trying to find his brother again; not sitting around moping about their predicament. And Alex could only assume Grandpa felt the same way.
Mostly.
Except that their grandfather sure was mushy about missing his younger sibling.
‘Maybe he really was in love with this-what was his name? Alphonse?’
Alexander blushed when the musing crossed his mind, shaking his head instinctively. “He can’t have been,” he mumbled dully; his voice sounded somewhat horse, even to his own ears. He coughed. What was the matter with him today? “I mean, he obviously married someone… right?”
…right?
Though Alex couldn’t-for the life of him- remember ever calling someone on his father’s side of the family ‘grandma.’ Blinking slowly (and in a state of mild confusion) at this sudden realization, the boy straightened. Did they even HAVE a grandmother on his dad’s side? He’d never thought about it. They’d grown up knowing Gramma Walz on their mom’s side; it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d needed (or even had) another one.
The brunette was just about to stand up in search of his older brother to inquire his opinion on the matter when, out of nowhere, he heard a familiar voice humming what seemed to be a Phil Collins song. Seemed to be because it was. And there was only one teenage guy who would (without massive quantities of liquor involved) sing a song from Tarzan in public.
“Why can’t they understand the way we feel? They just don’t trust what they can’t explain. I know we’re different but, deep inside us, we’re not that different at all.”
Ed.
Getting to his knees and squinting against the sun, Alex turned to his right-
And there, on the hill beside him, was Edward. His tie loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, and his sketchbook propped open against his knees, he was twisted at an angle which suggested that he’d been watching Alexander; a hypothesis which proved to be true when he lifted his smoldering tawny gaze from his drawings. They were glued smack on his face.
Alex, despite all of his internal struggles to stop it, felt a flush rise on his face.
Ed, in turn, grinned widely, waving. “Hey, Al!” he called innocently, all bubbles and sunshine. “I’m almost done, you wanna see?”
“Um…” Alexander hesitated, still somewhat taken aback (and a little annoyed at having been caught so unaware. What was Edward doing here?), before shrugging and getting to his feet. (He ignored the way the world seemed to tilt oddly as he did so.) “I… I guess.”
Which was how he found himself, just a few minutes later, leaning casually against Ed’s back, arms wrapped lightly around his neck, chin on his shoulder; watching his brother smudge the last few lines of graphite into place. Al noted his technique silently, lashes slothfully drooping in the hot rays of the noon-day sun. Despite his continued, vehement insistence that he did NOT love his brother in “that way,” Alex couldn’t deny that he liked being close to him, when given the chance. He was so nice and warm… solid. Like he’d always be there, smelling of spicy aftershave and faint cigarette smoke.
“Brother…?” he drawled sluggishly, feeling more and more irritatingly tired. ‘I wonder why?’ Probably from all of those dull lessons… or from the sun… or the hours he’d spent reading Grandpa’s journal last night.
“Yeah, Al?” Ed inquired quietly, concentrating most of his energy on completing the final details of his sketch. When he spoke, his voice reverberated through Alexander’s chest; low in volume and pitch… Alex watched his intense face noiselessly, admiring the way the sun glinted off of it-the way his brother nibbled on the tip of his tongue while he worked.
He colored again, but the hue was lost as he hid his face.
“Did we have a Grandma Elric?”
“…” Edward paused for a moment, mildly surprised, casting his younger sibling a furtive glance before continuing with his work. “…I suppose at one time, we did,” he finally replied, without any sort of inflection. “Dad must have been related to Grandpa by blood-they look too much alike for him to have been adopted or anything. I guess she must have died before we were born.”
Alexander pouted a bit, staring blankly out over the baseball field. “...but I thought you said that Grandpa loved his brother. You seemed pretty sure of it.”
Ed stiffened slightly, looked a bit baffled. And rather flustered, too. “Well, I- he could have, still. Maybe he just married for appearances sake. But really, Alex, why’re you asking me this?”
“Why’re you singing ‘You’ll Be In My Heart’ during lunch break?” Alex countered, despite the fact that this had nothing to do with anything. But in his mind, the transition made perfect sense. He snuffled a little bit more. Why’d he feel so fuzzy?
“’Cause I felt like it,” Edward announced boldly, grinning from ear to ear. And thus, with a flourish and the date, he lifted the pad up a few inches higher. “Like it?” he inquired merrily, watching for Al’s reaction.
“…” Dazedly, Alex reached out and lightly grabbed the corner of the paper with a hand that suddenly felt much too heavy. Then he looked.
Really looked.
“Wow…” he murmured, silvery eyes lighting up a bit as he recognized himself. “It’s really good, Brother…” And it was. Soft and sketchy, as if to capture a single moment in time, the drawing was of Alexander with his nose in the diary-hair fluttering in the wind while the long grass rustled around him. It was almost like they were really moving… “Though I don’t know why you chose to draw me… rather than all of those other kids over there. They’d make much more interesting models.”
Edward graced this vaguely slurred comment with an arched eyebrow. “That’s a matter of opinion,” he lightly quipped-though his cheeks looked a little pinker than usual. “Personally, I find you an incredibly interesting model. You’re so expressive all of the time! You never look the same. It’s quite fascinati- Al?”
Ed straightened abruptly, eyes widening as they pierced his brother’s unexpectedly sweaty face. “Al?” he repeated, more urgently, as the younger teen continued to weakly lower his head.” Al; you’re so pale- Are you okay?”
“Mmmm… don’t really… feel well,” Alex muttered softly, slowly starting to slide backwards… “’rry…”
“Alex-? ALEXANDER!”
X
November, 1921
Dear Al,
I’ve been traveling a lot, lately. Research for Heiderich mostly, but also for me. Possible ways to open the Gate without alchemy. It’s kind of like searching for the Philosopher’s Stone again, because everyone makes it seem impossible. To cross the Gate, that is.
Mainly because most of them have never even heard of alchemy, much less the Gate.
I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off. But I know that I can’t just give up. I’m sure that, wherever you are, you’re looking, too. Right?
We can’t lose faith. Not yet.
-Ed
X
“Dammit, Al! You gave me such a scare!”
Alex cast a guilty glance towards his wall, trying to avoid his brother’s furious eyes. “I’m sorry…” he murmured for what seemed to be the hundredth time. But it was actually more like the thousandth. “I am… I didn’t mean to worry you…”
Edward, who somehow managed to look intimidating even when dressed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, stared coldly down at his brother, wringing a cool washcloth out over a basin on Alexander’s nightstand. Then, with a sigh, he placed the rag gently on the brunette’s clammy forehead, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “…I know you didn’t do it intentionally,” the older boy finally grumbled, toying with a loose strand of Al’s hair. “But fuck, Al; you fainted dead away! Why’d you go to school if you felt so terrible?”
“I didn’t-! Not this morning, anyway,” Alexander insisted, sniffling a bit. He pulled his blankets more tightly around him, trying to ignore that awful feeling one tends to get when ill: that feeling which leaves a person somewhere between freezing and frying. “I just… right before lunch… and all of the sudden…”
“…” Ed didn’t reply for a moment, too preoccupied with twisting an auburn lock around and around his finger. Then he grinned. “Well… at least it wasn’t in response to my art. I mean, I was gonna say-that would be the worst review I ever got, if it was.”
Was that… supposed to be funny…?
“Why would your art make me sick…?” Alex wheezed hesitantly, not sure if he was entirely on-board with the joke. Or perhaps he was just thrown for a loop; leave it to Edward to be completely homicidal one minute, and laughing it off the next. “I told you before, it was really good…”
The blonde smiled somewhat sadly. “But you didn’t seem to like the subject matter too much.” He paused, chuckling a bit at Alexander’s bewildered expression. “…do I make you sick, too, Al?” he asked faintly, unable to keep his voice from cracking.
And Alex was astonished to see a single, crystalline tear collecting in the corner of his brother’s eye.
He gulped.
“. . . why?”
Edward blinked blankly down at him, hastily trying to rub his face clean. But Alex caught the fist in his own… gaze narrowing in bewilderment. “Why would you make me sick, Brother?”
…the blonde didn’t respond. Instead, lips tugging upward in a tender beam, he lightly ruffled Alexander’s hair. “Never mind,” he insisted gently. “Get some sleep. The doctor said this was partially caused by exhaustion and stress. I don’t know what you’ve been doin’ so frantically, but you clearly need a break from it.”
“Ah…!” Alex coughed in mild disappointment as Ed pulled away, moving to leave. ‘What was that all about-?’ “Wait, Brother-!”
Edward paused; casting Al a glance from over his shoulder. Alexander simply pointed, slowly turning three different shades of green.
“Can you pass that bucket? I feel like I’m gonna thr-!”
So Ed passed it.
Just in time.
X
December, 1921
Dear Al,
There’s a holiday here that I have never heard of. They call it ‘Christmas.’ Heiderich celebrates it, and is teaching me how. There’s a lot of religion behind it, though-I dunno if I like that. Apparently, some kid by the name of Jesus was born to a virgin (despite the impossibility of it all) on the 25th of December and grew up to be the messiah or something. So Christians all around the world (Christians, derived from his name, Jesus Christ, I suppose) celebrate the day he was born by killing a tree and decorating it with lights and giving each other presents and singing bunches of strange songs. It’s weird.
But you know what the weirdest part of it is, Al?
I think I actually like it.
I was surprised, too. But it’s… it’s hard not to, what with all of the warmness that encases the city-warmness that even the biting cold can’t kill. It’s snowy and dark almost all of the time, but things just seem brighter. People are kinder to strangers, the pine trees they cut glow so beautifully through the night, the songs are somehow nostalgic… And everyone is smiling. Like the world really is a nice place.
I made Heiderich a Christmas present. Out of some spare metal Hohenheim keeps around to make my spare arms and legs. It’s a little rocket. Or, at least, it’s supposed to be; it’s kinda hard to tell, ‘cause the wings are sort of bent. But I think it looks close enough. I hope he likes it.
I wonder what you’d like, Al? I’ll get you something special, I think, and save it. Then I’ll give it to you when we meet again. Or perhaps I’ll make you wait for the next Christmas. I think you’ll like the holiday once you’ve had a chance to celebrate it; maybe even more than I like it. I can see you loving the weird songs and food… you would adore all of the lights on the tree. And you’d eat up all the benevolence people show to one another on the streets. In fact, I think you were made for Christmas.
And I look forward to sharing hundreds of Christmases with you in the future, so wait for me, okay?
-Ed
X
It wasn’t an unusual scene- despite being the youngest and ‘daddy’s little girl,’ Rosalie Elric was, by far, the most open minded and outspoken person in the family. Much to their father’s chagrin when it came to certain topics…
Edward, in the middle of a quick pencil sketch on the love seat, and Alex, who was wrapped in a blanket on the couch in the corner, watched in mild amusement as the ending theme of Numb3rs was interrupted by fighting. Again.
Or, should they say, ‘as usual.’
“Rosie,” their father growled from behind the newspaper- his trim golden beard shuddering- “I don’t know how to make this any clearer to you. There’s a REASON people tend to be prejudice against gays and the like. It’s because it’s WRONG.”
“How can you say that!” Rosalie snarled, glaring daggers. “How? When knowing full well that other peoples’ happiness is on the line?”
“I’m sorry, Rosie, but it’s just disgusting,” Mr. Elric spat, ruffling his paper in an attempt to hide the fury in his voice. Edward mutely ran his eraser down one edge of his paper. “It’s not natural.”
“According to who? YOU? What makes it so unnatural? Plenty of animals are gay-you see it in the zoos. Heck, you see it in backyards! You used to have dogs, right?” she huffed, crossing her arms and legs. Their mother, who had just walked through the living room door with a basket of laundry, took one look at this pose and then walked right back out again.
“Rosie, that’s a lie; how would we be able to procre-” their dad started to sigh-
“NOT EVERYONE IS FREAKIN’ GAY, DAD. And why the hell should you care what other people do? Aren’t you comfortable in your own sexuality? They don’t threaten you. They don’t tell you that YOU have to be gay. And it’s not like they CHOOSE to be gay! Who would, with all the shit people like you put them through?”
“…” Ed curled a little tighter around his sketchbook, brow furrowed as if in concentration. Alexander didn’t dare look at him.
“Watching your language, young lady,” Mr. Elric snapped, folding his newspaper into a neat square. Then, taking a deep breath, he removed his glasses in an attempt to clean them. Or, at least, to busy his hands. “And I’m sorry. It’s just not natural. If God-”
“If God didn’t want guys making out, he wouldn’t have put pleasure spots up their asses!” Rosie countered without a moment’s hesitation. Her father’s face flamed.
Heck, so did Ed and Alex’s.
“Rosalie Catharine-!” the man spluttered, cheeks splotching with angry color. “When will this madness stop!”
“When you finally accept the fact that not everyone sees the world the same way you do,” she glowered, periwinkle eyes narrowing in distaste. Her father snorted, carefully placing his spectacles back on his head.
“This coming from the girl who thinks Charlie and Don should start making out,” he all but gagged, waving vaguely at the television screen. Rosie arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
“So?”
“SO?” Mr. Elric choked. “So they’re brothers! That’s- that’s like if Edward and Alexander started making out! Wouldn’t that horrify you?”
Rosalie said nothing. But her wicked smile spoke volumes.
And that was the brothers’ cue to get the hell out of there.
“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” Alex rapidly rasped, feeling a little more lightheaded that he should. It wasn’t good for his health to be down here amidst all of these racing ideas an arguments… he was starting to feel more confused than ever. And all of that anxiety tended to make him feel like he was going to vomit. Yes, what he really needed was some time alone.
But that was beginning to look as if it was going to be difficult to achieve: Edward had stood at the same time he had, sketchbook under his arm as he determinedly avoided his father’s stare. Not that Alex could really blame him for wanting to bolt right away. Anyone in their right mind would. (Except Rosie. But she was born insane, everyone knew that.)
Still, being with Ed while he was this befuddled was the last think Alexander needed…
“I’ll help you,” Ed murmured inaudibly, gingerly taking Al’s arm and leading him in the direction of the hallway. Alex swallowed, about to resist the help-but decided, in the end, to accept it. It would be too much work to protest…. And if Edward needed an excuse to get out of there, Alexander was more than happy to provide it.
The hallway was cold and dark in comparison to the living room; lacking all of its bright lights, warm furniture, and worn carpeting. But the hall, in contrast, was blissfully quiet in its shadowed way, and that was all they wanted right now-trying vainly the block out the continued sound of screaming.
Their footsteps echoed off of the wooden floor.
Alex tried to force a smile. “Rosie sure is… um, opinionated.” (The understatement of the year, many would call that.)
Edward didn’t respond. He didn’t even crack a smile. His face was as hard as stone.
“Do you think she’ll ever talk some sense into him?” Alexander tried again, feebly; furious with how weak and crumbly his voice sounded. ‘I hate being sick.’
But if Ed heard the question, he ignored it. Instead, he asked-in a voice as stiff as his expression- “Do you think that I’m a coward?”
…that was unexpected.
“Huh?”
“Do you think that I’m a coward,” Edward repeated, opening the door to their bedroom and helping Alex inside. Moonlight was spilling through the window in bright shades of sapphire and indigo. The rays lit up the walls; spilling over their personal treasures; illuminating their faces as if the sun were still shining. “For not telling dad that I’m gay.”
Alexander felt his mouth tug upwards in a tiny smirk. “No. I think you’re not suicidal.”
Ed snorted, helping ease Alex down upon his bed. But rather than lay, the younger boy watched his brother lock the door, switch on the ceiling fan, and open the window- all before turning around to desperately fish through the bottom of his sock drawer. The brunette’s face darkened upon seeing this little performance; it was a familiar scenario.
“You told me that you’d quit,” he said tightly as Edward tapped out a cigarette from a lonely, crumpled box; lighting it with a stray match. Ed shrugged, finally calming as he perched himself on the windowsill, arms draped over his kneecaps. He took a long drag.
“I did,” he then announced, casting Al a glance from the window. His eyes were alive, glowing like embers. They must have been embers; why else would Alex’s face feel like it was on fire? (‘It must be the fever…’ To counter it, he quickly popped two pills of Nyquil.) “These are just for stressful occasions.”
“And what’s the big stress now?” Al inquired with a cough, wrapping himself more securely in his quilt. The cool wind coming through the window made his head hurt… he didn’t know how Edward could stand it, with nothing but a pair of unzipped jeans on.
“Well, I-” But then he froze, swiftly sitting up- cursing as he noticed Alexander’s shivers. “Oh shit-! I’m sorry, Al! I wasn’t thinking…!” Without a second thought, he stubbed out the cigarette on the back of a textbook, threw it outside, and locked the window again. The fan was off an instant later, and then there was Ed-kneeling in front of his trembling younger sibling.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, truly looking it. “I really wasn’t thinking… you’re not too cold, are you?” Alex shook his head, but his body wouldn’t stop quivering. Edward’s eyes lit up with concern; a graceful hand lifted to push away the brunette’s long, draping bangs.
‘My face must feel much warmer than it should…’ Al thought blearily, embarrassed. His brother’s palm almost felt too cool against his flushed skin…like ice. ‘He shouldn’t touch me, I might burn him…’ The illogical thought made sense in his hazy mind; he lifted a hand to brush the other’s away- but ended up grasping it, instead; tugging it down to mingle with his own.
“!” Ed stiffened with shock as Alex suddenly dropped forward, resting his head against his brother’s shoulder. “Al…?”
“Brother,” Alex muttered, sounding slurred and strange, even in his own ears. His mouth was like cotton… “if Grandpa was gay, why is his kid such a homophobe…?”
Edward swallowed thickly, trying not to think of the warm body which was pressed so close to his own. “I don’t know,” he then whispered, giving an odd little jolt when Alexander’s fingers tightened around his. “But it doesn’t matter for you, does it?” he continued casually, brushing a few strands of Al’s hair away from his sweat-drenched neck. “I mean, you’re straight.”
“Mmmm… I dunno,” Alexander burbled, yawning widely. His free hand clenched around his elder sibling’s loose locks. “Maybe I’m gay, too… sometimes I think I might be…” He closed his eyes, grinning a bit drunkenly. “Hey, Brother… your heart is beating really, really fast…”
“Is it?” Ed choked, trying to sound calm-but really, he was just very, very thankful that Alex was only molesting his top half. ‘It’s only the medication talking, Edward. Don’t do anything stupid-!’
“Yeah…” Alex mumbled with a soft sigh. “But… so is mine…”
And with that, he fell asleep.
X
December, 1921
Dear Al,
It’s New Years Eve tonight- there sure are a lot of holidays in December. There’s no present giving during this one, though, or dead trees, or songs. Heiderich says New Years Eve is more of a personal holiday; to reflect on what has happened to you this past year, and decide on what you want to do in the future. I told him that the last thing I need to do is reflect more on my past. He just laughed and told me that, if that was the case, I should focus on the future aspect of the day. I mentioned that I obsessed over that on a daily basis, as well; a fact which he didn’t deny. But he told me that I might as well try out the holiday, anyway, and see if I don’t end up liking it just the same.
So here I am trying.
…mostly trying NOT to think about this past year, actually. Because really, how could I ever truly absorb what occurred? The first half of the year I was with you-then you were taken away from me, and I was thrown through the Gate. It was a price I was willing (and am still willing) to pay to see you alive again, but…
And then there was the second half of this year: trying to fit into a world which I clearly do not belong to with people I do not know who have never heard of my homeland or of my job.
A world without you.
And thus, this brings me to my ever-so-obvious resolution: to get you back. (I bet you could never see that one coming, eh, Al? Ha ha.)
. . . Heiderich also says this is the holiday to tell people how you feel. There are other, similar holidays, but in the wake of “the past and the future combining,” as he so artistically puts it, I suppose I might as well keep to tradition.
I love you, Al. And I plan to tell you that in a million different ways once I find you again.
I guess you could call that my second resolution.
Here’s to a new year, Alphonse.
-Ed
XXX
You all probably hate me now, don’t you? Sorry… but c’mon, you don’t wanna see Edward take advantage of his drugged little brother, do you?
…okay, well, how about I don’t want to see Edward take advantage of his drugged little brother?
(Oh, and yeah, Nyquil really does do that to you… or, at least, it does that to me. o.O)
In any case, I hope you enjoyed! I’ll try to update again, soon. X3
Title: Skeletons
Type: Chapter Fic-- Chapter Three
Rating: PG-13 (may be upped later)
Pairings: Elricestx2
Warnings: In addition to the warnings for chapter one, I come baring warnings of fluff. Yes, I know, horrifying as it is, there is SOME fluff in this chapter. ^_^;
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet-- and Edward and Alexander Elric are about to find their grandfather's.
Disclaimer: Edward, Alexander, Rosalie, and all of their little friends are sorta mine… but that’s about it.
Author’s Note: Okay! Here we are with chapter three. XD Sorry, no smut in this one, but on a related note: I’m still shocked by how many people enjoyed the Skeleton!Porn bonus chapter. Thank you so much for your reviews! *blush*
…have I told y’all lately that I love you? ‘Cause I do. :3
Anyway, here we go-! Let’s see what happens next. ^_~
XXX
X
X
X
I really don’t know when it happened.
My falling in love with Alex, I mean. It’s not something that happens often, not even to gay people. At least, that’s what I assume-I went on a search at the library for books and movies on homosexuals-wanting-to-fuck-their-baby-brothers-senseless; came up with nothing. And we all know that authors’ and screenwriters’ like to write the raunchiest stuff they can think of.
Either this is way too raunchy, even for them, or they just don’t think of it.
So I don’t really have many cases to compare mine to. I wish I could say it was ‘love at first sight’-‘cause you know that those situations never work out and then I could explain this away. (Seriously. Look at Cinderella a couple months down the line and I promise things won’t be quite as happy as I’m sure she’d thought they’d be.) But no, in fact, I hated Alexander for years. We’re so close in age; it’s hard to play big brother to someone who’s so much smarter than you. Really-you’d think I’d have had the advantage, being taller and stronger, but when your opponent has brains; not to mention, being the somewhat sickly runt he was, mom and dad on his side…
Well, let’s just say that Alex won a majority of our fights in the early years. I’d raise a fist, he’d cough out for help, I’d be in time-out. God, I could have killed him. And I distinctly remember wishing on the candles of my fifth birthday cake for Alex to get chickenpox; revenge for all the joy he’d taken from seeing me suffer with them.
But of course, he just happened to be one of the few lucky bastards who never had to endure them. It figures, you know? Though he had to go through quite a few more bouts of the flu than I did… equivalent exchange, I guess.
By the time Al was six, we were almost always at each other’s throats. Wresting, scuffling, biting, punching, kicking… Oh, sure, we got along sometimes-when we visited Grandpa, when mom and dad were in the room, when Rosalie was crying, or when we both wanted to stay up late. But you show us a cookie? We were on the ground, ready to kill for possession of it.
… Maybe that was when it started. My little “crush” on Alex, that is. During all of that fighting.
Because after a while, he finally started fighting back. In fact, by the time he was four, he stopped screaming for mom and dad entirely-he was ready: feet placed, fists raised. And God, he’s beautiful when he’s mad; face flushed, lips pursed, silvery eyes rippling like mercury. He could take my breath away. Literally, too, by that point-he packs a strong punch. And I adored sparring with him. Heck, I even began to find that I had a growing respect for him… that he could take a beating, but never stop trying. That he didn’t give up.
In the end, I think he realized the same. He began to listen to me more. Obeyed, once in a while, when I asked him nicely to do something.
And I found that his smile was even more adorable than his frown.
Of course, now I can list a year’s worth of things I love about him-his laugh, his blush, his intelligence, his honesty… the way he looks when he’s asleep… all of those corny things they talk about in the movies.
But unlike the movies…
Well, he’s my brother. And if authors’ and screenwriters’ don’t want to talk about gay incest, why should he?
X
X
X
XXX
Skeletons
XXX
Fudo High wasn’t one of the worst schools in the world-of that, Alexander was certain. The teachers were nice enough, the students were relatively friendly, and the surrounding grounds were nice and green. They didn’t get too much homework, and there were plenty of after school activities for everyone. Heck, even their uniforms weren’t so horrible: plaid skirts for girls and plaid pants for boys, with white, button-up shirts and matching plaid ties. Rosalie looked like a goddess in hers; Edward a supermodel… Personally, Alex thought he looked like a dork, but it didn’t matter anyway. Of the three Elric kids, he was the least popular. Not to say that he was hated, not by any means; he had dozens of friends. But he was nowhere near as beloved as Rosie-who had nearly the entire freshman year at her command- and Ed, who, despite all but screaming his sexual preferences over the PA system, continued to be drooled over by the entire female student population. (And a good share of the male population, too.)
Still, Alexander hated the place. And not, as he told his parents, just because it was boring-which wasn’t a lie, he felt absolutely no academic stimulation whatsoever in this hellhole-
But because he couldn’t stand having to deal with his brother’s admirers. Or, hell, even his brother in general.
Oh, it wasn’t entirely Edward’s fault, of course. He was naturally charming, there was no other boy in the school who could hold a candle to his looks (except, perhaps, Todd Multare, but everyone knew that Lisa Nightingale had her sharp amber eyes on him and consequently left him be-for fear of Lisa’s infamous wrath), and he had the annoying tendency of being nice to everybody, nerds and jocks alike. So everyone knew him, everyone loved him, and everyone (it seemed) wanted to get into his pants.
And that sucked.
For Alex, anyway. As he was the one to whom all questions were directed. ‘What’s his favorite color?’ Blue. ‘Where does he usually hang out?’ The basement. ‘Is he busy on Saturday?’ I dunno. ‘Is he gonna star in the next play?’ Probably. ‘Would he go out with me if he were straight?’ How the hell should I know?
And so it went. On and on until Alexander couldn’t stand it; ‘til he wanted to punch every squealing girl in the face. Thus, he spent a lot of time by himself, trying to keep his temper-eating his lunch alone on the top of a little grassy knoll near the baseball field. He found it helped to keep him sane, these moments alone: watching his peers play as he ate his PB&J or read a book. Always the same… day after day.
‘I hate this school,’ he mused darkly, biting loudly down on an apple. His eyes narrowed slightly as he watched a short, bespeckled boy named Gary race after a pop fly. (Though he wasn’t mad at Gary so much as he was Gary’s little sister, Anna, who’d been the most recent victim of Edward’s indelible charisma. And now she was suffering from the undying desire to “eat him up with a spoon.”) ‘Dammit, Brother, sometimes I think you do this just to irritate me.’ Alexander muffled a yawn as his stomach did an uncomfortable somersault, dropping his half-eaten fruit back into his paper sack with a grimace. Then he flopped over in despair.
“…”
The sky was pretty today; a bright cerulean capped with mountain-swirl clouds. Ed was probably off sketching, as he always did on beautiful days during lunch break…and study hall…and any other class he could get away with it in. Al tried not to think about it. His brother was on his mind way too much as it was; and he had no right to be mad at him for things that weren’t his fault. What was he, anyway, jealous? Not of the attention-he had never been one who wished to be fought over or desired. And it wasn’t like he had any right to try and keep his elder sibling all to himself. Besides the fact that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t really… well, normal, either.
Alex frowned, squeezing his eyes shut against the bright sun. His head sorta hurt… ‘I do NOT have a crush on Edward,’ the boy told himself firmly, though the venom behind the words had long since run dry; replaced with weariness. So tired… ‘It’s just Grandpa’s stupid diary playing tricks on my head.’
Speaking of which…
He sat up again, his ponytail ruffled from the grass and his movements, reaching for his black school bag. ‘Where did I p-? Ah.’ It was there, stuffed in his front pocket-looking innocent and somewhat expensive in the warm, early autumn light.
Pulling it out with a hesitant glance to either side, Alexander allowed the book to fall open in his lap, picking up where he last left off.
X
October, 1921
Dear Al,
I’m sorry. I know it’s been months since I last wrote. But really, there’s been nothing to say. I spend all of my time looking for you-in the streets, in the sky, in my dreams. I’m withering away, Alphonse. I know I have to keep moving forward, I know I’ve got to-but it’s hard to wake up in the mornings. I’d rather just lie in bed until I die.
Or freeze to death. Fall is brutal here.
Heiderich has been trying his best to keep me sane. He really has. He’ll drag me out of bed, force food down my throat, and kick me all the way down the street to work. It must take a lot out of him, having to deal with me. In fact, I think all of the stress I’ve put him through is finally catching up with him; he seems to be developing a cold. He sure is coughing a lot, anyway.
I’ll make him some soup when he comes home. I hope I don’t burn down the kitchen.
Oh, there he is now.
I’ll write soon, Al. I promise.
-Ed
X
‘I wonder how many years these entries span…?’ Alex thought vaguely, lazily resting his chin in his hand. He sneezed, snuffled, then shook his head to clear it. His belly curled oddly again. ‘Originally I thought they’d cover about a year, but Grandpa sure didn’t write much. Only about once a month-if even. Though I suppose he couldn’t have had much to say, other then that he missed Al.’ The brunette frowned lightly, chewing on his bottom lip. ‘I wonder what I’d say in a letter if Edward and I ever got separated…?’ He couldn’t think of much. He’d be too preoccupied with trying to find his brother again; not sitting around moping about their predicament. And Alex could only assume Grandpa felt the same way.
Mostly.
Except that their grandfather sure was mushy about missing his younger sibling.
‘Maybe he really was in love with this-what was his name? Alphonse?’
Alexander blushed when the musing crossed his mind, shaking his head instinctively. “He can’t have been,” he mumbled dully; his voice sounded somewhat horse, even to his own ears. He coughed. What was the matter with him today? “I mean, he obviously married someone… right?”
…right?
Though Alex couldn’t-for the life of him- remember ever calling someone on his father’s side of the family ‘grandma.’ Blinking slowly (and in a state of mild confusion) at this sudden realization, the boy straightened. Did they even HAVE a grandmother on his dad’s side? He’d never thought about it. They’d grown up knowing Gramma Walz on their mom’s side; it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d needed (or even had) another one.
The brunette was just about to stand up in search of his older brother to inquire his opinion on the matter when, out of nowhere, he heard a familiar voice humming what seemed to be a Phil Collins song. Seemed to be because it was. And there was only one teenage guy who would (without massive quantities of liquor involved) sing a song from Tarzan in public.
“Why can’t they understand the way we feel? They just don’t trust what they can’t explain. I know we’re different but, deep inside us, we’re not that different at all.”
Ed.
Getting to his knees and squinting against the sun, Alex turned to his right-
And there, on the hill beside him, was Edward. His tie loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, and his sketchbook propped open against his knees, he was twisted at an angle which suggested that he’d been watching Alexander; a hypothesis which proved to be true when he lifted his smoldering tawny gaze from his drawings. They were glued smack on his face.
Alex, despite all of his internal struggles to stop it, felt a flush rise on his face.
Ed, in turn, grinned widely, waving. “Hey, Al!” he called innocently, all bubbles and sunshine. “I’m almost done, you wanna see?”
“Um…” Alexander hesitated, still somewhat taken aback (and a little annoyed at having been caught so unaware. What was Edward doing here?), before shrugging and getting to his feet. (He ignored the way the world seemed to tilt oddly as he did so.) “I… I guess.”
Which was how he found himself, just a few minutes later, leaning casually against Ed’s back, arms wrapped lightly around his neck, chin on his shoulder; watching his brother smudge the last few lines of graphite into place. Al noted his technique silently, lashes slothfully drooping in the hot rays of the noon-day sun. Despite his continued, vehement insistence that he did NOT love his brother in “that way,” Alex couldn’t deny that he liked being close to him, when given the chance. He was so nice and warm… solid. Like he’d always be there, smelling of spicy aftershave and faint cigarette smoke.
“Brother…?” he drawled sluggishly, feeling more and more irritatingly tired. ‘I wonder why?’ Probably from all of those dull lessons… or from the sun… or the hours he’d spent reading Grandpa’s journal last night.
“Yeah, Al?” Ed inquired quietly, concentrating most of his energy on completing the final details of his sketch. When he spoke, his voice reverberated through Alexander’s chest; low in volume and pitch… Alex watched his intense face noiselessly, admiring the way the sun glinted off of it-the way his brother nibbled on the tip of his tongue while he worked.
He colored again, but the hue was lost as he hid his face.
“Did we have a Grandma Elric?”
“…” Edward paused for a moment, mildly surprised, casting his younger sibling a furtive glance before continuing with his work. “…I suppose at one time, we did,” he finally replied, without any sort of inflection. “Dad must have been related to Grandpa by blood-they look too much alike for him to have been adopted or anything. I guess she must have died before we were born.”
Alexander pouted a bit, staring blankly out over the baseball field. “...but I thought you said that Grandpa loved his brother. You seemed pretty sure of it.”
Ed stiffened slightly, looked a bit baffled. And rather flustered, too. “Well, I- he could have, still. Maybe he just married for appearances sake. But really, Alex, why’re you asking me this?”
“Why’re you singing ‘You’ll Be In My Heart’ during lunch break?” Alex countered, despite the fact that this had nothing to do with anything. But in his mind, the transition made perfect sense. He snuffled a little bit more. Why’d he feel so fuzzy?
“’Cause I felt like it,” Edward announced boldly, grinning from ear to ear. And thus, with a flourish and the date, he lifted the pad up a few inches higher. “Like it?” he inquired merrily, watching for Al’s reaction.
“…” Dazedly, Alex reached out and lightly grabbed the corner of the paper with a hand that suddenly felt much too heavy. Then he looked.
Really looked.
“Wow…” he murmured, silvery eyes lighting up a bit as he recognized himself. “It’s really good, Brother…” And it was. Soft and sketchy, as if to capture a single moment in time, the drawing was of Alexander with his nose in the diary-hair fluttering in the wind while the long grass rustled around him. It was almost like they were really moving… “Though I don’t know why you chose to draw me… rather than all of those other kids over there. They’d make much more interesting models.”
Edward graced this vaguely slurred comment with an arched eyebrow. “That’s a matter of opinion,” he lightly quipped-though his cheeks looked a little pinker than usual. “Personally, I find you an incredibly interesting model. You’re so expressive all of the time! You never look the same. It’s quite fascinati- Al?”
Ed straightened abruptly, eyes widening as they pierced his brother’s unexpectedly sweaty face. “Al?” he repeated, more urgently, as the younger teen continued to weakly lower his head.” Al; you’re so pale- Are you okay?”
“Mmmm… don’t really… feel well,” Alex muttered softly, slowly starting to slide backwards… “’rry…”
“Alex-? ALEXANDER!”
X
November, 1921
Dear Al,
I’ve been traveling a lot, lately. Research for Heiderich mostly, but also for me. Possible ways to open the Gate without alchemy. It’s kind of like searching for the Philosopher’s Stone again, because everyone makes it seem impossible. To cross the Gate, that is.
Mainly because most of them have never even heard of alchemy, much less the Gate.
I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off. But I know that I can’t just give up. I’m sure that, wherever you are, you’re looking, too. Right?
We can’t lose faith. Not yet.
-Ed
X
“Dammit, Al! You gave me such a scare!”
Alex cast a guilty glance towards his wall, trying to avoid his brother’s furious eyes. “I’m sorry…” he murmured for what seemed to be the hundredth time. But it was actually more like the thousandth. “I am… I didn’t mean to worry you…”
Edward, who somehow managed to look intimidating even when dressed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, stared coldly down at his brother, wringing a cool washcloth out over a basin on Alexander’s nightstand. Then, with a sigh, he placed the rag gently on the brunette’s clammy forehead, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “…I know you didn’t do it intentionally,” the older boy finally grumbled, toying with a loose strand of Al’s hair. “But fuck, Al; you fainted dead away! Why’d you go to school if you felt so terrible?”
“I didn’t-! Not this morning, anyway,” Alexander insisted, sniffling a bit. He pulled his blankets more tightly around him, trying to ignore that awful feeling one tends to get when ill: that feeling which leaves a person somewhere between freezing and frying. “I just… right before lunch… and all of the sudden…”
“…” Ed didn’t reply for a moment, too preoccupied with twisting an auburn lock around and around his finger. Then he grinned. “Well… at least it wasn’t in response to my art. I mean, I was gonna say-that would be the worst review I ever got, if it was.”
Was that… supposed to be funny…?
“Why would your art make me sick…?” Alex wheezed hesitantly, not sure if he was entirely on-board with the joke. Or perhaps he was just thrown for a loop; leave it to Edward to be completely homicidal one minute, and laughing it off the next. “I told you before, it was really good…”
The blonde smiled somewhat sadly. “But you didn’t seem to like the subject matter too much.” He paused, chuckling a bit at Alexander’s bewildered expression. “…do I make you sick, too, Al?” he asked faintly, unable to keep his voice from cracking.
And Alex was astonished to see a single, crystalline tear collecting in the corner of his brother’s eye.
He gulped.
“. . . why?”
Edward blinked blankly down at him, hastily trying to rub his face clean. But Alex caught the fist in his own… gaze narrowing in bewilderment. “Why would you make me sick, Brother?”
…the blonde didn’t respond. Instead, lips tugging upward in a tender beam, he lightly ruffled Alexander’s hair. “Never mind,” he insisted gently. “Get some sleep. The doctor said this was partially caused by exhaustion and stress. I don’t know what you’ve been doin’ so frantically, but you clearly need a break from it.”
“Ah…!” Alex coughed in mild disappointment as Ed pulled away, moving to leave. ‘What was that all about-?’ “Wait, Brother-!”
Edward paused; casting Al a glance from over his shoulder. Alexander simply pointed, slowly turning three different shades of green.
“Can you pass that bucket? I feel like I’m gonna thr-!”
So Ed passed it.
Just in time.
X
December, 1921
Dear Al,
There’s a holiday here that I have never heard of. They call it ‘Christmas.’ Heiderich celebrates it, and is teaching me how. There’s a lot of religion behind it, though-I dunno if I like that. Apparently, some kid by the name of Jesus was born to a virgin (despite the impossibility of it all) on the 25th of December and grew up to be the messiah or something. So Christians all around the world (Christians, derived from his name, Jesus Christ, I suppose) celebrate the day he was born by killing a tree and decorating it with lights and giving each other presents and singing bunches of strange songs. It’s weird.
But you know what the weirdest part of it is, Al?
I think I actually like it.
I was surprised, too. But it’s… it’s hard not to, what with all of the warmness that encases the city-warmness that even the biting cold can’t kill. It’s snowy and dark almost all of the time, but things just seem brighter. People are kinder to strangers, the pine trees they cut glow so beautifully through the night, the songs are somehow nostalgic… And everyone is smiling. Like the world really is a nice place.
I made Heiderich a Christmas present. Out of some spare metal Hohenheim keeps around to make my spare arms and legs. It’s a little rocket. Or, at least, it’s supposed to be; it’s kinda hard to tell, ‘cause the wings are sort of bent. But I think it looks close enough. I hope he likes it.
I wonder what you’d like, Al? I’ll get you something special, I think, and save it. Then I’ll give it to you when we meet again. Or perhaps I’ll make you wait for the next Christmas. I think you’ll like the holiday once you’ve had a chance to celebrate it; maybe even more than I like it. I can see you loving the weird songs and food… you would adore all of the lights on the tree. And you’d eat up all the benevolence people show to one another on the streets. In fact, I think you were made for Christmas.
And I look forward to sharing hundreds of Christmases with you in the future, so wait for me, okay?
-Ed
X
It wasn’t an unusual scene- despite being the youngest and ‘daddy’s little girl,’ Rosalie Elric was, by far, the most open minded and outspoken person in the family. Much to their father’s chagrin when it came to certain topics…
Edward, in the middle of a quick pencil sketch on the love seat, and Alex, who was wrapped in a blanket on the couch in the corner, watched in mild amusement as the ending theme of Numb3rs was interrupted by fighting. Again.
Or, should they say, ‘as usual.’
“Rosie,” their father growled from behind the newspaper- his trim golden beard shuddering- “I don’t know how to make this any clearer to you. There’s a REASON people tend to be prejudice against gays and the like. It’s because it’s WRONG.”
“How can you say that!” Rosalie snarled, glaring daggers. “How? When knowing full well that other peoples’ happiness is on the line?”
“I’m sorry, Rosie, but it’s just disgusting,” Mr. Elric spat, ruffling his paper in an attempt to hide the fury in his voice. Edward mutely ran his eraser down one edge of his paper. “It’s not natural.”
“According to who? YOU? What makes it so unnatural? Plenty of animals are gay-you see it in the zoos. Heck, you see it in backyards! You used to have dogs, right?” she huffed, crossing her arms and legs. Their mother, who had just walked through the living room door with a basket of laundry, took one look at this pose and then walked right back out again.
“Rosie, that’s a lie; how would we be able to procre-” their dad started to sigh-
“NOT EVERYONE IS FREAKIN’ GAY, DAD. And why the hell should you care what other people do? Aren’t you comfortable in your own sexuality? They don’t threaten you. They don’t tell you that YOU have to be gay. And it’s not like they CHOOSE to be gay! Who would, with all the shit people like you put them through?”
“…” Ed curled a little tighter around his sketchbook, brow furrowed as if in concentration. Alexander didn’t dare look at him.
“Watching your language, young lady,” Mr. Elric snapped, folding his newspaper into a neat square. Then, taking a deep breath, he removed his glasses in an attempt to clean them. Or, at least, to busy his hands. “And I’m sorry. It’s just not natural. If God-”
“If God didn’t want guys making out, he wouldn’t have put pleasure spots up their asses!” Rosie countered without a moment’s hesitation. Her father’s face flamed.
Heck, so did Ed and Alex’s.
“Rosalie Catharine-!” the man spluttered, cheeks splotching with angry color. “When will this madness stop!”
“When you finally accept the fact that not everyone sees the world the same way you do,” she glowered, periwinkle eyes narrowing in distaste. Her father snorted, carefully placing his spectacles back on his head.
“This coming from the girl who thinks Charlie and Don should start making out,” he all but gagged, waving vaguely at the television screen. Rosie arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
“So?”
“SO?” Mr. Elric choked. “So they’re brothers! That’s- that’s like if Edward and Alexander started making out! Wouldn’t that horrify you?”
Rosalie said nothing. But her wicked smile spoke volumes.
And that was the brothers’ cue to get the hell out of there.
“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” Alex rapidly rasped, feeling a little more lightheaded that he should. It wasn’t good for his health to be down here amidst all of these racing ideas an arguments… he was starting to feel more confused than ever. And all of that anxiety tended to make him feel like he was going to vomit. Yes, what he really needed was some time alone.
But that was beginning to look as if it was going to be difficult to achieve: Edward had stood at the same time he had, sketchbook under his arm as he determinedly avoided his father’s stare. Not that Alex could really blame him for wanting to bolt right away. Anyone in their right mind would. (Except Rosie. But she was born insane, everyone knew that.)
Still, being with Ed while he was this befuddled was the last think Alexander needed…
“I’ll help you,” Ed murmured inaudibly, gingerly taking Al’s arm and leading him in the direction of the hallway. Alex swallowed, about to resist the help-but decided, in the end, to accept it. It would be too much work to protest…. And if Edward needed an excuse to get out of there, Alexander was more than happy to provide it.
The hallway was cold and dark in comparison to the living room; lacking all of its bright lights, warm furniture, and worn carpeting. But the hall, in contrast, was blissfully quiet in its shadowed way, and that was all they wanted right now-trying vainly the block out the continued sound of screaming.
Their footsteps echoed off of the wooden floor.
Alex tried to force a smile. “Rosie sure is… um, opinionated.” (The understatement of the year, many would call that.)
Edward didn’t respond. He didn’t even crack a smile. His face was as hard as stone.
“Do you think she’ll ever talk some sense into him?” Alexander tried again, feebly; furious with how weak and crumbly his voice sounded. ‘I hate being sick.’
But if Ed heard the question, he ignored it. Instead, he asked-in a voice as stiff as his expression- “Do you think that I’m a coward?”
…that was unexpected.
“Huh?”
“Do you think that I’m a coward,” Edward repeated, opening the door to their bedroom and helping Alex inside. Moonlight was spilling through the window in bright shades of sapphire and indigo. The rays lit up the walls; spilling over their personal treasures; illuminating their faces as if the sun were still shining. “For not telling dad that I’m gay.”
Alexander felt his mouth tug upwards in a tiny smirk. “No. I think you’re not suicidal.”
Ed snorted, helping ease Alex down upon his bed. But rather than lay, the younger boy watched his brother lock the door, switch on the ceiling fan, and open the window- all before turning around to desperately fish through the bottom of his sock drawer. The brunette’s face darkened upon seeing this little performance; it was a familiar scenario.
“You told me that you’d quit,” he said tightly as Edward tapped out a cigarette from a lonely, crumpled box; lighting it with a stray match. Ed shrugged, finally calming as he perched himself on the windowsill, arms draped over his kneecaps. He took a long drag.
“I did,” he then announced, casting Al a glance from the window. His eyes were alive, glowing like embers. They must have been embers; why else would Alex’s face feel like it was on fire? (‘It must be the fever…’ To counter it, he quickly popped two pills of Nyquil.) “These are just for stressful occasions.”
“And what’s the big stress now?” Al inquired with a cough, wrapping himself more securely in his quilt. The cool wind coming through the window made his head hurt… he didn’t know how Edward could stand it, with nothing but a pair of unzipped jeans on.
“Well, I-” But then he froze, swiftly sitting up- cursing as he noticed Alexander’s shivers. “Oh shit-! I’m sorry, Al! I wasn’t thinking…!” Without a second thought, he stubbed out the cigarette on the back of a textbook, threw it outside, and locked the window again. The fan was off an instant later, and then there was Ed-kneeling in front of his trembling younger sibling.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, truly looking it. “I really wasn’t thinking… you’re not too cold, are you?” Alex shook his head, but his body wouldn’t stop quivering. Edward’s eyes lit up with concern; a graceful hand lifted to push away the brunette’s long, draping bangs.
‘My face must feel much warmer than it should…’ Al thought blearily, embarrassed. His brother’s palm almost felt too cool against his flushed skin…like ice. ‘He shouldn’t touch me, I might burn him…’ The illogical thought made sense in his hazy mind; he lifted a hand to brush the other’s away- but ended up grasping it, instead; tugging it down to mingle with his own.
“!” Ed stiffened with shock as Alex suddenly dropped forward, resting his head against his brother’s shoulder. “Al…?”
“Brother,” Alex muttered, sounding slurred and strange, even in his own ears. His mouth was like cotton… “if Grandpa was gay, why is his kid such a homophobe…?”
Edward swallowed thickly, trying not to think of the warm body which was pressed so close to his own. “I don’t know,” he then whispered, giving an odd little jolt when Alexander’s fingers tightened around his. “But it doesn’t matter for you, does it?” he continued casually, brushing a few strands of Al’s hair away from his sweat-drenched neck. “I mean, you’re straight.”
“Mmmm… I dunno,” Alexander burbled, yawning widely. His free hand clenched around his elder sibling’s loose locks. “Maybe I’m gay, too… sometimes I think I might be…” He closed his eyes, grinning a bit drunkenly. “Hey, Brother… your heart is beating really, really fast…”
“Is it?” Ed choked, trying to sound calm-but really, he was just very, very thankful that Alex was only molesting his top half. ‘It’s only the medication talking, Edward. Don’t do anything stupid-!’
“Yeah…” Alex mumbled with a soft sigh. “But… so is mine…”
And with that, he fell asleep.
X
December, 1921
Dear Al,
It’s New Years Eve tonight- there sure are a lot of holidays in December. There’s no present giving during this one, though, or dead trees, or songs. Heiderich says New Years Eve is more of a personal holiday; to reflect on what has happened to you this past year, and decide on what you want to do in the future. I told him that the last thing I need to do is reflect more on my past. He just laughed and told me that, if that was the case, I should focus on the future aspect of the day. I mentioned that I obsessed over that on a daily basis, as well; a fact which he didn’t deny. But he told me that I might as well try out the holiday, anyway, and see if I don’t end up liking it just the same.
So here I am trying.
…mostly trying NOT to think about this past year, actually. Because really, how could I ever truly absorb what occurred? The first half of the year I was with you-then you were taken away from me, and I was thrown through the Gate. It was a price I was willing (and am still willing) to pay to see you alive again, but…
And then there was the second half of this year: trying to fit into a world which I clearly do not belong to with people I do not know who have never heard of my homeland or of my job.
A world without you.
And thus, this brings me to my ever-so-obvious resolution: to get you back. (I bet you could never see that one coming, eh, Al? Ha ha.)
. . . Heiderich also says this is the holiday to tell people how you feel. There are other, similar holidays, but in the wake of “the past and the future combining,” as he so artistically puts it, I suppose I might as well keep to tradition.
I love you, Al. And I plan to tell you that in a million different ways once I find you again.
I guess you could call that my second resolution.
Here’s to a new year, Alphonse.
-Ed
XXX
You all probably hate me now, don’t you? Sorry… but c’mon, you don’t wanna see Edward take advantage of his drugged little brother, do you?
…okay, well, how about I don’t want to see Edward take advantage of his drugged little brother?
(Oh, and yeah, Nyquil really does do that to you… or, at least, it does that to me. o.O)
In any case, I hope you enjoyed! I’ll try to update again, soon. X3