White.

White over the hills and white on the branches of the trees, white covering the houses and hiding the roads.

White falling, light and dry and crystalline, from the sky, endless.

A whole world white and vast, without scar to mar it and without impurity to sully it. A world apart from reality, at least for a few hours.

This was how it had looked last year, too, and the year before, and before that, every year from time immemorial. Since before Amestris, and before even his father.

But to Alphonse Elric, the scene was as different this year as it was familiar.

He had seen this snow-covered stretch of road with its warmly-lit houses and tall-standing trees many times before, it was true; the light-gray winter sky the same, the sound of the snow crunching crisply with every step, the same.

But absent had been the feeling of the rough yarn of the scarf on his neck, the cold, wet touch of each snowflake to land on his cheek. He had felt not the bite of the December wind that came suddenly and unexpectedly. He had known not the creeping chill that now seeped into his boots to numb his toes. His legs had not ached from walking so long against the resistance of the deep snow drifts.

Alphonse laughed breathlessly at the thrill remembering that still brought him, but the laughter was quickly stolen away on the cold wind, which blew harder yet before finally receding again. He paused for a moment to pant, fingers and toes seeming to buzz now that he was still. He lifted his head, looking across the last stretch toward the warm glow of the candles in the window of the house that was his destination. Inside, Al knew, someone waited; probably sitting in a chair, watching the flames in the grate of the fireplace, or maybe standing at the window, peering out into the endless white. Waiting for him.

"I never knew how far this was!" he laughed to no one, numbed cheeks stinging with the broad grin that split his face, and the sound echoed over the snow toward the trees, unhindered. Then came another wintry blast of air from over the fields, stronger now, and Al staggered a step to the side to keep his balance. Before long now the weather would turn truly foul, and Al planned to be long inside by the time that happened.

The wind faded and he set out again with renewed determination, one step and another, another, each step further, each step closer to his goal. His breath puffed out in white clouds before him when it was calm, and was ripped from his very mouth when the fierce wind blew.

At last he reached the final approach to the little house, and trudged up the walk to knock on the door. It opened instantly, revealing the inside of the house decked in red and evergreen, and a pair of worried golden eyes, the owner of which tried immediately to pull Alphonse into the house.

"Wait, Brother, hold on, I'm covered in snow!" he objected, balking at the threshold.

"Don't care," his brother replied firmly, dragging him inside and closing the door.

"The carpet's going to be soaked!"

"Don't care."

Next Ed attacked his scarf, gloves, and coat with such vigor Al almost couldn't move himself, pulling them off one after the other and flinging them down like they had done him some offense.

Al had to laugh, breath still a little ragged from the trip. "Brother, calm down."

But Ed simply flung down the last glove and pointed insistently at his feet.

"Boots! Come on!"

Once that had been accomplished Edward shooed Al right up to the fireplace, grabbed a blanket from the chair beside the fire and put it around his shoulders, which wasn't as easy as it might have been in days past, given that Al was now taller than he was.

"Brother," Al said, but Ed wasn't listening.

"Gotta get you warm," he muttered, closing the blanket around him tightly and almost choking him in the process. Then he seized his hands and began rubbing them between his own more like he was trying to start a fire than warm his chilled fingers.

"Brother!" Al said, stopping Ed's hands in his own instead, as he had found himself doing more and more often as Edward's bouts of insecurity got more severe. "I'm fine, I'm just fine."

"But-"

"Not even a little frostbite. I'm fine."

"Yeah... Yeah, I know," Ed said, receding, voice quieting as he looked up into his face for a moment, but then shook his head a little and put on a smile. "I know. But it was getting bad out there, and-"

"I know, sorry to worry you, Brother. It never used to take me that long to walk from the station!"

Ed smile turned bittersweet then, eyes bearing the familiar traces of guilt, but stronger was the relief written there.

"The wind is so much sharper than I remembered. It bites harder," Al said, because he wanted to share this with his brother, too, everything. He didn't want to let old wounds get between them, keep them from being completely together here now.

"Yeah, it's damn cold," Ed agreed, putting his hands up either side of Al's face. Even the gloved Automail hand felt warm against his cold skin. "Your cheeks're as red as apples." The smile on his face faded, and when he met his gaze again, Al could see the echoes of those he had lost in his brother's eyes.

"I'm glad you're here," Ed said, so softly it could barely be heard, dropping his hands to Al's blanketed shoulders.

Alphonse pretended not to know what Ed meant when he said that, and smiled warmly.

"I'm glad to be back. Now the holiday can really begin. How about I'll make some hot chocolate and we can sit by the fire," he suggested. "You wait here."

Ed blinked, but then smiled in return, only a little late.

"No milk," he warned.

"Of course not," Al lied.

He gave Ed's flesh hand a squeeze before taking the blanket from around his shoulders, setting it back down on the chair, and moving past him toward the kitchen. He set a large pan on the stove and opened the cabinet, but then paused. Moving back to the doorway, he looked into the living room once more.

Edward was in the chair next to the fire as promised, looking into the flames silently, the blanket he had wrapped around Al's shoulders resting on his lap. His back looked so small as he sat there.

It would take time. They had spent too much timing running; it was only natural that once they stopped, the past would come roaring up from behind to overtake them. It only made sense that his brother would be terrified of losing again what he had given up everything to get back, especially now that they had lost so many others who would never return.

It would get easier. After the new year came, after the spring warmed the earth, everything would stop being the "first." It would just be another summer rain, another clear fall day, another long walk in the cold winter wind. Year would come upon year, and finally the time regained would equal the time lost.

Al couldn't undo the past, and he couldn't erase the pain. He couldn't force his brother to forgive himself. He couldn't make his brother forget, and he wouldn't try to.

But he could stay by his brother's side until both their scars had faded, and Edward could hold his head high again.

And that Al would do.

Turning back to the cabinet, Al began to sing as he took down the ingredients and measured each of them into the pot. It was an old song, a carol Granny had taught them so long ago now, but the words came as easily as if it had been yesterday.

After the first verse, another voice- though hesitant at first- joined him from the living room.

Alphonse smiled.

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