"Skeletons" Chapter Eight (Part II)
I need to start writing shorter chapters… >.<
Title: Skeletons
Type: Chapter Fic-- Letter Eight (PART II)
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Elricestx2
Warnings: Blah blah blah...
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet-- and Edward and Alexander Elric are about to find their grandfather's.
X
September, 1953
Dear Edward,
Forgive me for taking your journal out of your dresser drawer; I realize it was an intrusion of your space and privacy. Do not worry, I have not read any of it. However, I was going through my old notes earlier this morning and ran across a song I once wrote. It was then that I recalled a promise I had made-a promise to write that particular song down for you, as I had originally written it for you and Alphonse. I admit I had forgotten, but now that I have remembered I have no excuse not to keep my word.
I know that you had said you liked it, back when I first sang it for you; I hope you still like it, now. (Particularly the English translation, which I added per your long-ago request.)
"Братья"
Прости меня, младший брат!
Я так пред тобой виноват.
Пытаться вернуть нельзя
Того, что взяла земля.
Кто знает закон Бытия,
Помог бы и мне найти ответ.
Жестоко ошибся я:
От смерти лекарства нет.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Тебя соблазнил я
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Мой брат, я во всем виноват.
Не плачь, не печалься, старший брат!
Не ты один виноват.
Дорога у нас одна,
Искупим вину до дна.
Мне не в чем тебя упрекнуть,
И я не обижен ничуть.
Тяжек, наш грех
Хотеть быть сильнее всех.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Я сам соблазнился
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Я сам во всем виноват.
Но что же нам делать, как быть?
Как все исправить, забыть?
Пытаться вернуть нельзя,
Того, что взяла земля.
“The Brothers”
Forgive me, little brother
I am to be blamed
One shouldn’t try to regain
that which was taken away by the earth
The one who knows the law of being
would help me find the answer.
I was utterly mistaken;
there is no cure for death.
Dear Mother! Affectionate one!
We loved you so much.
But all of our strength
was spent in vain.
I intrigued you
with the beautiful hope
of returning our family’s house
My brother, the fault is all mine.
Don't cry, don't despair, big brother
You are not the only one at fault
We are both on the same road
Let’s bury all of the guilt
I have nothing to reproach you with
And I bear no grudge at all
Grievous is our sin
The desire to be stronger than all
Dear Mother! Affectionate one!
We loved you so much.
But all of our strength
was spent in vain.
I was intrigued, myself
with the beautiful hope
of returning our family’s house.
I am the one to blame.
So what should we do, how should we act?
How do we correct everything and forget?
One shouldn’t try to regain
that which was taken away by the earth.
-Annya
X
One thing was for certain: Alexander needed to stop reading these life-changing entries at 12 in the morning. It made sleeping really, really difficult.
“Mom!” Alex screeched, sliding into the kitchen as soon as his clock read 6:30 AM. However, he was a little too enthusiastic… or, at least, a bit absentminded. Either way, he should have forgone the socks: he slid into the room so fast that he nearly slammed into the table, cursing his feet all the while.
Teri Elric chuckled good-naturedly as he floundered, pinwheeling his arms and dragging himself to the counter. “Good morning, Alex,” she chirped from her place behind the island, working busily on pancakes. Her apron was already covered in flour and cinnamon. “You’re certainly up early.”
Early-ha! She didn’t know the half of it; he’d barely slept a wink all night. He was too busy, too shocked… and the words of her old lullaby wouldn’t stop running through his head.
But he didn’t need to tell her that. Instead, he slammed the diary down in front of her, slapping the page he’d discovered the night before. “This,” he said in a breathless, demanding voice. “This, it-!”
Baffled, his mother blinked vacantly down at the small black journal; eyes skimming the words he’d been jabbing at with little more than polite interest. “Um… yes?” She smiled brightly, pouring liberal amounts of batter onto the sizzling griddle before her. “And what is that?”
“What IS it?” Alexander gawked, frustrated and more than mildly irritated. “It’s your song! The lullaby you used to sing to us when we were little! Don’t you remember?” He quickly hummed a bar or two, repeating the ending chorus: “So what should we do how to act; forget everything bring it back-!”
“One never should try to rebirth what was taken away by the earth,” Mrs. Elric finished calmly, flipping a flapjack with a rubber-tipped spatula. “Yes, of course I remember. What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” the brunette choked, face white with shock. Teri noticed his clammy countenance with a murmur of concern, lifting a hand to feel his forehead. Alex easily ducked away. “Mom, how do you know this song? How? I know you said Dad read Grandpa’s diary, but did you…?”
He trailed off, eyes locked on his mother’s composed face. She glanced his way briefly; sighed… then smiled, aware that she wasn’t going to be able to skate around this.
Alexander waited.
Astonishingly, he wasn’t disappointed.
“You’d have loved your Grandma Annya,” Teri declared, beaming as if this conversation were nothing out of the ordinary. “She was quite the storyteller. Always talking about the past and days gone by… she’d seen hundreds of amazing sights by the end of her life. But her favorite story to tell was of two brothers she had met.” Mrs. Elric bubbled merrily, sliding the finished pancakes onto four plastic plates. “Quite the epic… she insisted it was true. And although she never had a chance to tell me the whole of their adventures, she did teach me that song- and she made me promise to sing it to my children so that the brothers’ story wouldn’t be forgotten.”
“…” Alex gaped wordlessly, only realizing how far his jaw had dropped when he felt his chin hit his throat. He promptly snapped his mouth shut again, but his face remained a dazed white. “How much… did she tell you?” ‘How much did Mom know…?’
Mrs. Elric only smiled, pushing a plate of flapjacks towards her son. Alex quirked an eyebrow; she’d decorated the top of his breakfast with a syrup smiley-face. “Eat up,” she cheerfully encouraged, resting her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, watching him with large, bright eyes. “I don’t want you getting hungry during the day- especially with how little you eat of your lunch and how late you get home for dinner. And I don’t trust that mall food at all.”
A bite of pancake slipped off Alexander’s fork; his silver pools widened to the size of oceans. “Mall food-? What’re you…?”
Teri beamed, waving a hand and turning to attack the dirty dishes in the sink. “I just don’t want you getting sick, honey,” she explained sweetly, oblivious to the growing shock on her youngest son’s face. “Oh, and don’t stay out too late with Edward, all right? Strange people ride the bus after dark.”
The fork fell from his hands with a clatter. Simultaneously, Alex felt his stomach vanish. Vanish; and the rest of his insides turn to ice-horror painting itself on his overly expressive features. His ears were buzzing; his heart racing…
Pushing away from the kitchen island, the boy flew backwards with so much force that his stool almost toppled over. ‘Forget ‘did’- How much does Mom know?’ he thought in a panic, slowly inching away.
His mother began humming their lullaby.
Alex grabbed his backpack and bolted out the door.
‘How much do they all know!?’
X
June, 1955
Dear Al,
Damn, it’s been years again, hasn’t it? Sorry-I know that I should write more often, but I’m too distracted by… well, living. Time seems to move so quickly, you know? One minute it’s 1921, the next it’s 1955. I don’t know where the months go, I really don’t. Hell, the only reason I’m writing now is because I have nothing else to do: you’re sick with the flu and Annya had to go shopping, so I volunteered to stay and take care of you. I may miss out on bossing my museum underlings around (haha), but it’s worth it to spend some time with you, ill or not.
It’s almost fun (rather, it’s fun marred by occasional vomiting): reliving memories of mother and of lazing around as sick children. We spent a long time talking about how we used to take naps together in her big downy bed, cold cloths pressed to our foreheads; kept alive on strict diet of broth and juice. I tried to reenact that for you: I made some apparently-edible broth (we were both surprised that it wasn’t toxic) and found some juice; pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and laid beside you on the bed, waiting to move until you fell asleep with a bad headache.
After that, I got up to fetch you another wet cloth and feed your whining cat. It only took a minute; and it was on my way back from the kitchen, when I passed my bedroom, that I paused and -on nothing more than a whim- decided to take out this old journal. Which brings me to now: sitting on a chair beside your bed, writing as you sleep. Heck, maybe when you wake up, I’ll finally share this little book with you. You never did press for information when you saw me writing in it so many years ago… Maybe you forgot, maybe you were respecting my space, but either way, this was written for you-so I should really let you read it, shouldn’t I?
In fact, I should pr-
X
East Central mall was known for many things: its size, its stores, and its sales being three beloved attractions. It was a four-story architectural masterpiece of fiberglass and steel located only 45 minutes from Edward and Alex’s small neighborhood, making it easily accessible by bus or car; typically bus, seeing as how Edward could no longer borrow his parent’s car. But at least they didn’t have to fight with holiday shoppers for parking spaces, anymore.
This particular mall was a frequent haven for the Elric boys, also on the grounds of size, stores, and sales-just for different reasons. Reasons that mostly fell in the category of “staying inconspicuous”: the more places, people, and pandemonium, the easier it was to hide in public. And normally that was enough for Alex-the opportunity to subtly hold Edward’s hand in a crowd of strangers, discuss meaningless musings and act like a regular couple: cloaked among people who didn’t know or care about them one way or another.
But Alexander’s thoughts were too far gone that night; his whole brain stunned stupid by his discussions with his father, his mother, the most recent entries in his grandfather’s diary. Though it had nearly been 12 hours since his breakfast chat with Mrs. Elric, his innards had yet to stop squirming… and he was beginning to second-guess every glance shot his way, intentional or not.
He jumped half a foot when he felt a hand brush his own.
There was a dreary sigh. “All right, that does it.”
Alex snapped his head up when he heard a paper cup hit the sticky surface between them, abruptly aware of his surroundings. They were in the food court… enclosed by countless white checkered tables, shaded by a forest of plastic green ferns; serenaded by screaming children and the noisy gossip of conformity-driven teenagers, all of whom wore clothing either three sizes too big or three sizes too small. Dozens of nutrition-needy customers clamored around the dozen fast-food joints, yelling their orders so as to be heard over the din.
The brunette blinked; fingers tightening around his drink. There was the faint taste of food in his mouth… what had he ordered again? ‘Heck, when did we get here?’ “Um… sorry about that-you startled me,” he mumbled, almost shyly; blushing. “What were we… er… talking about, again?”
Edward’s face tightened, furrowing with worry. Pushing aside a litter-ridden plastic tray, he leaned forward-piercing his younger brother with those unnervingly golden eyes. Alex’s cheeks darkened; his own glance drifted to the right.
Ed frowned. “Seriously, Al…” He looped his fingers around the hand Alexander had left lingering on the table, voice steady and soft. But even the gentle evenness of his tone was unable to smooth out the kinks in Alex’s stomach; if anything, they merely made them worse: the memories and revelations returning with augmented distress and dread. Edward… himself… Grandpa… Alphonse. Alexander could barely suppress the tremors that shot through his body. And though he knew was being irrational, he couldn’t stop panicking- it was getting harder and harder to breathe. “I know I’ve asked this already but… are you really okay? You’ve been out of it all day. What’s on your mind?”
Alex didn’t respond. He didn’t lift his gaze. He didn’t do anything, really; the cool condensation of his soda dripping down his clammy palm. But his brother had been blessed with an innate sense of patience, so he waited-tawny pools deep and wide and ember-bright, watching the brunette’s face crumple with thoughts and emotions.
“It’s just…” The younger boy swallowed thickly, trying not to squirm as a little girl stared pointedly at them, waving with a smile when scolded by a parent for her rudeness. “It’s just that I’ve been reading more of Granapa’s diary and it’s…”
Alexander paused; irresolute. It’s what? Disturbing him? Alerting him? Making him nervous?
He tried again.
“You’ve heard that history repeats itself, right?” he asked quietly, careful to keep his eyes anywhere but focused on his older brother. Edward, nonplussed, made a sound of assent in the back of his throat. “Well, in Grandpa’s journal, things have… not gone so well. And I-”
Ed suddenly smiled, leaning back in his chair with a wave of his hand and an understanding chuckle. “Is that it?” he surmised, face decorated with amusement and adoration. “You don’t think things will work out for us because they didn’t work out for Grandpa and his brother?” Alexander flushed brightly, horrified that Edward had said something like that so loudly. What if someone overheard? “Oh Al, you don’t have to-”
“Mom knows.”
All the color drained from his elder siblings face; he blinked at Alex, dumbfounded. “What…?”
“Mom knows,” Alex repeated dourly, annoyed beyond words by the ease with which his brother had been responding to his greatest fears. “At least… she knows more than we thought she did. She knows about the diary; Annya, Grandpa, and Alphonse. She knows I’m seeing you. She might even know what we’re doing.” He bit his bottom lip, glaring frostily at the table between his sibling and himself.
Edward managed another small, though somewhat forced, smile; brushing their hands together one more time. “I think you’re being a bit paranoid, Al-” he began quietly, but was cut off by a fervent shake of Alex’s head.
“Not paranoid,” he snapped. “Cautious. We’re supposed to learn from history, after all: history does repeat itself. Don’t you see?” Alexander finally reconnected their eyes, his own wavering with desperate insecurity. “It’s just like what happened with Annya-once anyone finds out, it’s over. And it… it ruins people, Brother. Ruins relationships between friends and spouses and destroys trust. It ruined Grandpa and Alphonse. It ruined Annya too. It ruined Dad.”
Alex took a deep breath; Edward watched him do so with determinedly vacant eyes. But still, the younger boy could see the hurt-the horror- behind them. “What are you trying to say, Alex?”
The brunette scrunched his nose, scowling-again, unable to look anywhere but away from his older sibling. “I’m… I’m saying that things can’t stay like this forever,” he whispered, feeling the paper cup in his grasp crumple, yet unable to loosen his grip. “That things don’t work like that. I’m saying that all of this running and hiding and sneaking around isn’t good for either of us… I’m saying that I’m not fearless, like you-I’m scared.” As if on cue, Alex felt the pinpricks of tears gather behind his eyes. He hated himself for being so weak. Still, he pressed on-smacking away the fingers that darted out to touch his cheek, hissing through his teeth when he wasn’t able to murmur softly anymore. “I’m scared of Mom knowing; of Dad knowing… I’m scared of all the rules we’re breaking coming back to bite us, like they did to Grandpa and Alphonse. And…and I’m scared of everything falling apart!”
Edward ran a hand over his face, drained and preoccupied: a gesture that Alexander recognized from their father. Now he was having trouble maintaining eye contact: tilting back in his chair, pale and almost timid. Disorientated.
After another moment, the blonde blew out his cheeks; carefully leaning forward and closing his eyes, as if awaiting the guillotine. The air around them stilled… like it was dead. “So then…” Ed began, in a voice so cold and distant that Alex wondered momentarily where his brother had gone, “what do you want to do?”
What did he…?
Alexander’s mind went blank. What did he want to do? What could he do? What choices did they have? What choices could there possibly be?
…only one. The boy’s own expression crumbled, flesh ashen as his stomach rolled itself into a tight ball; refusing to loosen so long as his heart still beat. But that was fine: it was a problem that would soon be remedied. Because… because…
Well, that was it, wasn’t it? The only way to stop everything bad… was to stop everything good.
“I…” Alex choked, struggling to un-stick the sour words in the back of his throat. Tentatively, he turned- touching his hand to Edward’s; staring resolutely into those haunting amber eyes once they’d fallen on him. It had to be done… “We... we have to end this, Brother,” he whispered, trying to ignore the way something behind Ed’s eyes appeared to splinter; trying to ignore the way his own heart seemed to snap in two. “Before it gets out of hand. Before people start to question us; before our lives are ruined. We can’t go through life hiding from neighbors and friends- we can’t keep pretending we have a future together. You know we don’t… we can’t. Things don’t work like that. So we…” Alexander broke off, trying to speak around a sob, “we have to stop now, before-! Before…”
He hurriedly glanced away, blinking rapidly in an attempt to quash the threat of oncoming tears.
The blonde’s trembling fingers quickly laced around his brother’s. “Alex…” he breathed, in a voice so soft and helpless that Alexander nearly shattered, falling to pieces; but no, he couldn’t- this was… this was for the best…
“Don’t,” Alex begged, disentangling their hands. He could feel his insides writhing again, worse than before; his voice shaking like leaves in the wind. “Don’t look at me like that, Ed. Please…!” ‘Don’t make this harder than it already is-!’
But Edward could no more stop looking broken than Alex could stop feeling broken. “I’m sorry,” the younger boy pleaded, pulling away entirely; trying not to act as small as he felt. “I’m sorry, Brother, but it has to be this way… it has to, if we ever want to be happy.”
Silence. Impenetrable, grave, painful; destroyed only by Ed’s rueful grin. Alexander wanted to die when he saw it… “Well…” the older teen said quietly-in a voice crisp with empty comfort and sheered hurt, “as long as you’re happy, Alex.”
And that was it. Alexander stared blankly at Edward, torn between self-loathing and anger; enraged by the aching loss that painted Ed’s features, furious at his gallant agreement-even while his golden eyes cried: crumbling to ash, imploring that Alex take it back. But he’d never voice that wish… because he’d meant what he said. All he wanted was his baby brother’s happiness.
Damn him! Damn him for his sweetness; for his understanding; for not yelling and screaming and hating Alex as much as Alex now hated himself. And God, Alex hated himself; a detestation that well-surpassed the point of redemption, all for putting that look on Ed’s face.
He couldn’t be here anymore; he couldn’t take the glimmer of wounded concern in Edward’s gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Alexander echoed, subdued and strained and nearly snarled; pushing away from the table with arms as heavy as lead. “I’m sorry-!”
And he ran: ran into the crowd, melding into the throng; pushing his way through the shoppers and their present-heavy bags, forcing his body in the direction of the exit. Faster and faster, before the world could swallow him whole, throw him into the darkness growing behind his eyes; before Ed could-!
…But even if the stores had all been empty, even if they’d been the only two people around, he knew that Edward wouldn’t have followed.
Alex was alone.
Still, he waited until he made it to the bus stop to begin crying: curling up on the wooden bench and sobbing-louder and louder, until he’d reached a wail- vainly trying to stifle the sound with his knees. The wind blew, the stars shone, stray advertisements fluttered down the garbage-covered streets. But he didn’t care. He just cried; oblivious to those who saw him, who heard, who stared: unaware of the child’s frustration and broken heart.
He really was alone.
X
June, 1955
Dear Al,
I… I don’t know what happened. One minute you were fine-ill, yes, but fine-the next you were jerking, jerking like you were being electrocuted, making these… squeaking little retching sounds as you choked on spit; conscious for one moment and the ne…
God damn it, I can’t even write about it!
A seizure. You had a seizure, and I panicked. I called the hospital; that’s where we are right now. Annya’s here, too, but she’s with you. I’m in the waiting room-only one of us was allowed to go in to see you, and since you’re her husband…
I don’t really know how long I’ve been here. I’m still trying to piece together what’s going on. You have the flu! We shouldn’t be in the hospital at all; none of this should be happening! None of this… not the increasing temperature, not the rashes, not the c-
…you’re in a coma.
I want to know what the fuck’s going on; I want to know now-! But I can’t do anything but wait here, because I have no idea where you are or what’s going on and I’m scared that if I do anything, I might make things worse. I just-
Wait, there’s Annya. She’s coming through the doors to the waiting room. There are doctors with her.
She’s crying.
And she’s speaking to me.
“I’m sorry.”
-Ed
X
The bus, as always, dropped Alex off on the side of the road about 15 minutes away from his house: beside a glowing streetlight and a frozen metal bench. Said bench looked even colder tonight than usual, as in the sky dark clouds began to collect: splotching out large patches of the diamond-bright heavens. Alexander watched the gathering vapors with itchy red eyes, sniffling once: unimpressed as a sprinkling snow began to fall. He sneezed; a puffy white flake stuck to an eyelash.
He shook his head and continued down the sidewalk; hands in his pockets and a lump in his throat.
How has this happened? How had everything fallen apart? He knew it was his fault; knew he’d been the one to travel down the condemned path of what-ifs, but it had only been out of concern for both of their well-beings. It was supposed to be for the best…
So why did he feel like he was dying?
The brunette snuffled weakly, the raw clawing of bile stinging the back of his throat. He was coughing, he was panting, he was… humming?
Alex gave a jolt, startled to hear his voice- scratchy, hoarse, whimpering- melting into the tune he’d heard countless times growing up; always used to hum when upset. But that was an insult to memory, now that he knew who had written the song; now that he knew of his mother’s familiarity with the story. He didn’t want to sing it, he didn’t want to do anything other than cry.
Regardless, the words forced themselves out of his mouth, one by one; strained, painful… unfamiliar. Words that strayed from the original lyrics.
Alexander slapped a hand over his mouth, convulsing as if about to vomit. ‘NO.’ he thought firmly, seeing his house in the distance and racing for it-trying to outrun his depression and fear. ‘I don’t want to think about it! I don’t want to think about him! I don’t-!’
He burst into the kitchen, not caring if Rosie was there-not caring if he was quiet-not caring if his parents ground him for life for coming home at 11:30. He just didn’t care anymore; didn’t care about anything other than dulling the pain of his insides being torn into unrecognizable shreds.
Holding himself in a pseudo-hug, the boy fruitlessly tried to gulp down another harsh sob; about to storm past the living room and go to bed-
When his eyes fell upon his piano, sitting there in the darkness: big and brown and familiar and calling… the catharsis he craved.
Alex whimpered, edging gingerly closer: standing before the instrument as if terrified it might attack him. When it didn’t, he allowed a tentative hand to drift towards the keys, brushing their glossy surface with an aggrieved kind of adoration. He pressed a little harder, shaping a familiar chord.
The notes sang loudly- melancholy; miserable.
And then he was playing. Without thinking about it, without realizing it; without feeling himself ease onto the wooden seat: the haunting melody began to pour from his fingers like teardrops, wetting the ivory surface of the keys. It was distressed, it was joyful, it was heart-breaking… but it wasn’t Annya’s.
It was a song all his own.
As he played, a little black book slipped out of his back pocket, dropping to the carpeted floor with a muffled thump. Bouncing once on its spine, the two covers fell back: opening to a page worn and wrinkled by antique tears.
X
June, 1955
Dear Al,
Meningitis.
You somehow contracted bacterial meningitis… and you-
You…
Fuck it, I can’t believe it, let alone write it! I can’t… you were just here. You were just here, dammit, and now you’re not! I don’t- I can’t-!
Annya is crying. She’s been crying for hours now: we sat in the hospital waiting room for a long time, doing just that. It was odd…not the crying, but the crying with her. She sat herself in my lap-she’s still so small- and wrapped her arms around me, just like when she was 12.
She apologized. Wailing, snuffling, and heart-broken, she apologized repeatedly-sorry for all of the things she’d said, sorry for not understanding, sorry for trying to steal you away, sorry for acting like a spoiled brat… sorry that she wasn’t a better person; sorry that she didn’t know how to help me, now. Sorry for everything she had and hadn’t done.
Sorry that you’re gone.
I should have said something in response to all of that. I should have. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even manage to feel any sort of gratitude for her earnest regrets; I was only numb. I was numb, then cold, then hot-then gone.
I was gone. I was nothing. I was another person, someone outside myself; someone outside the silently sobbing man who sat on that hard plastic hospital chair, shock and denial painted on his face.
I… I’m still gone. Sitting by the window, watching the sky; wondering if, were we in Amestris, would I have been able to save you? I will never know. And it will never matter. Because even if the answer were yes…
It’s too late. It’s too late to do anything- I wouldn’t even be able attach your soul to armor, now. You’re gone, little brother.
You’re gone.
And I’ve lost you forever this time.
-Ed
XXX
…um…
I know this is a bad time to say it, but I’m gonna be out of state for a good chunk of July (I’m actually out of state now; I was just lucky and found myself a temporary internet connection), so… I might not have a chance to update for a while. ^_^;
Just remember that hating/killing me won’t get you a new chapter any faster!
…*runs screaming from readers*
PS. DON’T PANIC. Things will be further explained next chapter-especially baby!Ben. I promise. X3
PSS. Alexander’s song, “Brothers’ Sadness,” will be included on the Skeletons OST-both with and without lyrics. :D Yea!
PSSS. The English translation I used of “Brothers” was written by combining and comparing a few different translations I’ve found drifting around the internet. I apologize for any inaccuracies; I speak very little Russian. *sweatdrop*
Title: Skeletons
Type: Chapter Fic-- Letter Eight (PART II)
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Elricestx2
Warnings: Blah blah blah...
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in their closet-- and Edward and Alexander Elric are about to find their grandfather's.
X
September, 1953
Dear Edward,
Forgive me for taking your journal out of your dresser drawer; I realize it was an intrusion of your space and privacy. Do not worry, I have not read any of it. However, I was going through my old notes earlier this morning and ran across a song I once wrote. It was then that I recalled a promise I had made-a promise to write that particular song down for you, as I had originally written it for you and Alphonse. I admit I had forgotten, but now that I have remembered I have no excuse not to keep my word.
I know that you had said you liked it, back when I first sang it for you; I hope you still like it, now. (Particularly the English translation, which I added per your long-ago request.)
"Братья"
Прости меня, младший брат!
Я так пред тобой виноват.
Пытаться вернуть нельзя
Того, что взяла земля.
Кто знает закон Бытия,
Помог бы и мне найти ответ.
Жестоко ошибся я:
От смерти лекарства нет.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Тебя соблазнил я
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Мой брат, я во всем виноват.
Не плачь, не печалься, старший брат!
Не ты один виноват.
Дорога у нас одна,
Искупим вину до дна.
Мне не в чем тебя упрекнуть,
И я не обижен ничуть.
Тяжек, наш грех
Хотеть быть сильнее всех.
Милая мама! Нежная!
Мы так любили тебя.
Но все наши силы
Потрачены были зря.
Я сам соблазнился
Прекрасной надеждой
Вернуть наш семейный очаг.
Я сам во всем виноват.
Но что же нам делать, как быть?
Как все исправить, забыть?
Пытаться вернуть нельзя,
Того, что взяла земля.
“The Brothers”
Forgive me, little brother
I am to be blamed
One shouldn’t try to regain
that which was taken away by the earth
The one who knows the law of being
would help me find the answer.
I was utterly mistaken;
there is no cure for death.
Dear Mother! Affectionate one!
We loved you so much.
But all of our strength
was spent in vain.
I intrigued you
with the beautiful hope
of returning our family’s house
My brother, the fault is all mine.
Don't cry, don't despair, big brother
You are not the only one at fault
We are both on the same road
Let’s bury all of the guilt
I have nothing to reproach you with
And I bear no grudge at all
Grievous is our sin
The desire to be stronger than all
Dear Mother! Affectionate one!
We loved you so much.
But all of our strength
was spent in vain.
I was intrigued, myself
with the beautiful hope
of returning our family’s house.
I am the one to blame.
So what should we do, how should we act?
How do we correct everything and forget?
One shouldn’t try to regain
that which was taken away by the earth.
-Annya
X
One thing was for certain: Alexander needed to stop reading these life-changing entries at 12 in the morning. It made sleeping really, really difficult.
“Mom!” Alex screeched, sliding into the kitchen as soon as his clock read 6:30 AM. However, he was a little too enthusiastic… or, at least, a bit absentminded. Either way, he should have forgone the socks: he slid into the room so fast that he nearly slammed into the table, cursing his feet all the while.
Teri Elric chuckled good-naturedly as he floundered, pinwheeling his arms and dragging himself to the counter. “Good morning, Alex,” she chirped from her place behind the island, working busily on pancakes. Her apron was already covered in flour and cinnamon. “You’re certainly up early.”
Early-ha! She didn’t know the half of it; he’d barely slept a wink all night. He was too busy, too shocked… and the words of her old lullaby wouldn’t stop running through his head.
But he didn’t need to tell her that. Instead, he slammed the diary down in front of her, slapping the page he’d discovered the night before. “This,” he said in a breathless, demanding voice. “This, it-!”
Baffled, his mother blinked vacantly down at the small black journal; eyes skimming the words he’d been jabbing at with little more than polite interest. “Um… yes?” She smiled brightly, pouring liberal amounts of batter onto the sizzling griddle before her. “And what is that?”
“What IS it?” Alexander gawked, frustrated and more than mildly irritated. “It’s your song! The lullaby you used to sing to us when we were little! Don’t you remember?” He quickly hummed a bar or two, repeating the ending chorus: “So what should we do how to act; forget everything bring it back-!”
“One never should try to rebirth what was taken away by the earth,” Mrs. Elric finished calmly, flipping a flapjack with a rubber-tipped spatula. “Yes, of course I remember. What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” the brunette choked, face white with shock. Teri noticed his clammy countenance with a murmur of concern, lifting a hand to feel his forehead. Alex easily ducked away. “Mom, how do you know this song? How? I know you said Dad read Grandpa’s diary, but did you…?”
He trailed off, eyes locked on his mother’s composed face. She glanced his way briefly; sighed… then smiled, aware that she wasn’t going to be able to skate around this.
Alexander waited.
Astonishingly, he wasn’t disappointed.
“You’d have loved your Grandma Annya,” Teri declared, beaming as if this conversation were nothing out of the ordinary. “She was quite the storyteller. Always talking about the past and days gone by… she’d seen hundreds of amazing sights by the end of her life. But her favorite story to tell was of two brothers she had met.” Mrs. Elric bubbled merrily, sliding the finished pancakes onto four plastic plates. “Quite the epic… she insisted it was true. And although she never had a chance to tell me the whole of their adventures, she did teach me that song- and she made me promise to sing it to my children so that the brothers’ story wouldn’t be forgotten.”
“…” Alex gaped wordlessly, only realizing how far his jaw had dropped when he felt his chin hit his throat. He promptly snapped his mouth shut again, but his face remained a dazed white. “How much… did she tell you?” ‘How much did Mom know…?’
Mrs. Elric only smiled, pushing a plate of flapjacks towards her son. Alex quirked an eyebrow; she’d decorated the top of his breakfast with a syrup smiley-face. “Eat up,” she cheerfully encouraged, resting her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, watching him with large, bright eyes. “I don’t want you getting hungry during the day- especially with how little you eat of your lunch and how late you get home for dinner. And I don’t trust that mall food at all.”
A bite of pancake slipped off Alexander’s fork; his silver pools widened to the size of oceans. “Mall food-? What’re you…?”
Teri beamed, waving a hand and turning to attack the dirty dishes in the sink. “I just don’t want you getting sick, honey,” she explained sweetly, oblivious to the growing shock on her youngest son’s face. “Oh, and don’t stay out too late with Edward, all right? Strange people ride the bus after dark.”
The fork fell from his hands with a clatter. Simultaneously, Alex felt his stomach vanish. Vanish; and the rest of his insides turn to ice-horror painting itself on his overly expressive features. His ears were buzzing; his heart racing…
Pushing away from the kitchen island, the boy flew backwards with so much force that his stool almost toppled over. ‘Forget ‘did’- How much does Mom know?’ he thought in a panic, slowly inching away.
His mother began humming their lullaby.
Alex grabbed his backpack and bolted out the door.
‘How much do they all know!?’
X
June, 1955
Dear Al,
Damn, it’s been years again, hasn’t it? Sorry-I know that I should write more often, but I’m too distracted by… well, living. Time seems to move so quickly, you know? One minute it’s 1921, the next it’s 1955. I don’t know where the months go, I really don’t. Hell, the only reason I’m writing now is because I have nothing else to do: you’re sick with the flu and Annya had to go shopping, so I volunteered to stay and take care of you. I may miss out on bossing my museum underlings around (haha), but it’s worth it to spend some time with you, ill or not.
It’s almost fun (rather, it’s fun marred by occasional vomiting): reliving memories of mother and of lazing around as sick children. We spent a long time talking about how we used to take naps together in her big downy bed, cold cloths pressed to our foreheads; kept alive on strict diet of broth and juice. I tried to reenact that for you: I made some apparently-edible broth (we were both surprised that it wasn’t toxic) and found some juice; pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and laid beside you on the bed, waiting to move until you fell asleep with a bad headache.
After that, I got up to fetch you another wet cloth and feed your whining cat. It only took a minute; and it was on my way back from the kitchen, when I passed my bedroom, that I paused and -on nothing more than a whim- decided to take out this old journal. Which brings me to now: sitting on a chair beside your bed, writing as you sleep. Heck, maybe when you wake up, I’ll finally share this little book with you. You never did press for information when you saw me writing in it so many years ago… Maybe you forgot, maybe you were respecting my space, but either way, this was written for you-so I should really let you read it, shouldn’t I?
In fact, I should pr-
X
East Central mall was known for many things: its size, its stores, and its sales being three beloved attractions. It was a four-story architectural masterpiece of fiberglass and steel located only 45 minutes from Edward and Alex’s small neighborhood, making it easily accessible by bus or car; typically bus, seeing as how Edward could no longer borrow his parent’s car. But at least they didn’t have to fight with holiday shoppers for parking spaces, anymore.
This particular mall was a frequent haven for the Elric boys, also on the grounds of size, stores, and sales-just for different reasons. Reasons that mostly fell in the category of “staying inconspicuous”: the more places, people, and pandemonium, the easier it was to hide in public. And normally that was enough for Alex-the opportunity to subtly hold Edward’s hand in a crowd of strangers, discuss meaningless musings and act like a regular couple: cloaked among people who didn’t know or care about them one way or another.
But Alexander’s thoughts were too far gone that night; his whole brain stunned stupid by his discussions with his father, his mother, the most recent entries in his grandfather’s diary. Though it had nearly been 12 hours since his breakfast chat with Mrs. Elric, his innards had yet to stop squirming… and he was beginning to second-guess every glance shot his way, intentional or not.
He jumped half a foot when he felt a hand brush his own.
There was a dreary sigh. “All right, that does it.”
Alex snapped his head up when he heard a paper cup hit the sticky surface between them, abruptly aware of his surroundings. They were in the food court… enclosed by countless white checkered tables, shaded by a forest of plastic green ferns; serenaded by screaming children and the noisy gossip of conformity-driven teenagers, all of whom wore clothing either three sizes too big or three sizes too small. Dozens of nutrition-needy customers clamored around the dozen fast-food joints, yelling their orders so as to be heard over the din.
The brunette blinked; fingers tightening around his drink. There was the faint taste of food in his mouth… what had he ordered again? ‘Heck, when did we get here?’ “Um… sorry about that-you startled me,” he mumbled, almost shyly; blushing. “What were we… er… talking about, again?”
Edward’s face tightened, furrowing with worry. Pushing aside a litter-ridden plastic tray, he leaned forward-piercing his younger brother with those unnervingly golden eyes. Alex’s cheeks darkened; his own glance drifted to the right.
Ed frowned. “Seriously, Al…” He looped his fingers around the hand Alexander had left lingering on the table, voice steady and soft. But even the gentle evenness of his tone was unable to smooth out the kinks in Alex’s stomach; if anything, they merely made them worse: the memories and revelations returning with augmented distress and dread. Edward… himself… Grandpa… Alphonse. Alexander could barely suppress the tremors that shot through his body. And though he knew was being irrational, he couldn’t stop panicking- it was getting harder and harder to breathe. “I know I’ve asked this already but… are you really okay? You’ve been out of it all day. What’s on your mind?”
Alex didn’t respond. He didn’t lift his gaze. He didn’t do anything, really; the cool condensation of his soda dripping down his clammy palm. But his brother had been blessed with an innate sense of patience, so he waited-tawny pools deep and wide and ember-bright, watching the brunette’s face crumple with thoughts and emotions.
“It’s just…” The younger boy swallowed thickly, trying not to squirm as a little girl stared pointedly at them, waving with a smile when scolded by a parent for her rudeness. “It’s just that I’ve been reading more of Granapa’s diary and it’s…”
Alexander paused; irresolute. It’s what? Disturbing him? Alerting him? Making him nervous?
He tried again.
“You’ve heard that history repeats itself, right?” he asked quietly, careful to keep his eyes anywhere but focused on his older brother. Edward, nonplussed, made a sound of assent in the back of his throat. “Well, in Grandpa’s journal, things have… not gone so well. And I-”
Ed suddenly smiled, leaning back in his chair with a wave of his hand and an understanding chuckle. “Is that it?” he surmised, face decorated with amusement and adoration. “You don’t think things will work out for us because they didn’t work out for Grandpa and his brother?” Alexander flushed brightly, horrified that Edward had said something like that so loudly. What if someone overheard? “Oh Al, you don’t have to-”
“Mom knows.”
All the color drained from his elder siblings face; he blinked at Alex, dumbfounded. “What…?”
“Mom knows,” Alex repeated dourly, annoyed beyond words by the ease with which his brother had been responding to his greatest fears. “At least… she knows more than we thought she did. She knows about the diary; Annya, Grandpa, and Alphonse. She knows I’m seeing you. She might even know what we’re doing.” He bit his bottom lip, glaring frostily at the table between his sibling and himself.
Edward managed another small, though somewhat forced, smile; brushing their hands together one more time. “I think you’re being a bit paranoid, Al-” he began quietly, but was cut off by a fervent shake of Alex’s head.
“Not paranoid,” he snapped. “Cautious. We’re supposed to learn from history, after all: history does repeat itself. Don’t you see?” Alexander finally reconnected their eyes, his own wavering with desperate insecurity. “It’s just like what happened with Annya-once anyone finds out, it’s over. And it… it ruins people, Brother. Ruins relationships between friends and spouses and destroys trust. It ruined Grandpa and Alphonse. It ruined Annya too. It ruined Dad.”
Alex took a deep breath; Edward watched him do so with determinedly vacant eyes. But still, the younger boy could see the hurt-the horror- behind them. “What are you trying to say, Alex?”
The brunette scrunched his nose, scowling-again, unable to look anywhere but away from his older sibling. “I’m… I’m saying that things can’t stay like this forever,” he whispered, feeling the paper cup in his grasp crumple, yet unable to loosen his grip. “That things don’t work like that. I’m saying that all of this running and hiding and sneaking around isn’t good for either of us… I’m saying that I’m not fearless, like you-I’m scared.” As if on cue, Alex felt the pinpricks of tears gather behind his eyes. He hated himself for being so weak. Still, he pressed on-smacking away the fingers that darted out to touch his cheek, hissing through his teeth when he wasn’t able to murmur softly anymore. “I’m scared of Mom knowing; of Dad knowing… I’m scared of all the rules we’re breaking coming back to bite us, like they did to Grandpa and Alphonse. And…and I’m scared of everything falling apart!”
Edward ran a hand over his face, drained and preoccupied: a gesture that Alexander recognized from their father. Now he was having trouble maintaining eye contact: tilting back in his chair, pale and almost timid. Disorientated.
After another moment, the blonde blew out his cheeks; carefully leaning forward and closing his eyes, as if awaiting the guillotine. The air around them stilled… like it was dead. “So then…” Ed began, in a voice so cold and distant that Alex wondered momentarily where his brother had gone, “what do you want to do?”
What did he…?
Alexander’s mind went blank. What did he want to do? What could he do? What choices did they have? What choices could there possibly be?
…only one. The boy’s own expression crumbled, flesh ashen as his stomach rolled itself into a tight ball; refusing to loosen so long as his heart still beat. But that was fine: it was a problem that would soon be remedied. Because… because…
Well, that was it, wasn’t it? The only way to stop everything bad… was to stop everything good.
“I…” Alex choked, struggling to un-stick the sour words in the back of his throat. Tentatively, he turned- touching his hand to Edward’s; staring resolutely into those haunting amber eyes once they’d fallen on him. It had to be done… “We... we have to end this, Brother,” he whispered, trying to ignore the way something behind Ed’s eyes appeared to splinter; trying to ignore the way his own heart seemed to snap in two. “Before it gets out of hand. Before people start to question us; before our lives are ruined. We can’t go through life hiding from neighbors and friends- we can’t keep pretending we have a future together. You know we don’t… we can’t. Things don’t work like that. So we…” Alexander broke off, trying to speak around a sob, “we have to stop now, before-! Before…”
He hurriedly glanced away, blinking rapidly in an attempt to quash the threat of oncoming tears.
The blonde’s trembling fingers quickly laced around his brother’s. “Alex…” he breathed, in a voice so soft and helpless that Alexander nearly shattered, falling to pieces; but no, he couldn’t- this was… this was for the best…
“Don’t,” Alex begged, disentangling their hands. He could feel his insides writhing again, worse than before; his voice shaking like leaves in the wind. “Don’t look at me like that, Ed. Please…!” ‘Don’t make this harder than it already is-!’
But Edward could no more stop looking broken than Alex could stop feeling broken. “I’m sorry,” the younger boy pleaded, pulling away entirely; trying not to act as small as he felt. “I’m sorry, Brother, but it has to be this way… it has to, if we ever want to be happy.”
Silence. Impenetrable, grave, painful; destroyed only by Ed’s rueful grin. Alexander wanted to die when he saw it… “Well…” the older teen said quietly-in a voice crisp with empty comfort and sheered hurt, “as long as you’re happy, Alex.”
And that was it. Alexander stared blankly at Edward, torn between self-loathing and anger; enraged by the aching loss that painted Ed’s features, furious at his gallant agreement-even while his golden eyes cried: crumbling to ash, imploring that Alex take it back. But he’d never voice that wish… because he’d meant what he said. All he wanted was his baby brother’s happiness.
Damn him! Damn him for his sweetness; for his understanding; for not yelling and screaming and hating Alex as much as Alex now hated himself. And God, Alex hated himself; a detestation that well-surpassed the point of redemption, all for putting that look on Ed’s face.
He couldn’t be here anymore; he couldn’t take the glimmer of wounded concern in Edward’s gaze.
“I’m sorry,” Alexander echoed, subdued and strained and nearly snarled; pushing away from the table with arms as heavy as lead. “I’m sorry-!”
And he ran: ran into the crowd, melding into the throng; pushing his way through the shoppers and their present-heavy bags, forcing his body in the direction of the exit. Faster and faster, before the world could swallow him whole, throw him into the darkness growing behind his eyes; before Ed could-!
…But even if the stores had all been empty, even if they’d been the only two people around, he knew that Edward wouldn’t have followed.
Alex was alone.
Still, he waited until he made it to the bus stop to begin crying: curling up on the wooden bench and sobbing-louder and louder, until he’d reached a wail- vainly trying to stifle the sound with his knees. The wind blew, the stars shone, stray advertisements fluttered down the garbage-covered streets. But he didn’t care. He just cried; oblivious to those who saw him, who heard, who stared: unaware of the child’s frustration and broken heart.
He really was alone.
X
June, 1955
Dear Al,
I… I don’t know what happened. One minute you were fine-ill, yes, but fine-the next you were jerking, jerking like you were being electrocuted, making these… squeaking little retching sounds as you choked on spit; conscious for one moment and the ne…
God damn it, I can’t even write about it!
A seizure. You had a seizure, and I panicked. I called the hospital; that’s where we are right now. Annya’s here, too, but she’s with you. I’m in the waiting room-only one of us was allowed to go in to see you, and since you’re her husband…
I don’t really know how long I’ve been here. I’m still trying to piece together what’s going on. You have the flu! We shouldn’t be in the hospital at all; none of this should be happening! None of this… not the increasing temperature, not the rashes, not the c-
…you’re in a coma.
I want to know what the fuck’s going on; I want to know now-! But I can’t do anything but wait here, because I have no idea where you are or what’s going on and I’m scared that if I do anything, I might make things worse. I just-
Wait, there’s Annya. She’s coming through the doors to the waiting room. There are doctors with her.
She’s crying.
And she’s speaking to me.
“I’m sorry.”
-Ed
X
The bus, as always, dropped Alex off on the side of the road about 15 minutes away from his house: beside a glowing streetlight and a frozen metal bench. Said bench looked even colder tonight than usual, as in the sky dark clouds began to collect: splotching out large patches of the diamond-bright heavens. Alexander watched the gathering vapors with itchy red eyes, sniffling once: unimpressed as a sprinkling snow began to fall. He sneezed; a puffy white flake stuck to an eyelash.
He shook his head and continued down the sidewalk; hands in his pockets and a lump in his throat.
How has this happened? How had everything fallen apart? He knew it was his fault; knew he’d been the one to travel down the condemned path of what-ifs, but it had only been out of concern for both of their well-beings. It was supposed to be for the best…
So why did he feel like he was dying?
The brunette snuffled weakly, the raw clawing of bile stinging the back of his throat. He was coughing, he was panting, he was… humming?
Alex gave a jolt, startled to hear his voice- scratchy, hoarse, whimpering- melting into the tune he’d heard countless times growing up; always used to hum when upset. But that was an insult to memory, now that he knew who had written the song; now that he knew of his mother’s familiarity with the story. He didn’t want to sing it, he didn’t want to do anything other than cry.
Regardless, the words forced themselves out of his mouth, one by one; strained, painful… unfamiliar. Words that strayed from the original lyrics.
Alexander slapped a hand over his mouth, convulsing as if about to vomit. ‘NO.’ he thought firmly, seeing his house in the distance and racing for it-trying to outrun his depression and fear. ‘I don’t want to think about it! I don’t want to think about him! I don’t-!’
He burst into the kitchen, not caring if Rosie was there-not caring if he was quiet-not caring if his parents ground him for life for coming home at 11:30. He just didn’t care anymore; didn’t care about anything other than dulling the pain of his insides being torn into unrecognizable shreds.
Holding himself in a pseudo-hug, the boy fruitlessly tried to gulp down another harsh sob; about to storm past the living room and go to bed-
When his eyes fell upon his piano, sitting there in the darkness: big and brown and familiar and calling… the catharsis he craved.
Alex whimpered, edging gingerly closer: standing before the instrument as if terrified it might attack him. When it didn’t, he allowed a tentative hand to drift towards the keys, brushing their glossy surface with an aggrieved kind of adoration. He pressed a little harder, shaping a familiar chord.
The notes sang loudly- melancholy; miserable.
And then he was playing. Without thinking about it, without realizing it; without feeling himself ease onto the wooden seat: the haunting melody began to pour from his fingers like teardrops, wetting the ivory surface of the keys. It was distressed, it was joyful, it was heart-breaking… but it wasn’t Annya’s.
It was a song all his own.
As he played, a little black book slipped out of his back pocket, dropping to the carpeted floor with a muffled thump. Bouncing once on its spine, the two covers fell back: opening to a page worn and wrinkled by antique tears.
X
June, 1955
Dear Al,
Meningitis.
You somehow contracted bacterial meningitis… and you-
You…
Fuck it, I can’t believe it, let alone write it! I can’t… you were just here. You were just here, dammit, and now you’re not! I don’t- I can’t-!
Annya is crying. She’s been crying for hours now: we sat in the hospital waiting room for a long time, doing just that. It was odd…not the crying, but the crying with her. She sat herself in my lap-she’s still so small- and wrapped her arms around me, just like when she was 12.
She apologized. Wailing, snuffling, and heart-broken, she apologized repeatedly-sorry for all of the things she’d said, sorry for not understanding, sorry for trying to steal you away, sorry for acting like a spoiled brat… sorry that she wasn’t a better person; sorry that she didn’t know how to help me, now. Sorry for everything she had and hadn’t done.
Sorry that you’re gone.
I should have said something in response to all of that. I should have. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even manage to feel any sort of gratitude for her earnest regrets; I was only numb. I was numb, then cold, then hot-then gone.
I was gone. I was nothing. I was another person, someone outside myself; someone outside the silently sobbing man who sat on that hard plastic hospital chair, shock and denial painted on his face.
I… I’m still gone. Sitting by the window, watching the sky; wondering if, were we in Amestris, would I have been able to save you? I will never know. And it will never matter. Because even if the answer were yes…
It’s too late. It’s too late to do anything- I wouldn’t even be able attach your soul to armor, now. You’re gone, little brother.
You’re gone.
And I’ve lost you forever this time.
-Ed
XXX
…um…
I know this is a bad time to say it, but I’m gonna be out of state for a good chunk of July (I’m actually out of state now; I was just lucky and found myself a temporary internet connection), so… I might not have a chance to update for a while. ^_^;
Just remember that hating/killing me won’t get you a new chapter any faster!
…*runs screaming from readers*
PS. DON’T PANIC. Things will be further explained next chapter-especially baby!Ben. I promise. X3
PSS. Alexander’s song, “Brothers’ Sadness,” will be included on the Skeletons OST-both with and without lyrics. :D Yea!
PSSS. The English translation I used of “Brothers” was written by combining and comparing a few different translations I’ve found drifting around the internet. I apologize for any inaccuracies; I speak very little Russian. *sweatdrop*