A look into the selfless character that is Edward Elric.
Mm. Angst.
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Just what exactly drives Edward Elric?
The money, people would say, people who obviously knew nothing about him but his reputation. The military paid their dogs wonderfully, not to mention all of the benefits they received. And those pretty, shiny watches. They carried a nice price.
Others would say he was mad, his high intelligence and understanding of such complex things pulling him deep into his research. They said he would stop at nothing to know everything. They called him a genius. A mad, crazy, genius of a child that spent countless hours researching every little thing. They said he couldn't stand the fact that he didn't do something right. A perfectionist to the very end.
And then there were the people who didn't like him, his reputation, and the people he worked for. They said he was selfish. A selfish little brat who only wanted the knowledge, the power, the money, for himself. He's just doing this for his own benefit, they would whisper to each other, and then stare unabashedly as his mechanical limbs. He just wants his parts back. Selfish down to the last bone. That's what they said drove the golden-eyed alchemist.
And they were right.
To a point.
Edward was selfish, taking his body for granted and working it to the bone, reading books until his eyes were the color of his jacket and they stung blindingly, physically abusing his young form in every battle, every practice, damaging automail and nerve, flesh and muscle. He was selfish with his tears, smiles, and praise.
And, if you asked those close to him, a handful of people who knew and loved him, they would agree that yes, Edward was selfish. He would work himself until the point of exhaustion, until he literally collapsed, and when consciousness came back to him, he was up and about, studying this or that, his body protesting every move. But none of that was for him.
It was for Alphonse.
All of it.
Because the wonderful little brother that had once been flesh and bone and all smiles was now cold and steel with a cheerfully distant voice. He was just an empty shell, a hard covering over nothing that interacted with its environment the only way it knew how. Al lived life as best he could, not knowing the taste or smell of things around him, not being able to feel how soft a kitten felt like in his hand, the rough lick of a dog's tongue. Or the flesh of another human being.
And Ed lived his life devoted to Al, neglecting himself selfishly in favor of his brother's happiness, fighting with his brother to let him know he was still there, walking beside him and acknowledging him, throwing himself in harm's way continuously, saving every smile for his brother, because if Al felt happy, sad, fussy or angry, that let the empty suit of armor know that it was still a being, just in a temporary house for a soul that would be getting its body back.
Ed had been selfish once before, for himself, and it had cost him an arm, a leg, his brother's existence, and the undying, deformed, mutilated memory of a mother he loved. Being selfish for his own good had caused the constant throbbing pain his right arm and left leg brought him, the twisting, tear-stinging rip! his nerve endings made everytime he took a step. Being selfish for himself had brought too many bad memories, too many nightmare-filled nights, too much pain and suffering to the people he cared about most.
So he made sure to be selfish for Al's good and not his own. He was selfish because Al wouldn't, couldn't be.
Ed would never know how grateful his brother was.
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