The Death of You

Alphonse Elric watched his brother's golden eyes as they slid shut in slumber, and found himself thinking about them as he sat in the dark by himself. Gold was a rare color to find in the pigment of a human's eyes, and Alphonse wondered why his brother had it. He supposed it had something to do with their father's genes, but why did their father have golden eyes? Was it because his father had had gold eyes?

Edward Elric fit his eyes perfectly. He could become a molten mass of rage, then cool down into a lumped mess of metal and tears. Sometimes he was tarnished and dull like cheap silver, but other times he shone as bright as the sun. And he always outshone his younger brother. From the beginning, he had been better at everything, especially alchemy. It had always been Edward who figured out that difficult equation, Edward who mastered the techniques, Edward who made their mother smile. Nothing changed on the night their lives were turned topsy-turvy. It was Edward who managed to escape, leaving only his leg behind. It was Edward who was the hero, retrieving his little brother's soul from the Gate and shedding his own blood to keep Alphonse tied to the world. It was always Edward who got the glory, Edward who was the State Alchemist, Edward who assumed both of their burdens.

Alphonse clenched his fists, staring at the flaps of skin that hid Edward's golden eyes from sight. Golden eyes were the eyes of a hero, the eyes of a Full Metal Alchemist. Yet when Alphonse looked into them, he saw...emptiness. Worse than doubt, worse than fear, worse even than hatred and bitterness, was that awful emptiness that filled those golden basins to the brim each and every day. And Alphonse knew the emptiness only came when Edward looked at the suit of armor that his little brother had become. When Edward looked at Winry, or Elysia Hughes, or even Colonel Mustang, they shone warm with emotion, full in every sense of the word. But when Edward's golden eyes turned to Alphonse, the fullness emptied out and the horrible emptiness took its place, filling his eyes with a void.

That was why Alphonse so often turned his head away from his brother when they looked into each other's eyes. He hated his brother's empty eyes, because he knew it was all his fault they were empty to start with.

Alphonse could see past the emptiness, past the shining emotion, past the metal shell Edward encased himself in. Alphonse could see into Edward's heart of hearts, and he didn't like what he saw there either. Edward grew colder by the day, emptiness and nothingness eating away at the full heart that had once pulsed there. Before, he had been kind-hearted and cheerful. Now, he had to force his lips to smile, had to be reminded that he should be kind.

Sometimes, right after he saw his brother being particularly unkind, Alphonse wanted to scream at him. He wanted to yell, "Is this what you brought me back for?! To watch you turning into a cold, heartless dog of the military?" And sometimes he wondered if Edward hadn't been cold and empty all along, only better at hiding it. After all, hadn't Edward been the one to suggest they resurrect their mother? Hadn't it been his ingenious theory that they both add their blood to the ingredients for the transmutation? Effectively, Alphonse supposed, Edward had offered his own little brother up to the Gate. Like a pagan leading a bull to the slaughter, Edward had led his unsuspecting brother to the transmutation circle. It was as though he had said, "You can be the sacrifice, Al. I'll take whatever's left over to help me on my quest to regain my limbs."

A sudden rage threatened to overwhelm him. His brother had no right to bandy about with Alphonse's life, with his very soul! If he had wanted to sacrifice something, he should have given something up himself, something more precious than merely a limb or two. But no. Edward had always forced him to do what he found repulsive himself.

"I hate you, Brother," Alphonse whispered to the unresponsive darkness.

He wondered what Edward would have said or done if he had been awake to hear those words. Feigned an apology? Probably. Maybe if Alphonse said it aloud, there would be something to fill the emptiness in those golden eyes. Something...hate, most likely. Alphonse savored such a thought: hatred shimmering in those empty golden basins. Anything, anything at all, would be better than that horrid emptiness.

Yes. Alphonse would tell his brother when he woke. He could envision it now, the shock entering those empty golden eyes, quickly followed by that searing, burning, melting hatred Alphonse had seen in Envy's eyes many times. If Alphonse had been able to, he would have smiled, and it would doubtless have been an ugly grin. Ah, Brother, see what a sadist I have become, Alphonse thought. And it's all because of you. You've torn out my heart, and look what remains! A hole, a hole of emptiness like your eyes.

But why stop at telling his brother he hated him? Why settle for the hatred that would burn in those eyes? Better to end it all, surely, put an end to all the emptiness? For a moment, Alphonse was repulsed by such a thought, but the more he thought about it the more appealing it seemed to him. Why not blot out those empty pits forever? Without Edward, none of this would have happened in the first place. Without Edward, Alphonse could live life as he pleased. Without Edward...ah, such wonderful words. Without Edward. No more Elric Brothers. No more Full Metal Alchemist. No more embarrassing moments when Alphonse was mistaken for his older brother. No more reason for jealousy. No more nights when Edward almost seemed to be mocking him with his deep, sleep-heavy breathing. Alphonse would be free. Free. No more searching for the Philosopher's Stone, no more run-ins with the Homunculi, no more pressing desire to restore his brother's body. For if there was no Edward, there would be no worry over his missing limbs.

And Alphonse's mind was made up. His brother was helpless in his sleep, so now was the best time to do it. He reached up to the spike on his helmet, and with a pressure in just the right spot, it broke off in one glistening piece. Alphonse held it point-down like a dagger in his hand, and slowly got to his feet, careful not to make any sound loud enough to wake his brother. Tiptoeing over to the bed, Alphonse loomed over the gentle, sleeping form of the vulnerable boy. You brought this on yourself, Alphonse told his brother silently, steeling himself for what he knew he must do. "This won't hurt a bit," he whispered, his voice rasping like some metal monster. His only consolation was in the truth of these words; Edward would die in his sleep.

Alphonse stood over his brother for a very long time, his mind a battlefield between the ever-rising anger towards that teenager below him, and a reluctance he could not understand. Your emptiness has made me into this. It's really you who is killing you, not me. "Goodbye, Brother," he whispered, and raised the spike dagger over his head.

A flash of steel.

A splash of blood.

The steady breathing stopped abruptly.

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Alphonse knelt by his brother's bed, watching a pool of red stain the sheets. He waited for the corrosive elation to take over him, the knowledge that now he was free to live as he pleased, to live as a free murderer with bloody hands. But it never came. For the longest time, he felt nothing whatsoever, unless a strange entranced fixation on the spreading red stain. Then Alphonse lifted his eyes from Edward's torn throat to his face, and caught the breath he did not have.

Edward's eyes were open.

Alphonse hadn't seen his brother wake, so intent had he been on forcing his hand to do the deed. But there lay Edward, golden eyes staring up at his armored brother. In death, they were not empty. In death, they seemed to reach out like tiny golden hands, supplicating hands. Those eyes were asking him, crying, screaming, "Why?!" They were filled with sorrow, but Alphonse suspected the sorrow was not directed at their fate. Those eyes were not sorry for Edward, but for Alphonse.

As he stared into those golden depths, Alphonse began to see why they were sorry, and horror gripped his heart. He dropped his makeshift dagger and stumbled back away from the bed. "What have I done?" he moaned, gripping his helmet with his hands. The blood now dripping over the side of the bed no longer spoke of freedom and release, but of the terrible guilt that crashed over Alphonse. He had killed his brother. Killed his brother! Killed him!

Had he thought Edward sacrificed his brother? Truly, it was the other way around. Here stood Alphonse, using Edward as a scapegoat, heaping onto his brother all the guilt he felt towards himself. Alphonse had blamed him for everything he did not want to confess to himself. All along, it had been Edward who was the victim, Alphonse the culprit. It was as though Alphonse had said, "I'll let you sink down and then take for myself anything that's left over."

Staring into his brother's golden eyes, Alphonse realized that he had been mistaken all this time. They had never been empty. It was not Edward who was cold and heartless; it was him. Alphonse Elric. Always said to be the gentle, even-tempered of the two. In truth: a cold-blooded sadistic murderer. Some part of him had actually enjoyed killing his brother, even as he was overwhelmed with guilt. Edward was not the empty, emotionless one. That was Alphonse. The emptiness in his soul had clouded his eyes from seeing the love, the sympathy, the devotion of his older brother.

"You should have known I would be the death of you," Alphonse whispered. "You should never have brought me back from the Gate. Then I would never have-" His voice caught, though he had no throat for a lump to form in. He could almost feel the tears racing down his cheeks as he tipped back his head and howled out his grief like a wolf.

Alphonse snatched up the spike dagger from the floor and wrenched off his helmet, which clattered to the floor. Holding the dagger poised above the blood seal that tied his soul to the armor, he paused to give his brother's golden eyes one last apologetic look. Then the dagger darted towards the blood seal, and-

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"Brother?"

"You...idiot...." Edward panted, his muscles straining to their utmost as he heaved at the inexorable metal arm. Both hands had closed around the makeshift dagger, holding it mere inches away from the blood seal.

Suddenly realizing who he was staring at, Alphonse relaxed his arm and dropped the dagger, which clanked onto his lap. "Brother...." he whispered, "you're not...?"

Edward immediately snatched the dagger out of Alphonse's reach and ran a hand over his brow. "What on earth do you think you were doing?!" he exploded, slamming Alphonse's helmet back on.

Alphonse paid no attention to the question. "But I...I killed you!" he wailed.

Edward's brows drew together, and Alphonse could almost see the wheels churning in his brain as he tried to understand. Then he looked down at the dagger in his hand, and gasped softly as understanding filled his eyes. "Tell me," he urged, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Tell me everything."

So Alphonse told him everything, from the beginning, all his thoughts and actions, all his reasonings. Partway through his tale, he half forgot that Edward was even there, as he experienced each staggering emotion again. He had never told anyone these things before, never revealed his deepest, darkest thoughts. He had always hidden them, even from his brother, but now they spilled out, as though some part of him was eager to expose all of his rotting insides, so that Edward could agree with him that he was depraved.

By dawn, Edward could no longer keep the tears from pouring down his face. Alphonse finished talking and looked into the golden eyes, now rather bloodshot, realizing again that they had never been empty. When Edward looked at him, the golden eyes filled with a warmth, with a love greater than when he looked at anyone else, even Winry. And Alphonse had tried to deny this by telling himself they became empty. All this time, he had thrust his own emptiness onto his brother. By all rights, Edward should hate him for this, but there he was, staring up at his younger brother and crying the tears a suit of armor could not.

"So that's why...." Edward murmured, his voice trembling. "You've been quiet for a few days, and I was starting to wonder...."

"I'm mad, aren't I?" Alphonse asked dully. Only a madman would hallucinate that he had killed his brother, and come within an inch of killing himself because of that.

Edward let out a short bark of a laugh at this, and gave a great sniff as he wiped his eyes. "You're not mad, you just had a nightmare." Alphonse started to protest, but Edward spoke over him. "Everyone has nightmares, Al. Even disembodied souls attached to suits of armor."

Despite himself, Alphonse's spirits lifted a little. Perhaps it was only the effect of the sunlight streaking in the window, or the branches of the tree outside, glistening with dew. A nightmare. Everyone has nightmares.

It seemed Edward could tell what he was thinking, for he smiled up at his brother, his eyes filled with the warmth of the rising sun. Clapping his hands, he got to his feet and reattached the spike to Al's helmet. As Edward stood there, checking to be sure the metal had fused together correctly, Alphonse's nonexistent heart swelled with emotion, and a small corner of his mind relaxed at the realization that Alphonse Elric wasn't empty either.

Edward started with surprise when his little brother threw his metal arms around him, holding him close. Alphonse was careful to control how tightly he held him, not wishing to break any bones. Edward relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Alphonse's large neck and resting his head on one wide shoulder.

"I love you," they both said at the same time, and began to laugh.