thuvia ptarth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thuviaptarth) wrote2004-11-11 08:52 am
thuviaptarth) wrote2004-11-11 08:52 am
Entry tags:
[Fullmetal Alchemist] untitled, G
I'll get back to Election Recovery fic this weekend, but ... eh, noodling, I was trying to figure something out. Spoilers through Episode 3.
There's still iron dust and carbon blackening their hands, but Mother doesn't mind. Al holds up the mended bucket; Ed gets the mended garden rake, which is twice as tall as he is and now nearly as sturdy.
"So like your father," Mother praises them, smiling, and Al beams back, sunshine for sunshine, but Ed scowls like a thundercloud and jerks away from her hand, dropping the rake with a clatter.
"I ..." He avoids Mother's grave, hurt glance. Passion radiates off him, heat off a stove. Al puts the bucket down, struck with the confused impulse to do--something--but Ed steps back before he can reach out. "I'm going to Winry's," he says, and runs off without another look at either of them. He's not running in the direction of the Rockbells' house.
Mother sighs and presses her rejected hand to her heart with a weary look, as if she's pressing pain back in. She smiles at Al when she notices his worry, but still looks troubled.
"Alphonse." She hesitates. "Alphonse, you and your brother -- you'll look out for each other, won't you? Always?"
"Y-yes." It doesn't need saying. It's like saying--like saying Mother will always be there, or the sun will come up in the morning, or roses will bloom in the summer. But Mother doesn't look convinced.
"Alphonse, Ed is older, and looks after you." He nods. Brother does look after him. Brother pushes and pulls him into bravery and study and climbing trees that are too high and exploring caves that are too dark, and gets him down and out again and maybe just a bit bigger inside after, for the chances he took. The gossips in town say, Look at the older Elric boy, always getting his little brother into trouble, but the gossips in town also say his mother's abandoned and Al's an object of pity. They don't get anything right. Right is Brother's huge fierce grin, and Winry speechless with happiness when the three of them have tugged each other high enough on a tree to see the valley spread out before them in perfect miniature detail, and Mother smiling proudly at them over her shoulder, because they've done something perfectly they should be too young to do at all, something that's Ed's idea, always.
"But--" She kneels and places her hands on his shoulders.
"Mother?" he says, frightened.
"Edward is very smart, and very brave, and very stubborn," Mother says carefully. "Sometimes--sometimes, Alphonse, he will want to do things he's not yet ready to do. Not because of any bad reason--because of all the good reasons, all the reasons we love him, because he is curious or he wants to help someone and because usually he's smart enough and strong enough to do it."
Alphonse nods. Of course. Brother is smart enough to do anything. Everyone knows that.
"But, Alphonse, Edward is very smart--but he doesn't always have much sense. I know you're used to him looking after you, but you have to look after him, too. You have to make sure he doesn't--doesn't get so blinded by something he wants that he doesn't think of the consequences. You have to make sure he's not as reckless as he'd be alone."
The sun is still high in a blue, blue sky, and the air is still hot and sweet and golden with summer, and his mother still smells of lavender and comfort. But the world has shifted on its axis, or he has, or -- something is different. Things have shifted and resettled inside him, and he doesn't know what exactly has changed, but he knows something has. Brother is fire, and Al always thought that meant he was the sun, inexhaustible. He never thought of Edward consuming himself, burning himself out. He feels--frightened, and fierce, and protective. He will not let anyone hurt Edward, not even Edward himself. He wonders if this is how Ed feels when he sees someone bullying him; if this is the world his brother looks at out of those instantly narrowed and furious eyes. He feels too small to hold a tenderness this huge.
"I will," he tells his mother. "I will look after him. I promise."
There's still iron dust and carbon blackening their hands, but Mother doesn't mind. Al holds up the mended bucket; Ed gets the mended garden rake, which is twice as tall as he is and now nearly as sturdy.
"So like your father," Mother praises them, smiling, and Al beams back, sunshine for sunshine, but Ed scowls like a thundercloud and jerks away from her hand, dropping the rake with a clatter.
"I ..." He avoids Mother's grave, hurt glance. Passion radiates off him, heat off a stove. Al puts the bucket down, struck with the confused impulse to do--something--but Ed steps back before he can reach out. "I'm going to Winry's," he says, and runs off without another look at either of them. He's not running in the direction of the Rockbells' house.
Mother sighs and presses her rejected hand to her heart with a weary look, as if she's pressing pain back in. She smiles at Al when she notices his worry, but still looks troubled.
"Alphonse." She hesitates. "Alphonse, you and your brother -- you'll look out for each other, won't you? Always?"
"Y-yes." It doesn't need saying. It's like saying--like saying Mother will always be there, or the sun will come up in the morning, or roses will bloom in the summer. But Mother doesn't look convinced.
"Alphonse, Ed is older, and looks after you." He nods. Brother does look after him. Brother pushes and pulls him into bravery and study and climbing trees that are too high and exploring caves that are too dark, and gets him down and out again and maybe just a bit bigger inside after, for the chances he took. The gossips in town say, Look at the older Elric boy, always getting his little brother into trouble, but the gossips in town also say his mother's abandoned and Al's an object of pity. They don't get anything right. Right is Brother's huge fierce grin, and Winry speechless with happiness when the three of them have tugged each other high enough on a tree to see the valley spread out before them in perfect miniature detail, and Mother smiling proudly at them over her shoulder, because they've done something perfectly they should be too young to do at all, something that's Ed's idea, always.
"But--" She kneels and places her hands on his shoulders.
"Mother?" he says, frightened.
"Edward is very smart, and very brave, and very stubborn," Mother says carefully. "Sometimes--sometimes, Alphonse, he will want to do things he's not yet ready to do. Not because of any bad reason--because of all the good reasons, all the reasons we love him, because he is curious or he wants to help someone and because usually he's smart enough and strong enough to do it."
Alphonse nods. Of course. Brother is smart enough to do anything. Everyone knows that.
"But, Alphonse, Edward is very smart--but he doesn't always have much sense. I know you're used to him looking after you, but you have to look after him, too. You have to make sure he doesn't--doesn't get so blinded by something he wants that he doesn't think of the consequences. You have to make sure he's not as reckless as he'd be alone."
The sun is still high in a blue, blue sky, and the air is still hot and sweet and golden with summer, and his mother still smells of lavender and comfort. But the world has shifted on its axis, or he has, or -- something is different. Things have shifted and resettled inside him, and he doesn't know what exactly has changed, but he knows something has. Brother is fire, and Al always thought that meant he was the sun, inexhaustible. He never thought of Edward consuming himself, burning himself out. He feels--frightened, and fierce, and protective. He will not let anyone hurt Edward, not even Edward himself. He wonders if this is how Ed feels when he sees someone bullying him; if this is the world his brother looks at out of those instantly narrowed and furious eyes. He feels too small to hold a tenderness this huge.
"I will," he tells his mother. "I will look after him. I promise."
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I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.
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I esp. liked this:
>Mother sighs and presses her rejected hand to her heart with a weary look, as if she's pressing pain back in.
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*inarticulate flailing at the cuteness*
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I love your writing, the delicacy and emotion.
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