Fic: Dawn was on the Road (FMA, Ed/Alfons)
Title: Dawn was on the Road
Author: hansbekhart
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He dreams of it, sometimes, Envy’s arm going through his chest and coming out the other side.
Notes: OMG I WROTE ANIME FIC. Somebody shoot me. Or maybe shoot sutlers. This fic is for her, and she was kind enough to beta it for me. Thank you, sutlers, for nagging me until I finished Full Metal Alchemist. Feedback is always appreciated.
He dreams of it, sometimes, Envy’s arm going through his chest and coming out the other side. His brain blocks out the worst of it from his memories and when Ed is awake, all that he feels is that sharp, shocking pain and endless surprise. He died, he felt himself die. But there’s no pain, not then, not in the daytime.
“Edward?” Alfons’ voice is soft-edged in the darkness, fuzzy with sleep and buried under warm blankets. The wind worms its way into every crack of Oberth’s home and through the thick glass with the moon behind it, Ed can see his breath fog as he pants. “Edward, are you all right?”
He says nothing, and eventually, Alfons falls back asleep. He makes the same sort of whistling snore that Al did, when they were still young enough to share a room, before everything changed.
Ed turns onto his side and traces the lines of Alfons’ face, relaxed in sleep, thicker than Al’s ever was, until the ache in his chest subsides and he can sleep again.
**
Alfons never says anything about his nightmares, but in the morning there is jam for Ed’s porridge, doled carefully out of the jar that Alfons carried with him all the way from Hamburg. He doesn’t look up when Ed sits clumsily across from him, limbs stiff in the chill of the morning. It’s damp enough that Ed’s joints squeal when he eats and when he shifts his leg, and they share a knowing grimace over the table. He’s outgrowing the automail, the last thing that he’s kept with him, and soon he’ll have to return to Munich and find his father. He thinks that maybe he will take Alfons with him and see if Hoenheim can recognize him.
**
It had been worse to die the first time, beneath the Zeppelin that pinned his soft, untrained limbs to the ground and melted the fat from his body. He had gone quickly the second time, only an instant where he felt Envy’s arm pushing through his skin, blood filling his lungs and bubbling out of his mouth. In London he had died slowly, but being crushed had been better than waking up and finding Al gone. He dreams of that too.
Alfons wakes when Ed lifts the covers and slides cold feet hesitantly beneath warm blankets. He fists his hands in Alfons’ shirt and holds on until the other boy slips both arms around him and brings him close. Alfons smells of dusty pages and mold and long hours of work. He says nothing but snuffles sleepily into Ed’s hair and occasionally lets go of Ed long enough to brush away the tears the slide down Ed’s cheeks.
“Al,” Ed whispers as his body grows heavier. His mind drifts away into sunlit fields and the smell of sweet, long grass and he can’t tell where Alfons ends and he begins.
**
Alfons says nothing about Ed’s nightmares, but in the afternoon he kisses Ed as they’re bent together over a piece of machinery, Oberth’s voice echoing down the hallway as he chatters. It’s Ed’s first kiss and it tastes of machine oil and when it’s over Alfons simply looks at him. Ed ducks his head. His face is so hot that he feels like it will light his hair on fire, but when he can breathe he smears grease all over Alfons’ chin where he grabs him and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.
Alfons’ hands brush against his own as they work and Ed shivers every time.
**
Alfons slides cold feet beneath Ed’s blankets, sure of his reception, but this time he smells of soap and his hair is damp and chilled. He laughs when Ed flinches away from it and pulls up Ed’s nightshirt to trail wet locks across the skin of his stomach. His breath is hot on Ed’s belly and Ed groans, terrified. He can’t help it. Alfons looks up and laughs again, kindly. Ed pulls away, his face hot, and Alfons follows, one hand wrapped around Ed’s hip and the other cupped around his jawline as he pushes himself back up the bed. They lay face to face, foreheads touching. Ed grows better at kissing.
He lays a hand over Alfons’ heart, the automail hand trapped awkwardly beneath his body. He can feel Alfons’ pulse through his fingertips. He shudders as Alfons undoes the buttons on his nightshirt one by one, carefully, his eyes flickering back between Ed’s face and his body, asking silent permission each time. The palms of his hands are hot on Ed’s chest and he doesn’t let Ed look away as his hands smooth over old scars.
Ed’s hands tremble and the automail catches in Alfons’ hair, but neither of them really notice.
**
Sometimes Ed’s dreams of only darkness, his boots clicking across a landscape that he can’t see. When he shouts for Al there aren’t even mocking echoes to answer him and in desperation he calls the names of everyone he knows. He runs until he falls and when he wakes, his body aches all over. He says nothing about these nightmares to Alfons and never tells his friend that he dies over and over in his dreams, that Alfons dies and Al dies and even Roy fucking Mustang dies sometimes, but there is always extra jam in the morning afterwards, and Alfons’ arms around him at night.
Ed turns onto his side and traces the lines of Alfons’ face, awake and watchful through the grey light that filters through the thick glass. He smiles at Ed as though he knows a secret. Ed smiles back and Alfons slips a hand through Ed’s hair and brings him close.
“Is this all right?” he asks as he pushes his hand between the thin cotton of Ed’s shorts and the warm skin of his stomach, stroking carefully with his thumb when Ed’s muscles clench. Ed says nothing, but kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.
Author: hansbekhart
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He dreams of it, sometimes, Envy’s arm going through his chest and coming out the other side.
Notes: OMG I WROTE ANIME FIC. Somebody shoot me. Or maybe shoot sutlers. This fic is for her, and she was kind enough to beta it for me. Thank you, sutlers, for nagging me until I finished Full Metal Alchemist. Feedback is always appreciated.
He dreams of it, sometimes, Envy’s arm going through his chest and coming out the other side. His brain blocks out the worst of it from his memories and when Ed is awake, all that he feels is that sharp, shocking pain and endless surprise. He died, he felt himself die. But there’s no pain, not then, not in the daytime.
“Edward?” Alfons’ voice is soft-edged in the darkness, fuzzy with sleep and buried under warm blankets. The wind worms its way into every crack of Oberth’s home and through the thick glass with the moon behind it, Ed can see his breath fog as he pants. “Edward, are you all right?”
He says nothing, and eventually, Alfons falls back asleep. He makes the same sort of whistling snore that Al did, when they were still young enough to share a room, before everything changed.
Ed turns onto his side and traces the lines of Alfons’ face, relaxed in sleep, thicker than Al’s ever was, until the ache in his chest subsides and he can sleep again.
**
Alfons never says anything about his nightmares, but in the morning there is jam for Ed’s porridge, doled carefully out of the jar that Alfons carried with him all the way from Hamburg. He doesn’t look up when Ed sits clumsily across from him, limbs stiff in the chill of the morning. It’s damp enough that Ed’s joints squeal when he eats and when he shifts his leg, and they share a knowing grimace over the table. He’s outgrowing the automail, the last thing that he’s kept with him, and soon he’ll have to return to Munich and find his father. He thinks that maybe he will take Alfons with him and see if Hoenheim can recognize him.
**
It had been worse to die the first time, beneath the Zeppelin that pinned his soft, untrained limbs to the ground and melted the fat from his body. He had gone quickly the second time, only an instant where he felt Envy’s arm pushing through his skin, blood filling his lungs and bubbling out of his mouth. In London he had died slowly, but being crushed had been better than waking up and finding Al gone. He dreams of that too.
Alfons wakes when Ed lifts the covers and slides cold feet hesitantly beneath warm blankets. He fists his hands in Alfons’ shirt and holds on until the other boy slips both arms around him and brings him close. Alfons smells of dusty pages and mold and long hours of work. He says nothing but snuffles sleepily into Ed’s hair and occasionally lets go of Ed long enough to brush away the tears the slide down Ed’s cheeks.
“Al,” Ed whispers as his body grows heavier. His mind drifts away into sunlit fields and the smell of sweet, long grass and he can’t tell where Alfons ends and he begins.
**
Alfons says nothing about Ed’s nightmares, but in the afternoon he kisses Ed as they’re bent together over a piece of machinery, Oberth’s voice echoing down the hallway as he chatters. It’s Ed’s first kiss and it tastes of machine oil and when it’s over Alfons simply looks at him. Ed ducks his head. His face is so hot that he feels like it will light his hair on fire, but when he can breathe he smears grease all over Alfons’ chin where he grabs him and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.
Alfons’ hands brush against his own as they work and Ed shivers every time.
**
Alfons slides cold feet beneath Ed’s blankets, sure of his reception, but this time he smells of soap and his hair is damp and chilled. He laughs when Ed flinches away from it and pulls up Ed’s nightshirt to trail wet locks across the skin of his stomach. His breath is hot on Ed’s belly and Ed groans, terrified. He can’t help it. Alfons looks up and laughs again, kindly. Ed pulls away, his face hot, and Alfons follows, one hand wrapped around Ed’s hip and the other cupped around his jawline as he pushes himself back up the bed. They lay face to face, foreheads touching. Ed grows better at kissing.
He lays a hand over Alfons’ heart, the automail hand trapped awkwardly beneath his body. He can feel Alfons’ pulse through his fingertips. He shudders as Alfons undoes the buttons on his nightshirt one by one, carefully, his eyes flickering back between Ed’s face and his body, asking silent permission each time. The palms of his hands are hot on Ed’s chest and he doesn’t let Ed look away as his hands smooth over old scars.
Ed’s hands tremble and the automail catches in Alfons’ hair, but neither of them really notice.
**
Sometimes Ed’s dreams of only darkness, his boots clicking across a landscape that he can’t see. When he shouts for Al there aren’t even mocking echoes to answer him and in desperation he calls the names of everyone he knows. He runs until he falls and when he wakes, his body aches all over. He says nothing about these nightmares to Alfons and never tells his friend that he dies over and over in his dreams, that Alfons dies and Al dies and even Roy fucking Mustang dies sometimes, but there is always extra jam in the morning afterwards, and Alfons’ arms around him at night.
Ed turns onto his side and traces the lines of Alfons’ face, awake and watchful through the grey light that filters through the thick glass. He smiles at Ed as though he knows a secret. Ed smiles back and Alfons slips a hand through Ed’s hair and brings him close.
“Is this all right?” he asks as he pushes his hand between the thin cotton of Ed’s shorts and the warm skin of his stomach, stroking carefully with his thumb when Ed’s muscles clench. Ed says nothing, but kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.