Skeletons Chapter One
...'cause I figured, you know, we might wanna have the fanfic posted here. ^_~
Title: Skeletons
Type: Chapter Fic-- Chapters One (REPOST)
Rating: PG-13 (may be upped later)
Pairings: Elricestx2
Warnings: OCs, swearing, yaoi, yuri, incest, Ed-emo, etc., etc., etc. X3
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet-- and Edward and Alexander Elric are about to find their grandfather's.
Disclaimer: Ha ha.
Author’s Note: This one was inspired by THE CUTEST Fullmetal Alchemist OAV I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s even cuter than the Chibi one, if any of you know what I’m talking about. I don’t know where my friend Su-chan found it, ‘cept that it’s on YouTube, but it’s of. . . well, I don’t want to spoil it, but essentially it’s in celebration of Edward Elric’s 100th birthday in 2005.
Now, personally, I don’t think Ed would live to be 100. Sorry. I don’t mean to be a downer, but considering all of the strain he’s put his body through-passing though the Gates (a lot), dying once or twice, automail, all of the fighting, and just the times he lived though, I can see him living to be 50. At the oldest. Still. . .
The film was so damn adorable, I had to write this. Enjoy! XD
Warnings: Elricest, spoilers if you haven’t seen the Birthday!OAV (doesn’t spoil anything in the series, though). Oh, and I have some “original characters” in here, based off of Ed’s grandkids in the OAV. (Three guesses who they look like-first two don’t count.)
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X
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I remember very little of my namesake. He died when I was only seven. And at that age, what is there to recall? Grandpa was just another relative. Despite his opinionated ego and friendly smile, he was really rather quiet. . . especially towards the end. And he tired out so easily; he could only play with my brother, sister, and I for half an hour before needing a rest. Nowadays I think it’s amazing that he was as animated as he was: 100 years old and still able to curse like a sailor. But when you’re five, all you want to do is run around with someone as active as you.
My clearest memories of him are of his bedtime stories- he liked to talk about an imaginary world he called Amestris. Though the tales seemed to make him sad, and he’d gaze into the distance a lot when he told them, Alexander, Rosalie, and I thoroughly enjoyed them. Many a summers day we’d spend outside, pretending to transmute sewer lids. The mere idea of alchemy made us laugh, and Grandpa-by now tired of the rest of the world- only ever laughed with us.
The only other time I ever saw him so happy was when he was looking at his photo album. He liked pictures. He told me once that they helped him remember who he was.
I just grinned like the six-year-old I was.
. . . He told me a lot of things like that, actually-simple statements that were much more than they appeared. I think Alex and Rosalie were jealous of this; they loved Grandpa so much, and he always seemed somewhat depressed when he saw them. Once, when she was four, Rosalie began to cry because she thought Grandpa didn’t love her. Grandpa was thoroughly alarmed by this, and quickly took both Rosie and Alex aside to show them some of his pictures. What he showed them, I don’t know. But she cheered up.
I kept watching TV, ignoring them like the brat I was. Or am, depending on your opinion.
Mom says that I not only inherited Grandpa’s looks, but his attitude. Maybe that’s why he always found it easier to punish me- and to wink away the troubles when no one else was watching.
. . . That’s the last memory I have of him: winking at me. Before Rosalie, Alexander and I left on his 100th birthday; after he’d gone back to his tea and pictures-he smiled and winked. I beamed, waved, and told him I’d see him later.
It’s been ten years since then.
X
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X
XXX
Skeletons
XXX
It was a peaceful afternoon in the country: his favorite kind. The birds were singing; the flowers were blooming; Alchemy, his small gray kitten, was purring contentedly in his lap. . . and all was generally right with the world. Alexander Elric happily relished the feeling, smiling up at the bright blue sky as he sipped a cool glass of iced tea.
Ah, life’s little pleasures. . .
A footstep alerted him to someone’s presence. The boy froze, glancing up-
“Hey, Al!” a cheerful voice cried at that exact moment; a voice as sweet and dark and honey. He’d know that voice anywhere: it belonged to his older brother.
“Ed!” Alex beamed, setting his drink beside him on the glider as his elder sibling approached-the very vision of mischievous beauty in his loose fitting orange muscle shirt and tight fitting jeans- grinning his usual, impishly crooked smile. “What’re you doing? I thought you went to help Mom organize boxes and stuff.”
At this reminder, Edward cringed; then straightened with a nonchalant sort of shrug. (As if he could hide the wince.) “Yeah, well,” the blonde drawled smugly, dropping beside Alexander, “I’m all done, n-!”
“EDWARD SIMON ELRIC, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” A woman-their mother- suddenly screamed from the garage, so loud and so threatening that even Alchemy leapt in alarm, scuttling for the porch.
“. . .” Alex sighed, gazing wistfully at his now-spilt drink. He’d need a new one. . . ‘And a fresh pair of pants.’ “What’d you do now, Brother?”
Edward-who, despite his slouched state, still towered over his little brother (though Alex was only one year younger),- flinched as if hit. “What’d I do?” he echoed, clearly stung. “You’d automatically accuse me?”
“Over mom. . . ?” the second retorted wryly. (He picked in irritation at the drying sugar on his thighs.) “The phrase ‘duh’ leaps to mind.”
Ed was not amused by this clever rebuttal. “Don’t you want to hear my side, Al. . . ?” he whimpered, golden eyes wide with hurt. He tilted his head, pouting; bright flaxen ponytail shimmering in the early summer sun. Alex was made abruptly and acutely aware of those long, silky strands clinging to his bare, sweat-glazed neck when Edward scooted half an inch closer. He smelt of fresh-cut grass and a spicy, unnamed cologne. . .
And, to his own horror, Alex blushed, turning quickly away. “No!” he swiftly verbalized, perhaps a little angrier than necessary. He blamed it on his now wet-pants. ‘Shit, that sounded SO wrong-!’ “Go on, Edward, mom’s calling-and you’re only going to be in more trouble if you ignore her.”
“Oh. . . !” Ed blew out his cheeks (rather loudly), standing in a huff like the drama queen he was. “Fine!” he growled, clearly furious. “But don’t expect ME to cover for YOU the next time you-you-” There was a moments mental struggle; a wide, haughty smirk slowly blossomed on his annoyingly smooth features. And when Edward leaned a bit closer for emphasis, Alex felt himself swallow with anticipation. “Next time you download lemons from the internet.”
“-!” The brunette’s face exploded with magenta; cascading tresses tugged nervously. His silvery-hazel eyes locked with the other’s, full of flustered shock. “How did y- I mean-!” ‘Oh crud.’
Way to look suspicious.
Sighing, the younger teen hung his head. And, as if on cue, Edward smirked victoriously. He could always have his way with Alexander, if he tried hard enough. Or played dirty enough. Which ever. “. . . Fine. I’ll go help mom.”
“Thank you!” Ed cheered, leaping to his feet and giving the other a quick hug. Alex’s already pink cheeks flamed, body stiffening in the swift embrace. “I owe you, brother-mine!” And with a wave and a wink he was gone in a second.
It was then that Alex realized his brother had done it again.
“. . . dammit.”
Furious that he’d just been duped, Alex groaned; dragging his feet in the direction of the garage.
X
Edward and Alexander Elric were many things-brothers, roommates (as there were only three bedrooms in the house and Rosalie and their parents each needed their own space), relatively average students. . . they were also notoriously stubborn, sharp tongued, and not known for being particularly fair fighters.
Especially when fighting with each other.
But, above everything else, they were deeply committed to living through the law of Equivalent Exchange- just as their father had taught them.
So when Alex (quite literally) kicked Ed off of the top bunk later that night, in order to help him sort through the boxes he’d been conned into cleaning out of the garage, the elder boy had no choice but to resign himself to his fate.
“Dammit, Al,” the blonde whined, sitting bare-chested and cross-legged on the floor beside the bottom bunk, grudgingly digging through a little shoebox. “After all the work I put into getting out of this job, you just roped me right back into it?”
“Wrong,” Alexander quipped lightly, opening the top of a refrigerator box. “I roped you into a different job. Mom wanted you to help her organize the boxes themselves. Now she wants me to go through said boxes-and I’m making you help me.”
Edward sighed, lifting a gaudy earring out of a sea of tissue paper with an arched eyebrow. He quickly tossed it away. “And what’s the point of all this?”
“Spring cleaning?” Alex ventured wryly, his response muffled by cardboard as he dug around inside the large box. (At the sound of his voice, Al’s brother couldn’t help but look up from his own work, amused; watching the younger boy’s ass shake from side to side as he burrowed deeper and deeper into the dark depths.) “I dunno. I think she mentioned having a garage sale, or something. . .”
Ed snorted. “Not the cleaning,” he swiftly corrected, sounding exasperated. “THIS.” He dangled another random artifact- a horrendously dirty turquoise garter- in Al’s general direction, looking torn between laughter and irritation. Alexander, straightening enough to see the indicated item, flushed before turning away again. “All of this! This junk. What’s the point of all of it? Why do we have it?”
“It’s not really ours,” the brunette muttered, still sounding appalled. (Ed, having decided he’d prefer to be entertained by the garter, used it as a sling shot; smacking Al in the face with it. Alex glowered, chucking a dusty old globe at his brother in retort.) “It’s Grandpa’s, I think.”
Ed’s brow furrowed. “Really?” he murmured, somewhat intrigued as he spun the globe between his fingers. “Which one?”
“The dead one-Grandpa Elric.”
“Oh.” The elder of the pair yawned, lazy; golden eyes half-lidded in dull interest. “That would explain why there’s so much of it. Why do we still have it, anyway? Why didn’t mom just chuck it when he kicked the bucket?”
“Ed!” Alexander reprimanded, disgusted by his brother’s crude tone. Sitting back on his knees, Al dusted down his t-shirt and baggy shorts, glaring. “Show a little compassion, won’t you? Of course mom wouldn’t just chuck everything-I’m sure dad wanted a chance to go through his stuff. Grandpa Elric was his father, after all.”
“Well, he sure took his time about it-if he did it at all,” Edward drawled. “And if that’s the case, why were WE dragged into it?”
“I don’t know,” Al grumbled, still annoyed. He returned to excavating the contents of the refrigerator box, yellowing newspaper falling around him like confetti. “Maybe mom gave me this box by mistake, or maybe she wants to sell the stuff that’s in it, or maybe dad never got around t-
to. . .”
He trailed off suddenly, voice faltering once-then dying.
There was silence.
Ed, still toying with the ancient brown globe, paused, confused by the abrupt nothingness. “Al?” he tried, sitting up. Why did he look so pale? “Alex?” Getting to his knees, the teenager leaned over, prodding his little brother smartly in the side. “Yo, Alexander. What’s wrong?”
A swallow; the sound echoed strangely through the small, amber-colored bedroom. Then, snapping his sibling with the oddest of glances, Alex pulled what looked like a faded scrap of paper out of the box. “I. . .” he choked, clearly bewildered. Or, at least, badly shocked. “I- it’s us.”
X
And so it was. Or, rather, that was what it appeared to be.
“Wh. . . what the hell. . . ?” Edward gaped, snatching up the photograph with long, trembling fingers. The little wafer of paper shook in his grasp; dulling colors gleaming weakly in the setting sunlight which poured through the window. “It can’t be us-this photo must be over 90 years old!”
It was a fair assumption. Judging by the faded sepia hues, the grayish tint, the clothing adorning the two stationary boys-which looked like something out of the early 1900s. . . the picture was clearly an antique. Which made the smiling faces looking up at them all the creepier.
Alex, still justifiably surprised, left his large box-scooting over to sit beside his brother. “D. . . do you think. . .” he whispered, touching the edge of the small photo. It was about the size of a baseball card. “Do you think it could be Grandpa?”
The question lingered in the air for a moment, hesitant. Alexander quickly continued.
“I mean, this is a box of his stuff, right? And he always loved pictures. And mom has always said you look like him. . .”
Edward didn’t respond for a moment, entranced as he was by the image. It was spellbinding; so curious. . . Hesitantly, he brushed his thumb over his double’s face, as if trying to touch that large grin.
The young man in the print continued to beam; chin tilted upwards, staring cheerfully at the taller boy, who’s hand was on his shoulder.
“. . . I guess that makes sense,” Ed finally admitted, clearing his throat. Dropping the photograph as if he had burnt him, he turned away, playing with long strands of his bound hair. “But if that’s true, who’s that with him?” He gestured vaguely at the second male, who looked frighteningly like Alex.
The brunette in question could only shrug-trying to avoid looking at his doppelganger. His beam was so sunny, so adoring; it hurt to stare. What was it for? How did these two men know each other?
“Do you think there’s anything else in the box?” Al inquired softly, turning the picture upside down; pressing the faces into the carpet. It was too much. . . “Something about. . . . ?”
Edward snorted, getting swiftly to his feet. “Who cares?” he grumbled, perhaps a little louder than necessary. “It’s of no concern. So Grandpa knew some guy who looked a bit like you. Big deal. It doesn’t affect us one way or another.” He paused, looking unsure of what else to do or say before ultimately deciding to stalk to the door. “I’m hungry,” he then announced. “Do we have any more cold pizza?”
“Do I look like the fridge?” Alexander muttered indignantly, waving his brother off. He began to busy himself with the scattered packing paper, crumpling the sheets into a single large ball. “Go look for yourself.”
“I will.”
And he did. Leaving Alex alone.
“. . .”
The quiet was painful.
Sighing, the younger boy continued to tidy the bedroom, tossing a few stray socks into the corner in his search for more trash. All the while, the photo lay beside his bottom bunk-unable to be forgotten, not liking being ignored. Try as he might, Alexander couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to the pale underside of the image, mind drifting as he vainly attempted to decipher the hidden message. It was as if the two young men were trying to tell him something. . . something important.
Who was he? The boy who looked like him? The boy who touched their Grandpa with such ease and devotion? The boy who Grandpa was looking at with such care and concern?
Who?
Before he’d even realized he was doing it, Alex felt his feet carry him back to the refrigerator box. Shooting out as if on their own accord, his arms were soon buried up to the shoulders in old newspapers: digging, searching, grasping for something just beyond what he could see.
He found it; right hand clenching something hard and thick; heavy. Cold. Rough. He retrieved it without a second thought.
“A book?”
Alexander blinked, taken aback as he fell onto his rump, crossing his legs with the find in his lap. It was a book-obvious, by its shape and size; chocolate leather covers enclosing a ream of yellowing parchment- but not the kind he had been used to seeing his Grandpa with. Edward senior was known for his scientific tastes; he’d never been one to lounge around with modern-day novels. Nor anything else, really, that involved something of an imagination. Which made it odd that this book had been in his possession: a book which, instead of hosting a bunch of complicated Latin words on the front cover, proudly displayed a clasp and an ornate, dragon-like design.
Al could hardly believe it, unable to keep his eyebrows away from his hairline as he fingered the heavy volume. “Is this. . .” he murmured to himself, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. “Is this a diary. . . ?”
It certainly looked the part-more than it looked like a book on chemistry, in any case. But there was really only one way to find out. . .
And so, taking a deep breath, Alex broke the seal; allowing the pages to fall open with an explosion of dust.
X
May, 1923
Dear Al,
First, let me say that I can’t believe I’m doing this. And I know that, if you were here, you’d be looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. But give me a chance to defend myself-this wasn’t my idea. It was Hendrich’s. He was the one that suggested I take up writing a diary (his words, not mine) in order to-and I quote-“record your thoughts of this new world, so that you can tell your brother everything when you find him.” My response was somewhat vulgar, I admit, but summarized was: “I don’t do diaries.” He, therefore, amended his request by changing the word “diary” to “research log.”
I told him to bugger off.
However, I guess he still won, in the end, because here I am, writing. Though this isn’t a diary-nor is it really a research log. Because even though that’s what he suggested, it’s not what he meant. Or what I meant.
I think he’s just sick of seeing me mope. And I suppose I can’t blame him. It’s been two months since my unceremonious appearance in this screwed up world, and things have only gone downhill from there. I have a job, I have a roommate, but I have no will to live. (This is where you’d call me overdramatic, right, Al?)
I miss you, little brother. I can’t stop thinking about our home, about our friends, about alchemy. I can’t stop worrying about you. Are you okay? Is your new body working? Did the Colonel’s plan succeed? I need to know- but there’s no way to find out.
Hendrich is a big help. He listens to me, and doesn’t call me crazy. He brings me back home when I get too drunk at the bar. (Which I go to too often, I know.) He’s the one who gave me this journal. He worries about me, burden that I am. And I don’t know how I’ll be able to repay all of his kindness.
I know that Equivalent Exchange will come back to bite me in the ass. It’s all just a matter of when.
But for now, there’s nothing I can do but sit here. It’s cold in Munich (that’s where I am right now, in a country called ‘Germany’) at this time of year, so the windows are all shut and locked. We don’t have a fireplace or many candles, so it’s dark-and cold. Hendrich is nearby, making dinner, and I’m writing at the kitchen table. He tried to subtly read over my shoulder when I first started writing (he wants to know more about you, Al, but I’m not telling), which is why this is all in English. He can’t read English, nor does he like it. He says it’s too complicated. I like it, though; it’s close to what we speak back home. German is harder for me. But I’m getting used to it.
I hope you’re okay, Al. I miss you-I miss you a lot. But I have to say, I feel a little bit better after having written this. Maybe Hendrich was right.
I’ll write again later.
-Ed
X
Alexander stared unblinkingly down at the neat cursive scrawl, wondering hazily if his heart was ever going to start beating again. When he’d first read ‘Dear Al,’ it felt for a moment as if this letter was supposed to span across time; find its way to him. But no. . . ‘Grandpa had a little brother?’
And what was all of this about other worlds? A new body? A Colonel? Alchemy? It almost sounded like Grandpa’s bedtime stories. . .
Which couldn’t possibly be true, of course.
. . . right?
“Hey, Al-” (Alex nearly jumped a mile, clutching his chest as his older brother made his sudden presence known) “I brought us some piz-”
But the blonde fell silent at the look on his sibling’s round face. Cocking his own head in perplexity, the elder boy set the plates down on a messy nightstand, flopping beside the other on floor. “What’s wro- hey, where’d you find that?” He pointed at the book with inquisitiveness in his voice; golden eyes wide and innocently puzzled. “In the box?”
“It’s an old journal of letters,” Alexander replied carefully, setting the book on the ground between them-on top of the photograph. “Letters Grandpa wrote to his little brother.”
Edward looked surprised. “Little brother?” he repeated, astonished. “I didn’t know Grandpa had one of them.”
“Well. . .” Alex cleared his throat gingerly, tracing an undefined pattern on his kneecap with a forefinger. “Maybe he didn’t.”
“Huh?” A pause; a frown. “What do you mean?”
Al shrugged, looking somewhat troubled. “In the first letter he keeps talking about things like other worlds and alchemy. . . like the bedtime stories he used to tell us. Maybe he was. . . um. . . you know. . .”
“Crazy?” Ed filled in dryly. His brother nodded, apparently feeling flustered-and a little guilty. “Eh. Could be, I guess. But. . .” the blonde trailed off for a moment, glancing out the window. Twilight had come and gone; the moon was blazing brightly, now. “But didn’t Grandpa tell you about his brother before? And show you pictures?”
“. . . What?”
Edward brushed off the younger male’s clear indignation. “Well, remember that one time, when you were-I dunno, five? He showed you and Rosie some pictures when we went to visit. I didn’t get to see ‘em, but I remember you being pretty fascinated with ‘em. Were they of that boy?” He jabbed a finger at the picture which lay beneath the diary. “Maybe he’s Grandpa’s brother. That would explain why he showed you-you and Rosalie were whining that he didn’t love you ‘cause he always looked so sad when he saw you. He must have seen the resemblance between you. Maybe you reminded him of his brother.”
“. . .”
Alexander was stunned silent-simply staring at his brother. Ed, who realized with a twinge of embarrassment that he’d just stuck up for his Grandpa (and had quite flippantly explained away something most would consider solid proof of insanity), blushed a light shade of magenta. “Just a thought,” he mumbled, toeing the carpet.
Al coughed. “Um. . . well, I don’t really. . . that is. . . c’mon, I was four! I don’t remember!” His brow wrinkled in thought; he knuckled it with a fist, looking torn. “But I guess. . . not that it matters. . .”
“Why are you making such a big deal out of this, anyway?” Edward asked coolly, trying to salvage some ‘manly pride.’ “It’s just an old picture and an even older diary. Why don’t we just chuck it?”
But this evoked a very firm response.
“No,” Alex replied without a moment’s hesitation. “No, I want to read it.”
Ed-who, despite it all, wasn’t very surprised (his brother was something of a history buff)- arched an eyebrow just the same. “Why?”
It was a simple enough question. But still, Al didn’t respond for a while. . . instead staring at the loopy cursive on the page before him. “I just. . .” Gnawing on his bottom lip, Alexander cast his older brother a desperate glance. “I just feel like there’s something we should know about him. Like there’s one final bedtime story he didn’t tell us, but wanted to.”
“. . . have you been swallowing toothpaste again?”
“Brother!”
“Hey!” Edward cried, defending himself with upturned palms and a breezy smile; dodging the pillow. “I’m just kidding! Do what you like; I don’t care. Besides, if Grandpa really was wacko, maybe it will make a good novel idea or something.”
Typical Ed. Never serious. Regardless, as Alex turned the page to read the next entry, his brother didn’t go anywhere. Instead, he lingered-apparently wanting to read on, too.
Unfortunately, it looked like this entry was going to take a bit more work to read: the parchment was flooded with ink spills and smeared with the remains of some sort of liquid. Even the cursive itself was oddly misshapen, running together as if there were some sort of invisible traffic jam on the page. . .
X
May1923
Al-I can’t take it. I can’tIcan’tIcan’tI wantto see you nowand I don’t want to wait. Whereare you? Where can you be?Are you waitingfor me beyondtheGatestill? I want tobe with you now.Iwant to see younow. Iwant younow.
I missyou, brother.Imissyour warmthand smileandeverything about you.I want youwith mesothat I can touch-
X
Alexander slammed the book shut with a loud SMACK. His eyes were wide; cheeks as red as cherries. Edward, on the other hand, was looking strangely entertained.
“I. . . um. . . think he was drunk,” Alex squeaked, plainly horrified.
“Drunk?” Ed echoed, laughing; his smile morphing into an amused smirk. “Al- I think he was gay.”
XXX
Oh, how right you are, Edward Jr. XD
Anyway, hopefully I’ll update this soon-as I’ve got some lovely (and some not so lovely) plans for both sets of Elric brothers. ;)
I hope you enjoyed!
Title: Skeletons
Type: Chapter Fic-- Chapters One (REPOST)
Rating: PG-13 (may be upped later)
Pairings: Elricestx2
Warnings: OCs, swearing, yaoi, yuri, incest, Ed-emo, etc., etc., etc. X3
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet-- and Edward and Alexander Elric are about to find their grandfather's.
Disclaimer: Ha ha.
Author’s Note: This one was inspired by THE CUTEST Fullmetal Alchemist OAV I’ve ever seen. Yes, it’s even cuter than the Chibi one, if any of you know what I’m talking about. I don’t know where my friend Su-chan found it, ‘cept that it’s on YouTube, but it’s of. . . well, I don’t want to spoil it, but essentially it’s in celebration of Edward Elric’s 100th birthday in 2005.
Now, personally, I don’t think Ed would live to be 100. Sorry. I don’t mean to be a downer, but considering all of the strain he’s put his body through-passing though the Gates (a lot), dying once or twice, automail, all of the fighting, and just the times he lived though, I can see him living to be 50. At the oldest. Still. . .
The film was so damn adorable, I had to write this. Enjoy! XD
Warnings: Elricest, spoilers if you haven’t seen the Birthday!OAV (doesn’t spoil anything in the series, though). Oh, and I have some “original characters” in here, based off of Ed’s grandkids in the OAV. (Three guesses who they look like-first two don’t count.)
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I remember very little of my namesake. He died when I was only seven. And at that age, what is there to recall? Grandpa was just another relative. Despite his opinionated ego and friendly smile, he was really rather quiet. . . especially towards the end. And he tired out so easily; he could only play with my brother, sister, and I for half an hour before needing a rest. Nowadays I think it’s amazing that he was as animated as he was: 100 years old and still able to curse like a sailor. But when you’re five, all you want to do is run around with someone as active as you.
My clearest memories of him are of his bedtime stories- he liked to talk about an imaginary world he called Amestris. Though the tales seemed to make him sad, and he’d gaze into the distance a lot when he told them, Alexander, Rosalie, and I thoroughly enjoyed them. Many a summers day we’d spend outside, pretending to transmute sewer lids. The mere idea of alchemy made us laugh, and Grandpa-by now tired of the rest of the world- only ever laughed with us.
The only other time I ever saw him so happy was when he was looking at his photo album. He liked pictures. He told me once that they helped him remember who he was.
I just grinned like the six-year-old I was.
. . . He told me a lot of things like that, actually-simple statements that were much more than they appeared. I think Alex and Rosalie were jealous of this; they loved Grandpa so much, and he always seemed somewhat depressed when he saw them. Once, when she was four, Rosalie began to cry because she thought Grandpa didn’t love her. Grandpa was thoroughly alarmed by this, and quickly took both Rosie and Alex aside to show them some of his pictures. What he showed them, I don’t know. But she cheered up.
I kept watching TV, ignoring them like the brat I was. Or am, depending on your opinion.
Mom says that I not only inherited Grandpa’s looks, but his attitude. Maybe that’s why he always found it easier to punish me- and to wink away the troubles when no one else was watching.
. . . That’s the last memory I have of him: winking at me. Before Rosalie, Alexander and I left on his 100th birthday; after he’d gone back to his tea and pictures-he smiled and winked. I beamed, waved, and told him I’d see him later.
It’s been ten years since then.
X
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X
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Skeletons
XXX
It was a peaceful afternoon in the country: his favorite kind. The birds were singing; the flowers were blooming; Alchemy, his small gray kitten, was purring contentedly in his lap. . . and all was generally right with the world. Alexander Elric happily relished the feeling, smiling up at the bright blue sky as he sipped a cool glass of iced tea.
Ah, life’s little pleasures. . .
A footstep alerted him to someone’s presence. The boy froze, glancing up-
“Hey, Al!” a cheerful voice cried at that exact moment; a voice as sweet and dark and honey. He’d know that voice anywhere: it belonged to his older brother.
“Ed!” Alex beamed, setting his drink beside him on the glider as his elder sibling approached-the very vision of mischievous beauty in his loose fitting orange muscle shirt and tight fitting jeans- grinning his usual, impishly crooked smile. “What’re you doing? I thought you went to help Mom organize boxes and stuff.”
At this reminder, Edward cringed; then straightened with a nonchalant sort of shrug. (As if he could hide the wince.) “Yeah, well,” the blonde drawled smugly, dropping beside Alexander, “I’m all done, n-!”
“EDWARD SIMON ELRIC, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” A woman-their mother- suddenly screamed from the garage, so loud and so threatening that even Alchemy leapt in alarm, scuttling for the porch.
“. . .” Alex sighed, gazing wistfully at his now-spilt drink. He’d need a new one. . . ‘And a fresh pair of pants.’ “What’d you do now, Brother?”
Edward-who, despite his slouched state, still towered over his little brother (though Alex was only one year younger),- flinched as if hit. “What’d I do?” he echoed, clearly stung. “You’d automatically accuse me?”
“Over mom. . . ?” the second retorted wryly. (He picked in irritation at the drying sugar on his thighs.) “The phrase ‘duh’ leaps to mind.”
Ed was not amused by this clever rebuttal. “Don’t you want to hear my side, Al. . . ?” he whimpered, golden eyes wide with hurt. He tilted his head, pouting; bright flaxen ponytail shimmering in the early summer sun. Alex was made abruptly and acutely aware of those long, silky strands clinging to his bare, sweat-glazed neck when Edward scooted half an inch closer. He smelt of fresh-cut grass and a spicy, unnamed cologne. . .
And, to his own horror, Alex blushed, turning quickly away. “No!” he swiftly verbalized, perhaps a little angrier than necessary. He blamed it on his now wet-pants. ‘Shit, that sounded SO wrong-!’ “Go on, Edward, mom’s calling-and you’re only going to be in more trouble if you ignore her.”
“Oh. . . !” Ed blew out his cheeks (rather loudly), standing in a huff like the drama queen he was. “Fine!” he growled, clearly furious. “But don’t expect ME to cover for YOU the next time you-you-” There was a moments mental struggle; a wide, haughty smirk slowly blossomed on his annoyingly smooth features. And when Edward leaned a bit closer for emphasis, Alex felt himself swallow with anticipation. “Next time you download lemons from the internet.”
“-!” The brunette’s face exploded with magenta; cascading tresses tugged nervously. His silvery-hazel eyes locked with the other’s, full of flustered shock. “How did y- I mean-!” ‘Oh crud.’
Way to look suspicious.
Sighing, the younger teen hung his head. And, as if on cue, Edward smirked victoriously. He could always have his way with Alexander, if he tried hard enough. Or played dirty enough. Which ever. “. . . Fine. I’ll go help mom.”
“Thank you!” Ed cheered, leaping to his feet and giving the other a quick hug. Alex’s already pink cheeks flamed, body stiffening in the swift embrace. “I owe you, brother-mine!” And with a wave and a wink he was gone in a second.
It was then that Alex realized his brother had done it again.
“. . . dammit.”
Furious that he’d just been duped, Alex groaned; dragging his feet in the direction of the garage.
X
Edward and Alexander Elric were many things-brothers, roommates (as there were only three bedrooms in the house and Rosalie and their parents each needed their own space), relatively average students. . . they were also notoriously stubborn, sharp tongued, and not known for being particularly fair fighters.
Especially when fighting with each other.
But, above everything else, they were deeply committed to living through the law of Equivalent Exchange- just as their father had taught them.
So when Alex (quite literally) kicked Ed off of the top bunk later that night, in order to help him sort through the boxes he’d been conned into cleaning out of the garage, the elder boy had no choice but to resign himself to his fate.
“Dammit, Al,” the blonde whined, sitting bare-chested and cross-legged on the floor beside the bottom bunk, grudgingly digging through a little shoebox. “After all the work I put into getting out of this job, you just roped me right back into it?”
“Wrong,” Alexander quipped lightly, opening the top of a refrigerator box. “I roped you into a different job. Mom wanted you to help her organize the boxes themselves. Now she wants me to go through said boxes-and I’m making you help me.”
Edward sighed, lifting a gaudy earring out of a sea of tissue paper with an arched eyebrow. He quickly tossed it away. “And what’s the point of all this?”
“Spring cleaning?” Alex ventured wryly, his response muffled by cardboard as he dug around inside the large box. (At the sound of his voice, Al’s brother couldn’t help but look up from his own work, amused; watching the younger boy’s ass shake from side to side as he burrowed deeper and deeper into the dark depths.) “I dunno. I think she mentioned having a garage sale, or something. . .”
Ed snorted. “Not the cleaning,” he swiftly corrected, sounding exasperated. “THIS.” He dangled another random artifact- a horrendously dirty turquoise garter- in Al’s general direction, looking torn between laughter and irritation. Alexander, straightening enough to see the indicated item, flushed before turning away again. “All of this! This junk. What’s the point of all of it? Why do we have it?”
“It’s not really ours,” the brunette muttered, still sounding appalled. (Ed, having decided he’d prefer to be entertained by the garter, used it as a sling shot; smacking Al in the face with it. Alex glowered, chucking a dusty old globe at his brother in retort.) “It’s Grandpa’s, I think.”
Ed’s brow furrowed. “Really?” he murmured, somewhat intrigued as he spun the globe between his fingers. “Which one?”
“The dead one-Grandpa Elric.”
“Oh.” The elder of the pair yawned, lazy; golden eyes half-lidded in dull interest. “That would explain why there’s so much of it. Why do we still have it, anyway? Why didn’t mom just chuck it when he kicked the bucket?”
“Ed!” Alexander reprimanded, disgusted by his brother’s crude tone. Sitting back on his knees, Al dusted down his t-shirt and baggy shorts, glaring. “Show a little compassion, won’t you? Of course mom wouldn’t just chuck everything-I’m sure dad wanted a chance to go through his stuff. Grandpa Elric was his father, after all.”
“Well, he sure took his time about it-if he did it at all,” Edward drawled. “And if that’s the case, why were WE dragged into it?”
“I don’t know,” Al grumbled, still annoyed. He returned to excavating the contents of the refrigerator box, yellowing newspaper falling around him like confetti. “Maybe mom gave me this box by mistake, or maybe she wants to sell the stuff that’s in it, or maybe dad never got around t-
to. . .”
He trailed off suddenly, voice faltering once-then dying.
There was silence.
Ed, still toying with the ancient brown globe, paused, confused by the abrupt nothingness. “Al?” he tried, sitting up. Why did he look so pale? “Alex?” Getting to his knees, the teenager leaned over, prodding his little brother smartly in the side. “Yo, Alexander. What’s wrong?”
A swallow; the sound echoed strangely through the small, amber-colored bedroom. Then, snapping his sibling with the oddest of glances, Alex pulled what looked like a faded scrap of paper out of the box. “I. . .” he choked, clearly bewildered. Or, at least, badly shocked. “I- it’s us.”
X
And so it was. Or, rather, that was what it appeared to be.
“Wh. . . what the hell. . . ?” Edward gaped, snatching up the photograph with long, trembling fingers. The little wafer of paper shook in his grasp; dulling colors gleaming weakly in the setting sunlight which poured through the window. “It can’t be us-this photo must be over 90 years old!”
It was a fair assumption. Judging by the faded sepia hues, the grayish tint, the clothing adorning the two stationary boys-which looked like something out of the early 1900s. . . the picture was clearly an antique. Which made the smiling faces looking up at them all the creepier.
Alex, still justifiably surprised, left his large box-scooting over to sit beside his brother. “D. . . do you think. . .” he whispered, touching the edge of the small photo. It was about the size of a baseball card. “Do you think it could be Grandpa?”
The question lingered in the air for a moment, hesitant. Alexander quickly continued.
“I mean, this is a box of his stuff, right? And he always loved pictures. And mom has always said you look like him. . .”
Edward didn’t respond for a moment, entranced as he was by the image. It was spellbinding; so curious. . . Hesitantly, he brushed his thumb over his double’s face, as if trying to touch that large grin.
The young man in the print continued to beam; chin tilted upwards, staring cheerfully at the taller boy, who’s hand was on his shoulder.
“. . . I guess that makes sense,” Ed finally admitted, clearing his throat. Dropping the photograph as if he had burnt him, he turned away, playing with long strands of his bound hair. “But if that’s true, who’s that with him?” He gestured vaguely at the second male, who looked frighteningly like Alex.
The brunette in question could only shrug-trying to avoid looking at his doppelganger. His beam was so sunny, so adoring; it hurt to stare. What was it for? How did these two men know each other?
“Do you think there’s anything else in the box?” Al inquired softly, turning the picture upside down; pressing the faces into the carpet. It was too much. . . “Something about. . . . ?”
Edward snorted, getting swiftly to his feet. “Who cares?” he grumbled, perhaps a little louder than necessary. “It’s of no concern. So Grandpa knew some guy who looked a bit like you. Big deal. It doesn’t affect us one way or another.” He paused, looking unsure of what else to do or say before ultimately deciding to stalk to the door. “I’m hungry,” he then announced. “Do we have any more cold pizza?”
“Do I look like the fridge?” Alexander muttered indignantly, waving his brother off. He began to busy himself with the scattered packing paper, crumpling the sheets into a single large ball. “Go look for yourself.”
“I will.”
And he did. Leaving Alex alone.
“. . .”
The quiet was painful.
Sighing, the younger boy continued to tidy the bedroom, tossing a few stray socks into the corner in his search for more trash. All the while, the photo lay beside his bottom bunk-unable to be forgotten, not liking being ignored. Try as he might, Alexander couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to the pale underside of the image, mind drifting as he vainly attempted to decipher the hidden message. It was as if the two young men were trying to tell him something. . . something important.
Who was he? The boy who looked like him? The boy who touched their Grandpa with such ease and devotion? The boy who Grandpa was looking at with such care and concern?
Who?
Before he’d even realized he was doing it, Alex felt his feet carry him back to the refrigerator box. Shooting out as if on their own accord, his arms were soon buried up to the shoulders in old newspapers: digging, searching, grasping for something just beyond what he could see.
He found it; right hand clenching something hard and thick; heavy. Cold. Rough. He retrieved it without a second thought.
“A book?”
Alexander blinked, taken aback as he fell onto his rump, crossing his legs with the find in his lap. It was a book-obvious, by its shape and size; chocolate leather covers enclosing a ream of yellowing parchment- but not the kind he had been used to seeing his Grandpa with. Edward senior was known for his scientific tastes; he’d never been one to lounge around with modern-day novels. Nor anything else, really, that involved something of an imagination. Which made it odd that this book had been in his possession: a book which, instead of hosting a bunch of complicated Latin words on the front cover, proudly displayed a clasp and an ornate, dragon-like design.
Al could hardly believe it, unable to keep his eyebrows away from his hairline as he fingered the heavy volume. “Is this. . .” he murmured to himself, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. “Is this a diary. . . ?”
It certainly looked the part-more than it looked like a book on chemistry, in any case. But there was really only one way to find out. . .
And so, taking a deep breath, Alex broke the seal; allowing the pages to fall open with an explosion of dust.
X
May, 1923
Dear Al,
First, let me say that I can’t believe I’m doing this. And I know that, if you were here, you’d be looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. But give me a chance to defend myself-this wasn’t my idea. It was Hendrich’s. He was the one that suggested I take up writing a diary (his words, not mine) in order to-and I quote-“record your thoughts of this new world, so that you can tell your brother everything when you find him.” My response was somewhat vulgar, I admit, but summarized was: “I don’t do diaries.” He, therefore, amended his request by changing the word “diary” to “research log.”
I told him to bugger off.
However, I guess he still won, in the end, because here I am, writing. Though this isn’t a diary-nor is it really a research log. Because even though that’s what he suggested, it’s not what he meant. Or what I meant.
I think he’s just sick of seeing me mope. And I suppose I can’t blame him. It’s been two months since my unceremonious appearance in this screwed up world, and things have only gone downhill from there. I have a job, I have a roommate, but I have no will to live. (This is where you’d call me overdramatic, right, Al?)
I miss you, little brother. I can’t stop thinking about our home, about our friends, about alchemy. I can’t stop worrying about you. Are you okay? Is your new body working? Did the Colonel’s plan succeed? I need to know- but there’s no way to find out.
Hendrich is a big help. He listens to me, and doesn’t call me crazy. He brings me back home when I get too drunk at the bar. (Which I go to too often, I know.) He’s the one who gave me this journal. He worries about me, burden that I am. And I don’t know how I’ll be able to repay all of his kindness.
I know that Equivalent Exchange will come back to bite me in the ass. It’s all just a matter of when.
But for now, there’s nothing I can do but sit here. It’s cold in Munich (that’s where I am right now, in a country called ‘Germany’) at this time of year, so the windows are all shut and locked. We don’t have a fireplace or many candles, so it’s dark-and cold. Hendrich is nearby, making dinner, and I’m writing at the kitchen table. He tried to subtly read over my shoulder when I first started writing (he wants to know more about you, Al, but I’m not telling), which is why this is all in English. He can’t read English, nor does he like it. He says it’s too complicated. I like it, though; it’s close to what we speak back home. German is harder for me. But I’m getting used to it.
I hope you’re okay, Al. I miss you-I miss you a lot. But I have to say, I feel a little bit better after having written this. Maybe Hendrich was right.
I’ll write again later.
-Ed
X
Alexander stared unblinkingly down at the neat cursive scrawl, wondering hazily if his heart was ever going to start beating again. When he’d first read ‘Dear Al,’ it felt for a moment as if this letter was supposed to span across time; find its way to him. But no. . . ‘Grandpa had a little brother?’
And what was all of this about other worlds? A new body? A Colonel? Alchemy? It almost sounded like Grandpa’s bedtime stories. . .
Which couldn’t possibly be true, of course.
. . . right?
“Hey, Al-” (Alex nearly jumped a mile, clutching his chest as his older brother made his sudden presence known) “I brought us some piz-”
But the blonde fell silent at the look on his sibling’s round face. Cocking his own head in perplexity, the elder boy set the plates down on a messy nightstand, flopping beside the other on floor. “What’s wro- hey, where’d you find that?” He pointed at the book with inquisitiveness in his voice; golden eyes wide and innocently puzzled. “In the box?”
“It’s an old journal of letters,” Alexander replied carefully, setting the book on the ground between them-on top of the photograph. “Letters Grandpa wrote to his little brother.”
Edward looked surprised. “Little brother?” he repeated, astonished. “I didn’t know Grandpa had one of them.”
“Well. . .” Alex cleared his throat gingerly, tracing an undefined pattern on his kneecap with a forefinger. “Maybe he didn’t.”
“Huh?” A pause; a frown. “What do you mean?”
Al shrugged, looking somewhat troubled. “In the first letter he keeps talking about things like other worlds and alchemy. . . like the bedtime stories he used to tell us. Maybe he was. . . um. . . you know. . .”
“Crazy?” Ed filled in dryly. His brother nodded, apparently feeling flustered-and a little guilty. “Eh. Could be, I guess. But. . .” the blonde trailed off for a moment, glancing out the window. Twilight had come and gone; the moon was blazing brightly, now. “But didn’t Grandpa tell you about his brother before? And show you pictures?”
“. . . What?”
Edward brushed off the younger male’s clear indignation. “Well, remember that one time, when you were-I dunno, five? He showed you and Rosie some pictures when we went to visit. I didn’t get to see ‘em, but I remember you being pretty fascinated with ‘em. Were they of that boy?” He jabbed a finger at the picture which lay beneath the diary. “Maybe he’s Grandpa’s brother. That would explain why he showed you-you and Rosalie were whining that he didn’t love you ‘cause he always looked so sad when he saw you. He must have seen the resemblance between you. Maybe you reminded him of his brother.”
“. . .”
Alexander was stunned silent-simply staring at his brother. Ed, who realized with a twinge of embarrassment that he’d just stuck up for his Grandpa (and had quite flippantly explained away something most would consider solid proof of insanity), blushed a light shade of magenta. “Just a thought,” he mumbled, toeing the carpet.
Al coughed. “Um. . . well, I don’t really. . . that is. . . c’mon, I was four! I don’t remember!” His brow wrinkled in thought; he knuckled it with a fist, looking torn. “But I guess. . . not that it matters. . .”
“Why are you making such a big deal out of this, anyway?” Edward asked coolly, trying to salvage some ‘manly pride.’ “It’s just an old picture and an even older diary. Why don’t we just chuck it?”
But this evoked a very firm response.
“No,” Alex replied without a moment’s hesitation. “No, I want to read it.”
Ed-who, despite it all, wasn’t very surprised (his brother was something of a history buff)- arched an eyebrow just the same. “Why?”
It was a simple enough question. But still, Al didn’t respond for a while. . . instead staring at the loopy cursive on the page before him. “I just. . .” Gnawing on his bottom lip, Alexander cast his older brother a desperate glance. “I just feel like there’s something we should know about him. Like there’s one final bedtime story he didn’t tell us, but wanted to.”
“. . . have you been swallowing toothpaste again?”
“Brother!”
“Hey!” Edward cried, defending himself with upturned palms and a breezy smile; dodging the pillow. “I’m just kidding! Do what you like; I don’t care. Besides, if Grandpa really was wacko, maybe it will make a good novel idea or something.”
Typical Ed. Never serious. Regardless, as Alex turned the page to read the next entry, his brother didn’t go anywhere. Instead, he lingered-apparently wanting to read on, too.
Unfortunately, it looked like this entry was going to take a bit more work to read: the parchment was flooded with ink spills and smeared with the remains of some sort of liquid. Even the cursive itself was oddly misshapen, running together as if there were some sort of invisible traffic jam on the page. . .
X
May1923
Al-I can’t take it. I can’tIcan’tIcan’tI wantto see you nowand I don’t want to wait. Whereare you? Where can you be?Are you waitingfor me beyondtheGatestill? I want tobe with you now.Iwant to see younow. Iwant younow.
I missyou, brother.Imissyour warmthand smileandeverything about you.I want youwith mesothat I can touch-
X
Alexander slammed the book shut with a loud SMACK. His eyes were wide; cheeks as red as cherries. Edward, on the other hand, was looking strangely entertained.
“I. . . um. . . think he was drunk,” Alex squeaked, plainly horrified.
“Drunk?” Ed echoed, laughing; his smile morphing into an amused smirk. “Al- I think he was gay.”
XXX
Oh, how right you are, Edward Jr. XD
Anyway, hopefully I’ll update this soon-as I’ve got some lovely (and some not so lovely) plans for both sets of Elric brothers. ;)
I hope you enjoyed!