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White. A wide open space of complete nothingness. Ed holds his breath, listening, waiting for any sign of human existence.
Nothing. He's all alone.
He opens his mouth to call out, call for help, or maybe just to break the all consuming silence. But nothing comes out. His throat feels like fire, and no amount of swallowing seems to help the pain. Why was he here? Was he trapped within the gate? Because there was no other place this could possibly be. Did the transmutation fail? Did he at least get Al home? That would be enough. Ed could live the rest of his existence in a white void as long as his little brother was safe and back in the world he belonged in.
But why did it have to hurt in here? Couldn't he live out the rest of his miserable life of solitude without pain? He rubs at his thraot, tries to swallow, fails, and ends up coughing. He doubles over, his hands cover his mouth as a river of blood pours out from between his fingers by the gallons. He can't breathe, he's choking to death on his own blood. But maybe that's for the better? Maybe he rather die than live alone forever. The blood is up to his ankles in a matter of seconds, a red river as far as the eye can see. The blood stops coming, and he can finally draw in a beep breath. It makes him cough again, and this time something comes up his throat and into his mouth. He quickly spits it into his shaky, blood covered hands.
An eyeball.
Ed drops it with a silent scream. It splashes into the pool of blood only to float back up and look at him. He takes one step back, and stops at the feeling of something popping under his bare foot.
Eyes. Hundreds, no thousands of them, all rise to the surface of the blood to stare at him. They let out a high pitch screech of despair that makes Ed quickly cover his ears. He tries to apologize, but again, no words come out of his mouth. He didn't mean to step on one of them! It was an accident! But that's just who Ed was... A destroyer. He ruined everything he ever touched.
The river is getting higher by the second, flooded with the tears from all the eyes. The mix of blood and tears is up to his knees. He turns, frantically looking around for any escape. But there's nowhere to go. He's going to drowned, he's going to die in here! Alphonse... Alphonse... Alphonse...
There's pressure on his chest, and suddenly everything starts fading away.
"Brother! Wake up!" Ed jerks awake with a gasp, he sits up and starts coughing into his automail hand. "Your water." Al says in a rush.
Ed reaches blindly with his left hand over to his end table, while continuing to cough into the automail. He finds it, and takes a few careful sips.
"Fuck." Ed mutters, carefully rubbing at his sore throat. It's alot less scary being awake, but It's also far more painful. Damn that little boy who sneezed on him at the train station! Passing along whatever plague was currently going around school.
"That sounded like a pretty bad nightmare. You okay?"
"Yeah." He wasn't sure what was the worst part of being sick, the constant ache in his automail ports, the sore throat, or the nightmares that always seemed far too real. Ed takes a deep breath -As deep as possible without making himself cough at least- and tries to calm his racing heart.
He's okay.
Al's okay.
He's in Amestris, not Germany. They've been home for nearly five years now.
It was all just a dream.
Al flicks the lamp on on his side, then presses the back of his hand to Ed's forehead. "You still have a bit of a fever. Do you feel any better than before you went to sleep?"
"Al," He pulls his head away. He tries to clear his throat -Which is doing an excellent imitation of sandpaper right now- and winces because... ouch. "You need to stop touching me. I don't want you getting sick too."
"Brother, I'm going to get sick regardless, we both know that. It's inevitable." That was... true, actually. That's what always happens. It was usually Ed who got sick first because of his crappy immune system, but Al always soon followed. Well... not when Al had been in the armor though, that was possibly the only good thing about that metal body. Even back when they were just little kids, Mom would make the non-sick one sleep on the living couch, and they still always both got sick.
The worst had been back in Germany though. Only a little over a year after Al first arrived in that world. It was the coldest winter Ed could ever remember, and a horrible flu had been taking over the whole city. Kids and elderly were dying each day from it. Ed and Al had been so careful, but the money Hohenheim left was running out. Ed was working odd jobs, and doing all the shopping so Al wouldn't have to go out much. And by some miracle they had avoided getting sick for over two mouths, and then... Al had went out to help a woman who was outside calling for her lost dog. They didn't know if it was from the woman or someone else Al come in contact with, but either way, he got sick. Ed had been terrified Al was going to die. Ed got it too, of course, and they spent three weeks in absolute misery.
In comparison, this little cold is a joy.
Ed pushes his sweaty bangs out of his face to shoot a glare over at Al. "Why are you even in here? I thought you were sleeping on the couch." Because they might as well at least try to save Al from this sickness.
"Well... " Al looks away.
"Al? Something wrong?"
"Um..." Al fiddles with the edge of the blanket. "Actually, I kind of woke up with a sore throat in the middle of the night, so I figured... it didn't matter anymore"
"Shit. Alphonse, I'm really sorry. I swear I was being careful."
"I know you were. It's okay Brother, I'm not mad. And besides," He adds softly. "You were calling out to me in your sleep. So I'm glad I was here to wake you up." Al pokes him in the shoulder and smiles. "And hey. At least I get to do this now." Al threads his fingers through Ed's hair and leans in to gently press their lips together. Ed makes an annoyed growl, but doesn't move. He probably taste like... well... a gross sick person.
He quickly pulls back and turns away, sneezing into his sleeve. Four times. Holy fuck.
Al is leaning far away from him, holding out a whole fistfull of tissues by time Ed is done ripping up his throat. Ed takes them and wipes his face, then his sleeve because that too, is cover in snot. Gross.
He's going to hunt that little plagued kid down and murder him.
"I'm going to kill that kid! I'll transmute him into a... I don't know, a fucking carrot!" He swallows hard to try and help his throat. It doesn't help.
Al pats his back, that's nice at least.
"Don't raise your voice, you're only making it worse. And he didn't mean to get you sick. He's-"
"He sneezed right in my face!"
"-Probably just as miserable as you are right now."
Ed sighs through his mouth. Since his nose is completely blocked. "Yeah, I guess." He drains the last of his water, then squints over at the clock. 4:27 AM. "I can still blame him though."
"You should go back to sleep." Al says, as he takes the empty glass from Ed's hand. "I'll get you some more water."
"Can't sleep. Gate." Dreams of the gate always make him feel shaky and on edge for hours, no way he'll be able to sleep any time soon.
"Oh... " Al says. Because Al understands. They both woke from those nightmares far too often. "Want to talk about it?"
"Uhnnmm" He groans and rubs at his eyes, then flops back down and does a full body stretch, which makes his automail ports scream in protest. He hates being sick... "No. I just want lay here and be miserable."
"That doesn't sound like much fun." Al flick at Ed's bangs. "How about I make you some tea instead? And we still have some soup left over from last night."
That... that sounds better actually. "Yeah. But hey-" He grabs at Al's sleeve. "You can stay, just go back to sleep. Pretty sure I'm capable of making tea and reheating soup on my own."
"Are you though?" Al teases. "I know how lazy you get when you're sick. Besides, I should probably take some medicine anyway. And I'll get you some too, it's been long enough since your last dose. Just stay here, I'll bring it to you." He presses a quick kiss to the side of Ed's head then sets off into the kitchen.
Ed lays there for a few minutes, then untangles his feet from the blankets and goes into the bathroom. After peeing for what feels like the hundredth time today -Al makes him drink way to much water- he washes his hands and splashes some cold water on his face.
He frowns at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. He looks utterly fucking exhausted, even though for the past fourty hours he's spent most of it sleeping. He combs his wet fingers through his hair, trying to tame down some of the frizz. When he deems it 'meh, good enough' he makes his way into the kitchen. Al smiles over at him as he walks in.
Snowball -A long haired pure black cat- is curled up on top a newspaper on the kitchen table. Ed pulls out a chair and sits. The cat uncurls and stretches out on her back, reaching her little pink toes out at him. Ed gives her a belly rub, earning him a loud purr. Al has the tea kettle on one front burner, large black kettle of chicken soup on the other. Al fills two glasses with water from the tap, then gets a bottle of medicine from one of the drawers. He sits across from Ed, shakes three pills into his own hand and swallows two of them. The last one he holds out for Ed.
"You sure you should be taking two of those?" Ed asks. Al has more body mass with having all four limbs and all, but still, Ed can't help but worry. He plucks the pill out of Al's hand with his automail, since the left is still preoccupied with fluffy cat belly,
Al rolls his eyes, but with a smile on his face. "It's fine Brother, I promise I won't OD on cold medicine. I'll get my own prescription tomorrow."
Ed pops it into his mouth and takes a few swallows of water to help it go down. "Hmm... I guess."
They both watch a large clump of black fur drift from Snowball, up over their heads, then cling to the overhead lamp.
"Damn cats." Ed complains, but doesn't stop petting her.
"Yeah." Al says half heartily, joining in on the cat petting. She purrs even louder, rolling around on her back and soaking up the attention.
Ed looks around, but no Spot. Al had brought Spot home about a year ago, a little cream colored kitten with a single black spot on her back. And just like with Snowball, Ed couldn't say 'no'. He had promised Al many years ago, that after everything was done and they got their bodies back, and had a home of their very own, Al could get a cat. It was only fair he kept his promise.
He just... really wishes they didn't shed so damn much. It seems like no matter how often they clean, everything in the house still has a layer of fur on it. It's worth it though, anything to make Al happy.
Ten minutes later they're eating soup and talking about alchemy, Ed listing off all the vegetables he could turn the plague boy into. Al laughing along and sipping at his tea, eventually even joining in on the vegetable list.
Ed knows he'll never get his own body back. Wouldn't dare risk what he has left. But it's good enough... in fact, it's better than good enough. He's happy. Al is happy. They have two cats which they both spoiled rotten. Though Ed would never admit to spoiling his two fluffy girls out loud of course.
Somehow, even through all the mistakes and regrets, It all worked out in the end.
Now if he could just find that little boy and kick his ass...