Fic: Abstention, part 1

Pairing: Elricest-ish

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Mean to Ed!

Summary: An assignment to a unit that ventures into snow country seems bad enough at first for the damper it puts on the Elrics' search for the Philosopher's Stone- but when downed supply lines lead to reduced rations, Ed discovers that he can't handle the deprivation as well as he'd have liked to pretend.



Author's Notes: Ooo-kay. This fic now holds the dubious honor of being the longest I've ever written that wasn't broken down into a billion chapters. Plot bunny adopted from mikkeneko, and worlds and worlds of thanks to both her and tavella for help and encouragement beyond belief.

And now, I will happily never look at this fic again. :D

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Abstention, part 1

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“Whatever genius,” Ed panted, words muffled behind the thick wool of his scarf, “Thought it was a good idea to send a combat unit into the middle of fucking nowhere…”

But any consequences that the boy might have liked to advise were lost as a new gust of wind swept his voice away, and Alphonse could only guess at where the sentence had gone.

“It might help if you let me walk in front of you, brother,” the younger of the pair offered cautiously, when he thought it likely that Edward had finished this newest bout of complaining. “It’s awfully windy, and I’m big enough that-”

But the suggestion never got any further than that, so immediate was the response: the Fullmetal Alchemist stopped mid-step and whirled, eyes gleaming, to glare up at the massive suit of armor housing his brother’s soul.

“Who’s so small,” the boy demanded, all but flailing in his rage, “That he’d blow away if his little brother didn’t block the wind for him?”

A protest that was mostly exasperation rose up to greet the outburst. “Really, now,” Alphonse pointed out, tone mildly reproving, “I didn’t go that far, brother- you don’t need to exaggerate.”

On either side, the soldiers whose marching order positioned them directly behind the boys began to stream past; the spectacle had occurred enough times during the last several weeks that they’d come to accept it as a matter of course and ignore the sudden flares of temper accordingly.

A moment passed, and then two. Nothing changed.

Edward remained immobile, evidently not placated enough by the reassurance to resume his progress.

“Brother,” Alphonse began again, shoulders heaving in approximation of what would have been a sigh, had he needed to breathe. “We really shouldn’t be holding things up, you know. Unless you want the Colonel to-”

“…believe that you’re deliberately being difficult,” a smooth voice cut in from the place where its owner had come to stand, taking in the scene with disapproving grey eyes. “Honestly, Fullmetal, I’m beginning to think that you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

The transformation was immediate and complete; the boy spun in spectacular burst of fury, eyes and posture combining to create an astounding resemblance to a riled cat, all his anger immediately directed to the new source. “A bit fucking late for that, isn’t it?” Edward demanded harshly. “If you’d left us in Central, we could be doing something useful with our time!”

“Really,” Mustang acknowledged mildly, “It’s only a few months. What makes you think they’d have made a difference? You’ve turned up next to nothing for the past three years, after all.”

Murderous intent tinted golden eyes with a dangerous light. “You utter bastard. If you’re gonna-“

“Though I suppose that if it’s a question of the physical demands becoming too much, we can arrange for your return.” The Colonel paused, turning a considering gaze to the boy that stood less than a meter away, shaking with fury. “Get moving, Fullmetal.” The corners of the man’s lips turned up, subtle and self-satisfied. “If your legs are too short to handle the snow, have your brother carry you.”

The squawk of indignant rage that greeted the suggestion went largely ignored, and the man who’d caused it turned to walk carelessly away. But he got what he’d intended- for the Fullmetal Alchemist didn’t pause to rest for the remainder of the day’s travel, so intent was he to prove that he could manage it.

* * *

“…smug, manipulative, bastardly…”

Alphonse practiced his airless equivalent of a sigh and tried again, tone pacifying. “Now, brother.”

“…condescending, self-serving…”

A heavy leather gauntlet patted the boy reassuringly on his flesh shoulder, mindful of the pressure that it was applying.

“It doesn’t really do any good to get yourself worked up over something that can’t be helped.”

“…asshole of a Colonel, who’s stealing our time so that we can sit up here in a goddamned wasteland.” Eyes sharp with irritation met the place where Al’s should have been, golden depths glittering bright with discontent. “Just in case the rebellion gets out of hand and they need backup.”

“Well,” the younger boy offered, tone cautious. “At least the march is finished.”

It was as though the words had deflated the anger from Ed’s entire body; with a groan, he flopped bonelessly to the sleeping bag spread across the tent’s floor. “So now we’re stuck waiting around for something that may never happen.”

The boy worked the scarf free from his face with a careless hand and tossed it aside, breath turning the air to fog as soon as its protection had been removed. “I mean, I get that they need us somewhere, and I know it helps to have us coming from a place no one’ll expect reinforcements to be… but why this far north?”

“I suppose someone had to think it was a good idea,” Alphonse proposed diplomatically, lowering himself to the floor with a great, lumbering creak of metal. “But it must be awfully cold.” The helmet cocked just slightly to one side, soulfire eyes fixing themselves upon the small form before them. “Is it bad, brother?”

There was a hesitation just before the answer came, a split-second’s pause before Ed rolled onto his side and flashed a crooked grin upward into a face unable to show emotion. “Freezing,” the boy said. “And if that bastard of a Colonel would stop throwing new missions at us every five seconds, you’d be able to tell for yourself.”

“Don’t worry, brother,” Alphonse replied, and a smile showed through in his voice. “Someday.”

* * *

Had any of the soldiers employed in the same unit as the Elric brothers been asked to describe the smaller of the two at mealtimes, “astounding” would have been among the top choices. Because while the unit’s physician had warned them that their bodies would be burning more calories than usual simply to keep warm, the amount of food that Ed managed to pack away was rapidly beginning to press the limits of believability.

“How does he eat that much,” one unfortunate man had dared to wonder aloud early in the deployment, “And stay so tiny?”

After Alphonse had been forced to intervene on the poor soldier’s behalf, no one had ventured to bring the topic up again- but more than one pair of curiously amused eyes fell to the boy during mealtimes, and money had exchanged hands more than once regarding the question of how many plates Ed would manage to work his way through before declaring himself finished.

And so it came as a surprise to absolutely no one that the hours following the announcement discovered the Fullmetal Alchemist in a particularly foul mood. Not that any of the men had been enthusiastic to learn they’d be on set rations until the blizzard let up and supply lines reopened, of course, but the boy seemed more intent than most to show it, stomping his way through the snow as though absorbed in crushing it and snarling at anyone misfortunate enough to speak with him.

It would be the better part of a day before the boy’s first victim learned the extent of the impending lapse of temper, however- because the only thing more contrary than a cold, bored Edward was one that was hungry, as well. And for everything else that could be said about the announcement, it had at least come directly after a fully-rationed lunch.

“All of them,” the boy insisted, and threw himself to the floor with a snarl. “I hate all of them.” This time, he didn’t bother to unwind the scarf from his face- too cold, perhaps, to bother, or too angry to remember it. “What the fuck sort of battle plan is it to get your troops stranded without supplies?”

“Now, brother,” Alphonse interjected, settling into his usual place beside the sleeping bag. “Be fair. They really couldn’t have planned for this.”

Golden eyes, sullen and discontent, flickered briefly to what ought to have been his brother’s face. “Oh, of course- snow up north. Who could’ve foreseen that?”

The younger boy ignored him calmly, pressing on despite the interruption. “And it’s not as though there isn’t any food,” he contended reasonably. “Just a little less than usual, for a bit.”

There was a moment’s silence, during which Ed flopped backward to stare rebelliously up at the ceiling. “Fucking physician better know what he’s talking about,” the boy grumbled at last.

Alphonse fixed him with a pointed look. “Really, brother- do you think the Colonel would’ve brought him along if he didn’t know his job?” There was an expectant pause, meant to be filled with Ed’s answer, but when none was forthcoming the younger boy continued. “After all, someone’s got to make sure everyone gets enough to stay healthy- in case they do need us as reinforcements.”

Again, a surly silence greeted the boy- but Alphonse waited with patience born of practice as his brother turned what had been said over in his mind.

“Alright,” Edward admitted at last, grudgingly. “Maybe.”

The rest, barely audible under the wind beyond cloth walls of the tent, was nearly lost to Al’s ears when it came a moment later. “But I’m hungry, dammit.”

* * *

It had been easier to sneak past the sentry point than it had been to slip away from Al.

The fact hadn’t surprised him- not with the uncanny level of perception that his little brother seemed to display- but slipping out beyond the boundaries of the camp had been almost laughably simple. So much so that, had the mishap not stood in Edward’s favor, the boy would have been inclined to add “general incompetence” to the ever-growing list of things that were wrong with his current assignment.

But the guards’ inattentiveness served him well- and so the only thought that crossed Ed’s mind as he passed unnoticed less than twenty feet from the nearest man was one of profound relief. Because after his most recent encounter with Colonel Mustang, the Fullmetal Alchemist was in no mood to receive another lecture.

Hunching down against the wind, the boy scowled behind the red wool of his scarf and began to forge through snow that was nearly knee-height. “Asshole,” he muttered viciously under his breath, just for good measure, and fought to ignore the fact that despite the cold, his cheeks were growing warm.

Because now, as every hour since he’d found his way to the Colonel’s make-shift command center, Edward found his mind replaying words that he’d come to despise- found himself feeling the slow creep of mortification that they’d wrought when first delivered.

“You joined the military of your own accord, Fullmetal,” said Mustang’s voice in his mind, as impeccably calm as ever, “Surely you realized that your duties would require a bit of restraint?” The memory of charcoal eyes, uncompromising, rose up to accompany the words, and Ed tugged his jacket tighter around him as though to ward the image away. “It’s not only unfair but immature to request special treatment.” It didn’t fade. “Am I understood?”

“Fucker,” Ed hissed in the present, as though to drown the recollection of his own voice- the quiet “yes, sir” that had come out forced and more than a little embarrassed.

But though there was venom behind the accusation, it contained something reserved as well- something uncertain and ashamed. Because, loathe though he was to acknowledge it, Edward recognized the truth behind the reprimand.

After all, he’d been determined at first to manage the reduced rations as well as soldiers twice his age- had promised himself that this, like all other obstacles to interfere in his search for the Stone, would be undertaken and endured, and that he would prove to that bastard of a Colonel that he could.

But it had been alarming, the first time he’d finished dinner in the mess tent and discovered that there simply wasn’t enough of it. Unsettling to realize that the next meal would be breakfast, close to twelve hours later, and that there would be even less.

And though it had been simple enough that one time to stand up in a huff, to grouse about it to his brother and make a show of advertising his displeasure to the camp at large, it had been harder the next time, and harder still after that. Because whenever he stood to leave the place while there were men around him eating- while there was still food to be had- it had become a naked test of will.

He hadn’t missed the considering looks that Al had been leveling his way on the increasingly frequent occasions when he wandered outside to pack snowballs, bringing them back into the tent to munch on just so that he’d have something in his stomach. And it had frightened him a little to wake in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep again for the hollow ache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence within him.

But every other soldier in the camp seemed to be bearing the reduced rations easily- if not without complaint- and Ed had been determined that if anyone could manage it, he could.

Bit by bit, though, his resolve had been worn away- eroded to the point at which he’d convinced himself that he wouldn’t be swallowing so much of his pride, after all, if he went to talk to Mustang about the problem. Because surely, not even as insufferable a bastard as the Colonel would turn him away if he explained how bad it had gotten.

And what, Ed demanded furiously of himself as he crushed mountains of tiny snowflakes in his rage, had his confession gotten him? The explanation that if he wasn’t such an undisciplined child, he would be able to handle it as well as everyone else.

“Fine,” Edward snarled aloud, voice lost in the howl of the wind and the fabric of his scarf. “Fuck you. I’ll make my own damn food.”

And the boy’s hands came together to create a flash of blue lightning.

* * *

Soulfire eyes watched with a good deal of concern as Edward entered the tent and let the flap fall carelessly shut behind him.

Snow clung to the folds in the boy’s pants and melted in slow trickles down his boots; golden hair was damp and bedraggled, strands freed from the braid by the force of the wind. Without a word, the Fullmetal Alchemist took two steps and sank to the floor.

“Brother?’ The word was tentative, uncertain. “Are you alright?”

There was silence for a second, and then a muffled noise of discontent rose up from beneath the fabric of Edward’s scarf.

Alphonse hesitated only a moment before lowering himself to the floor with a creak of metal, settling beside his brother to run a hand reassuringly over the boy’s back. “What happened?”

A muttered response drifted up in reply, all but the tone lost in a covering of thick, red wool.

“Brother?” Cautiously, the younger boy repeated the gesture once, twice, and then again, the leather of the gauntlet settling into a rhythm both slow and even. The touch was soothing, Alphonse hoped; it looked as though the small form slumped so dejectedly before him needed reassurance.

Even so, it took the better part of a minute for Edward to turn toward his brother, lifting his head to peer up at the helmet that served as Alphonse’s face. And though too much of the older boy’s expression was swallowed up by the scarf to allow an accurate judge of moods, the mix of resentment and despondency in those wide golden eyes was revealing enough.

“Bastard had the nerve to lecture me,” Ed muttered again, the words clear enough this time to be deciphered. “Like it wasn’t his fucking fault to begin with.”

The hard leather of the gauntlet hesitated for just a fraction of a second before resuming the contact, soulfire eyes flickering away from his brother’s face so that they could watch the place where fingertips made wrinkles in the fabric of Edward’s jacket, intent upon ensuring that the pressure wasn’t enough to hurt.

“The assignment?” Alphonse asked delicately.

“Everything!” the older boy snarled, anger flaring up momentarily to chase away the weariness from his tone. “And when I try to fix it cause he’s goddamned useless, all he can say is that I ought to know better.” Fueled by the burst of outrage, Ed pushed himself up on his palms, knocking aside his brother’s metal limb in a fit of irritation. “Like I’m some little kid or something.”

Settling both hands composedly in his lap- he’d long learned not to take too much offense to anything Ed did while in a temper- Alphonse made a soft considering noise in the back of what ought to have been his throat. “Brother,” he began, tone laden with the long patience of having dealt with the boy before him for his entire life. “What did you do?”

“Nothing half so bad as that asshole Colonel made it out,” Ed declared, eyes simmering with discontent. Belatedly, the boy seemed to recall that the snow still melting on his clothes ought to be removed- shuffled a short distance on hands and knees to brush it off in an empty corner of the tent. “All I did was slip out past the sentries. And it isn’t even like they would have-”

But what they would or wouldn’t do was never resolved, because Alphonse’s voice interrupted him, the tone tinged with a thread of alarm that was enough to slice the sentence neatly in two.

“Brother,” said the younger boy, soft and worried. “It’s storming outside.”

Ed glanced up from the pile of snow-mush that was rapidly forming on the floor, expression rebellious. “So?”

“So what if you’d gotten lost?” Alphonse pressed, concern making the question sharply intent. “It’s hard to see out there, and your coat isn’t that heavy. If you hadn’t been able to remember which way you’d come, you could have frozen.”

“Well,” the smaller boy huffed, “I didn’t. So quit worrying.” Abruptly, the automail fingers closed around the wool of the scarf and tugged, depositing it onto the tent floor with a sodden plop. “They could do with some heat in here, though. It’s cold enough outside without having to put up with this shit indoors.”

“Brother,” Alphonse tried again, refusing to be side-tracked by the older boy’s complaints. Inwardly, he braced himself for the spitting rage that was likely to greet his next statement. “If the Colonel warned you that sneaking out was dangerous, I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with him.”

But the expected outburst didn’t follow.

Edward’s attention was utterly focused on his work as he plucked the dripping glove from his flesh hand, seeming not to have heard the last comment. “Or give us coffee or hot chocolate or something. Places this cold shouldn’t even exist.”

“Brother,” Alphonse said, watching the expression on the smaller boy’s face closely.

“I mean, really- some fucking physician we end up with.” Those hands turned with a fierce intensity toward freeing the flesh foot from first boot and then the drenched sock beneath. “The whole outfit’s gonna freeze solid in their tents while he’s got his head up his ass.”

“Brother,” Alphonse tried again, worry tingeing the tone.

The jacket was halfway off already. “Hey, Al- bury me someplace warm, would you?”

A leather gauntlet caught the hand that was intent on pulling the cloth free. “Oh, for the love of- stop it, brother. You really will freeze if you take all your clothes off.”

A huff of a sigh and the suit of armor lumbered to its feet, digging in their belongings for something to write with. “Honestly,” Al chastised distractedly, drawing the lines to an array on a small scrap of paper. “You’re too lazy to do things by hand any other time, but when you ought to use alchemy…”

One large gauntlet pressed the carefully drawn circle against his brother’s chest.

“Here,” the younger boy said, and touched life into the design; it glowed a brief, brilliant blue, and when it faded the snow-melt had gone from Edward’s clothes.

“Thanks,” Ed offered by way of reply, voice quiet and sincere, and reached to pull the jacket tighter around him.

For a moment, Alphonse merely watched him in silence, the worry impossible to express on a face of unyielding metal. “Go lay down,” he suggested at last. “You’ll get warm faster that way.”

He didn’t wait for assent. Gently, one of those leather gauntlets steered the boy toward the sleeping bag, helped to draw it closed so that it would hold his brother’s body heat inside.

And perhaps, Alphonse thought to himself as he watched Ed settle gratefully down into the warmth, it was the exhaustion of hiking through a blizzard that had etched those new lines onto Edward’s face. But quite suddenly, the younger boy was reminded of how small the form that lay trembling beneath the layers of fabric truly was.

“Brother.” The word was cautious, as though testing uncertain ground. “Why did you sneak out?”

And when the answer came, those golden eyes carefully refusing to meet soulfire, Alphonse felt as though the spike of ice that the words drove through him couldn’t be any colder than the wind outside.

* * *

“You think we’re ever gonna see some action?” said the man beside him, slopping a portion of potatoes onto the mess tray of the next soldier in line.

“Maybe.” The private being addressed spooned up a ladleful of mystery meat and gravy, amazed as always that it didn’t just freeze in the frigid air, and deposited it next to the potatoes. “I hope we get done here soon, though, one way or the other.”

The man moved on; a new tray presented itself.

“Or the supply lines free up,” his companion agreed easily, dispensing more potatoes.

“Supply lines or no,” the private pointed out wryly, “It’s still freezing. I can’t wait to see the sun again.” He tipped his spoon, and thick liquid flooded into the corner of the tray.

The next in line came to the front.

“Ah,” the new arrival said, a bit uncertainly. “Hello.”

“Hey,” answered the man with the potato spoon, tipping a messy glop out with practiced ease.

“Here you go,” the private added, and meat with gravy joined the mix.

The Fullmetal Alchemist’s brother inclined his head politely before shuffling past. “Thank you.”

The younger Elric’s steps were watched as he moved on down the line, however- because it was odd, it occurred to the private, that he’d never seen the boy wait his turn in the mess tent before. Odder still, considering that he’d been on serving duty for nearly a week, now.

But that was nothing short of ridiculous, proof of the job being boring enough that the soldier ignored what he was doing, most of the time. Because of course the boy had to eat- and a lot, doubtless, to stay big enough to fill up that suit of armor.

“Er,” the private said, distractedly, and dipped his ladle again. “What were we talking about?”

* * *

His brother had already returned to the tent by the time he got back, retreating after the meal to sulk in private as had become his habit.

There was nothing coherent by way of greeting when Alphonse pushed open the flap of the tent- nothing but a wordless grunt which may or may not have been a welcome, and Ed refused to move from the place where he’d settled atop the sleeping bag, sprawled face-down and motionless.

“Brother?” Al asked, cautiously, and was careful to make sure that the fabric of the tent was opened wide enough not to trail in the food on the tray as he stepped inside. “Are you awake?”

There was no response at all to that, though Alphonse knew very well by the set of his brother’s back the answer to his own question. Ed was never that tense in sleep, after all, unless suffering from a particularly grim nightmare- and the small form lying splayed across the floor was far too still for that to be the case.

So the younger boy took those last few steps to bring him to his brother’s side, knelt with the customary creak of metal so that he could settle as near as he was able without touching. “Brother?”

And perhaps, Alphonse thought, the boy could smell the food gathered on the tray- because there was a peculiar look in those golden eyes as Ed finally raised his head to see what was wanted of him, something cautious and a little bit disbelieving.

And when that gaze flickered minutely, darting as though quite unable to stop itself between Alphonse’s face and the meal in his hands, Al decided with an uncomfortable twist of certainty that he never wanted to see his brother wear that expression again.

“I lined up to get my share,” the younger boy began, less by way of explanation than to provide a distraction from whatever had put that look on Edward’s face. “Here.” Abruptly, he was pressing the tray toward his brother, compelling hands of mismatched flesh and metal to close around the edges. “This is for you.”

For a lingering moment, there was no response at all- nothing but silence, thick and stunned, and the raw edge that had crept in at the corner of his brother’s eyes. And then Ed’s mouth was twisting up in a shaky grin, a startled laugh forcing itself from his lips, and the boy was reaching for the fork with fingers that trembled just slightly.

“Have I ever told you,” Edward managed shakily, “How much I fucking love you?” And that was all the boy had time for- because he was turning his attention elsewhere, then, scooping up hunks of meat and bits of potato with an urgency that left Alphonse a bit unsettled.

Because it was one thing, certainly, when his brother was enthusiastic at mealtimes- one thing to ask for seconds and thirds, or to be teased about being too small to eat that much by the other soldiers.

But this- this was something else entirely. Something that went far beyond complaining for complaining’s sake, or protesting the assignment because it was of Colonel Mustang’s devising. It was something that drew those expressive golden eyes closed with pleasure and caused the small form hunched down over the tray to shake with the intensity of it.

This, Alphonse thought, disquieted, was the way his strays acted when he presented them with a much-needed saucer of milk.

“Thanks,” Ed offered finally, when the last morsel had been carefully tucked away. “I needed that.”

But the boy’s hands lingered about the edges of the tray as though reluctant to let it go, and a moment later a single flesh finger dipped cautiously into the remaining gravy, drawing trails through it. Golden eyes flicked a surreptitious glance in Alphonse’s direction, something wary in their depths, and the look on Ed’s face brought two realizations crashing down upon the younger boy, one atop the other.

The first came with a force that would have taken his breath away, if he’d needed to breathe: quite simply, it was the fact that his brother was indeed hungry enough to think about licking the dish clean. And the second, crowding in on its heels, was that it was his brother, and Al had better find something else to pay attention to, or the smaller boy’s pride might prevent it from happening at all.

And if Edward needed that extra little bit that badly…

“Really now, brother,” Alphonse said abruptly, and creaked back up to his knees before rising to stand. “I don’t understand how you manage to make such a mess of this place.” Turning his back on the boy entirely, the younger of the two scooped up an open book from the tent floor. “We don’t have all that much with us to begin with.”

And if it took longer than it should have to gather the various pieces of their luggage from the floor and return them to his brother’s pack, Edward didn’t say a word about it.

But by the time Alphonse turned back, the tray had become suspiciously cleaner- and Ed was careful to duck his head so that the hair would hide his eyes.

* * *

Colonel Mustang sought him out the very next morning, disapproval showing clearly in the furrow of the man’s brow and the press of his lips.

“Alphonse-kun,” was all he said in the reach of ears that could potentially overhear. “I’d like to speak with you a moment.”

And Al supposed that he should have been grateful for that, at least- should have been glad that he wasn’t scolded like a naughty child in front of soldiers that doubtless wondered already why a private citizen should be traveling with a military unit. But as he followed the Colonel through the snow to the man’s tent, he couldn’t take comfort in the fact that the meeting would at least be private.

Because he knew, after all, what it was going to be about.

“I would have thought,” the Colonel said levelly, when the tent flap had been fastened behind them, “That you were mature enough to be above such things.”

And despite the fact that he’d known it was coming- despite the fact that the boy flat-out refused to be ashamed of anything he’d done for Ed’s sake- the man’s words stung, not just with the force behind them, but with the unruffled, off-handed disappointment that they contained.

If he’d needed air, Alphonse would have taken a steadying breath to prepare his reply. Instead, he steeled himself and pressed ahead regardless, hoping his tone was strong enough to be resolute without offending. “But, Colonel,” the boy began, “I think it really is beginning to wear on him. I’ve never seen brother-”

“Alphonse-kun,” came the reply, even but firm, “The ration system is in place to ensure that there are enough supplies available until we’re able to obtain more. If everyone is allowed to take as much as they like, there’s no way to guarantee that we won’t run out.” The man’s eyes, an intent charcoal grey, fixed keenly upon a gaze of soulfire. “And then your brother really would starve.”

For a moment’s unsettled silence, Alphonse turned that over in his mind, weighing the logic of it against the cautious hope that had been painted so plainly onto Edward’s face when presented with a second serving.

“…he’s so hungry, though,” the boy protested at last. “And he barely-”

“Alphonse-kun,” said the Colonel, and the tone had less of an edge, this time. “Everyone’s hungry, and everyone’s cold.” There was something honest in the admission that stilled the rest of the protest before Al could think of voicing it. “Your brother’s just going to have to be patient a while longer.”

And there were doubts still, swirling round inside the boy, and the worry, he suspected, would’ve been enough to make his throat tight, if he’d had one. But it was impossible not to see the reason driving Colonel Mustang’s explanation, and if it hadn’t been for the recollection of his brother’s eyes, grateful and intent and a little fragile around the edges, Alphonse would have felt foolish for what he’d done.

“Brother isn’t very good with patient,” Al offered at last, reluctantly, by way of concession.

The brief light of satisfaction in those charcoal eyes told him that the Colonel recognized the acceptance for what it was. “Well,” the man said, not unkindly, “Perhaps you should help him with that.”

It hadn’t seemed like such a terrible suggestion. At least, not until the boy had made his way back to the tent that he shared with his brother and pushed the flap aside, stepping in out of the snow.

Because before he’d taken his first step inside, those golden eyes were snapping up to greet him, much more intent than they ought to have been, and the start of a smile twitched experimentally across his brother’s lips.

And he saw the change in Ed’s expression in that precise moment when the boy realized Alphonse’s head was bowed and hands empty. Watched as his brother struggled, as best he was able, to hide the hope that had bloomed and been crushed in the space of seconds.

“Colonel Mustang had a talk with me this morning,” the younger of the boys admitted at last, unnecessarily.

Expressive eyes were too, too careful not to meet his gaze. “Oh,” Edward replied quietly, voice tighter than it should have been. And then, almost as an afterthought: “I oughtta go give that asshole a piece of my mind. What right’s he got to hassle you about it?”

But there was no heat behind the words, and his brother didn’t rise to make good on the promise, and that, more than anything, frightened Alphonse terribly.

~end part 1- onward to part 2!~