unfinished ed/al
Sep. 16th, 2004 03:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mikkeneko*yawn*
Unfinished, sorry. I have a few paragraphs of the second half of this, but it's not finished and I can't stay up any longer, so, tomorrow. Can you believe this started out fluffy?
Eavesdropping wasn't nice. That's what their mother would have told them, and while Al usually took it on himself to keep up the standards, he made an exception for eavesdropping on Ed. If he didn't, he'd never have any idea what was going on with his brother, because Ed didn't talk to him.
Well, that wasn't fair. They talked all the time. They would talk over breakfast, when Ed came out covering a yawn to find Al standing at the stove cooking eggs. They would talk over books, if Al stumbled on a passage he wanted to read aloud, or if Ed suddenly burst into vicious complaint about some long-dead author's incompetence. They would talk if they got in the mood to spar, though that was mostly Ed complaining about still not being able to beat Al in a fight. Sometimes, they would lie awake at night, staring into the dark space between their beds, and talk about the past, or Al's progress in getting used to things again, or Winry's latest bouts of temper, and that was nicest of all.
But there were still some things that Ed would never talk about, some things he would never mention to his brother. And those were the things, Al knew, that he needed to hear most of all.
So, he eavesdropped.
He'd folded himself back against the wall, beside the door into the workshop, and practiced holding still. His head was tilted back against the wall, and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest, one of them gripping the edge of the doorframe. It was a position he could hold patiently for as long as need be, and not make any noises that might give him away. The nice thing about having a real body back, he reflected, was that he could move silent as a cat, even it the advantage was slightly offset by needing to breathe again.
Winry and his brother were in there, doing one of Ed's checkups. She'd come to see him three times in the past week, and that worried Al; she wouldn't normally need to do that level of fine-tuning, unless something was wrong. But if there was something wrong, then Ed hadn't told him, and that was why he was here.
"It's definitely starting to pull," Winry said, in a half-scolding, half-worried tone. Ed grunted, and there were clanking noises, and bodies shifting around the workbench. Then Winry sighed. "Ed-ward, you aren't doing the stretches I told you to. At this rate there'll be no saving it!"
"I can't do them on my own," Ed said somewhat sullenly. "Winry, a person can't twist his own arm behind his back. Besides, what's the use? It'll have to come out sooner or later."
"Later is definitely better than sooner," Winry snapped. "Why don't you get Al to help you, then?"
There was only silence in response. Yeah, why? Al brought up his free hand to press over his mouth, just to keep any of his thoughts from spilling out over his lips.
"Ed, don't be ridiculous!" Winry was saying. "You're both fine now, so why do you insist on brooding all the time? Al has gotten over it, so why haven't you?"
His brother snorted, a sound full of bitter weariness. "He hasn't gotten over it," he said dully. "Five years -- Winry, he spent five years in that form, because of me. Every day he has to struggle to do ordinary things that should come easily and naturally --"
That was an exaggeration, Al thought indignantly. Nowadays he could go for days at a stretch without having any trouble at all.
" -- and it's hard for him," Ed finished, subdued. "Damn hard. I can't add my own problems on top of his."
Says who? Al growled mentally, tightening his hand on the doorframe.
"Edwa~ard!" Winry complained, prodding hard at his shoulder. "You want to help him with his problems, because you care about him, right? What makes you think that he doesn't feel the same way?"
Yes, Winry! You tell him! Al cheered silently.
Ed's next words came like a physical blow to his stomach. "Why should he?" Ed murmured, tone drained and lifeless. "He only stays here with me because he hasn't got anywhere else to go. I've left him with no-one else to turn to."
"HEY," Winry objected loudly, snatching up a wrench from the workbench. "What are Auntie and I, chopped liver?"
"Then I'm sure he just feels some kind of obligation." Ed hunched over, leaning on his human elbow. "But after everything that's happened, everything I've done, he can't... There's nobody alive who can have all those horrible things done to them, and just be... okay with it. I'm sure he hates me."
No! Al barely kept from shouting the word aloud. Winry came to his rescue again.
"He said he didn't," Winry reminded Ed, her anger vanished. "You asked him, that time, and he told you. Why should that have changed?"
"He would say anything that he thinks would make me happy," Ed sighed, shifting around on the bench. "He's too nice that way. I keep telling him that, but he doesn't listen."
Winry sighed, and mumbled something Al couldn't hear. More clinkings and thumpings followed, and Ed grunted, but didn't say anything more. Carefully, Al eased his grip on the wooden doorframe, noticing the faint dents his fingers had left with a rueful wince. There was nothing more to be gained by staying around and listening, and if he let himself think here, he would undoubtedly storm in and try to shake some sense into his brother's thick skull, and that would disturb Winry and there would probably be wrenches involved. It was a much better idea to go somewhere isolated, where he could think.
He ended up perched on the stump of a tree that used to border the property, watching the sun setting behind the hill. The firey golds and scarlets of the light playing over the clouds seemed like an appropriate mood theme for when he let himself think.
So, Ed had been hiding things from him. Not really a surprise, or Al wouldn't have bothered eavesdropping in the first place. But while he was expecting the don't-make-Al-worry mentality that led to such stupidities, he hadn't expected to come abruptly head-to-head with the spectre of a fear he thought they'd laid to rest long ago.
He'd realized, right after the Accident, that Ed would blame himself. It was typical of Ed, and only fair, he figured, since they'd both had their hand in the making of this disaster. But he thought he'd made plain to Edward, that day by the lake, that it was a burden they shared in equally, and would bear together, and that whatever happened, Al still loved him and wanted to stay with him.
That should have cleared things up, and he thought it had gone unspoken, then, for the next three years. And then when Ed suddenly spoke of it again, with his face lined and strained as he told Al, There's something I've been meaning to ask you.... and well, it was just bad timing that Ed's fear and guilt had resurfaced at a time when Al was besieged by fears and doubts of his own. But in the end Ed had asked him, straight out, do you hate me? And once again Al had told him, no.
That should have been it.
That should have been it. Why was Ed still letting this fear haunt him? How long was the spectre of those old wounds going to hang between them?
He probably hates me now...
I don't hate you, brother.
Do you hate me, Al? For putting you in that body?
I don't hate you.
I'm sure he hates me...
I don't...
He hunched a bit on his seat, glowering off into the full night. What would it take?
Unfinished, sorry. I have a few paragraphs of the second half of this, but it's not finished and I can't stay up any longer, so, tomorrow. Can you believe this started out fluffy?
Eavesdropping wasn't nice. That's what their mother would have told them, and while Al usually took it on himself to keep up the standards, he made an exception for eavesdropping on Ed. If he didn't, he'd never have any idea what was going on with his brother, because Ed didn't talk to him.
Well, that wasn't fair. They talked all the time. They would talk over breakfast, when Ed came out covering a yawn to find Al standing at the stove cooking eggs. They would talk over books, if Al stumbled on a passage he wanted to read aloud, or if Ed suddenly burst into vicious complaint about some long-dead author's incompetence. They would talk if they got in the mood to spar, though that was mostly Ed complaining about still not being able to beat Al in a fight. Sometimes, they would lie awake at night, staring into the dark space between their beds, and talk about the past, or Al's progress in getting used to things again, or Winry's latest bouts of temper, and that was nicest of all.
But there were still some things that Ed would never talk about, some things he would never mention to his brother. And those were the things, Al knew, that he needed to hear most of all.
So, he eavesdropped.
He'd folded himself back against the wall, beside the door into the workshop, and practiced holding still. His head was tilted back against the wall, and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest, one of them gripping the edge of the doorframe. It was a position he could hold patiently for as long as need be, and not make any noises that might give him away. The nice thing about having a real body back, he reflected, was that he could move silent as a cat, even it the advantage was slightly offset by needing to breathe again.
Winry and his brother were in there, doing one of Ed's checkups. She'd come to see him three times in the past week, and that worried Al; she wouldn't normally need to do that level of fine-tuning, unless something was wrong. But if there was something wrong, then Ed hadn't told him, and that was why he was here.
"It's definitely starting to pull," Winry said, in a half-scolding, half-worried tone. Ed grunted, and there were clanking noises, and bodies shifting around the workbench. Then Winry sighed. "Ed-ward, you aren't doing the stretches I told you to. At this rate there'll be no saving it!"
"I can't do them on my own," Ed said somewhat sullenly. "Winry, a person can't twist his own arm behind his back. Besides, what's the use? It'll have to come out sooner or later."
"Later is definitely better than sooner," Winry snapped. "Why don't you get Al to help you, then?"
There was only silence in response. Yeah, why? Al brought up his free hand to press over his mouth, just to keep any of his thoughts from spilling out over his lips.
"Ed, don't be ridiculous!" Winry was saying. "You're both fine now, so why do you insist on brooding all the time? Al has gotten over it, so why haven't you?"
His brother snorted, a sound full of bitter weariness. "He hasn't gotten over it," he said dully. "Five years -- Winry, he spent five years in that form, because of me. Every day he has to struggle to do ordinary things that should come easily and naturally --"
That was an exaggeration, Al thought indignantly. Nowadays he could go for days at a stretch without having any trouble at all.
" -- and it's hard for him," Ed finished, subdued. "Damn hard. I can't add my own problems on top of his."
Says who? Al growled mentally, tightening his hand on the doorframe.
"Edwa~ard!" Winry complained, prodding hard at his shoulder. "You want to help him with his problems, because you care about him, right? What makes you think that he doesn't feel the same way?"
Yes, Winry! You tell him! Al cheered silently.
Ed's next words came like a physical blow to his stomach. "Why should he?" Ed murmured, tone drained and lifeless. "He only stays here with me because he hasn't got anywhere else to go. I've left him with no-one else to turn to."
"HEY," Winry objected loudly, snatching up a wrench from the workbench. "What are Auntie and I, chopped liver?"
"Then I'm sure he just feels some kind of obligation." Ed hunched over, leaning on his human elbow. "But after everything that's happened, everything I've done, he can't... There's nobody alive who can have all those horrible things done to them, and just be... okay with it. I'm sure he hates me."
No! Al barely kept from shouting the word aloud. Winry came to his rescue again.
"He said he didn't," Winry reminded Ed, her anger vanished. "You asked him, that time, and he told you. Why should that have changed?"
"He would say anything that he thinks would make me happy," Ed sighed, shifting around on the bench. "He's too nice that way. I keep telling him that, but he doesn't listen."
Winry sighed, and mumbled something Al couldn't hear. More clinkings and thumpings followed, and Ed grunted, but didn't say anything more. Carefully, Al eased his grip on the wooden doorframe, noticing the faint dents his fingers had left with a rueful wince. There was nothing more to be gained by staying around and listening, and if he let himself think here, he would undoubtedly storm in and try to shake some sense into his brother's thick skull, and that would disturb Winry and there would probably be wrenches involved. It was a much better idea to go somewhere isolated, where he could think.
He ended up perched on the stump of a tree that used to border the property, watching the sun setting behind the hill. The firey golds and scarlets of the light playing over the clouds seemed like an appropriate mood theme for when he let himself think.
So, Ed had been hiding things from him. Not really a surprise, or Al wouldn't have bothered eavesdropping in the first place. But while he was expecting the don't-make-Al-worry mentality that led to such stupidities, he hadn't expected to come abruptly head-to-head with the spectre of a fear he thought they'd laid to rest long ago.
He'd realized, right after the Accident, that Ed would blame himself. It was typical of Ed, and only fair, he figured, since they'd both had their hand in the making of this disaster. But he thought he'd made plain to Edward, that day by the lake, that it was a burden they shared in equally, and would bear together, and that whatever happened, Al still loved him and wanted to stay with him.
That should have cleared things up, and he thought it had gone unspoken, then, for the next three years. And then when Ed suddenly spoke of it again, with his face lined and strained as he told Al, There's something I've been meaning to ask you.... and well, it was just bad timing that Ed's fear and guilt had resurfaced at a time when Al was besieged by fears and doubts of his own. But in the end Ed had asked him, straight out, do you hate me? And once again Al had told him, no.
That should have been it.
That should have been it. Why was Ed still letting this fear haunt him? How long was the spectre of those old wounds going to hang between them?
He probably hates me now...
I don't hate you, brother.
Do you hate me, Al? For putting you in that body?
I don't hate you.
I'm sure he hates me...
I don't...
He hunched a bit on his seat, glowering off into the full night. What would it take?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-09-16 04:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-16 11:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-16 01:49 pm (UTC)desperatepsychic of course!no subject
Date: 2004-09-16 01:50 pm (UTC)I think that's going to be my name for you from now on. Very Astute Reader. >_>
Everyone needs a nickname.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-16 02:00 pm (UTC)*pins on button*
no subject
Date: 2004-09-16 01:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-16 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-17 01:34 am (UTC)*Ahem* Again, another thoroughly enjoyable fic. XD