Disclaimer: Don't own.

A/N: Sooooo, I was reading this the other day, to see if I should maybe write another chapter for it. And I was started writing planning on just another short chapter to explain some things, but then I ended up writing for practically four hours straight, so this has become a whole short chapter fiction now. Not that I need another one for me to slack off on, but it happened, you know. And then I decided when I was just rereading this first chapter that I can't continue it without rewriting this chapter. So, here is the edited version. It might gain a different title as it goes on, because I'm not sure about I Didn't Mean anymore. Not intriguing enough really.

I Didn't Mean (--- this is under debate :) )

Chapter One

"Al, you just... You just can't do stuff like that anymore okay?" Edward snapped at his brother. He had been running off lately, causing an unusual – for Alphonse – amount of mischief. And it wasn't making anything easier on Ed when he was always having to get Al out of trouble. He was angry, furious, and desperately hoped that this was just some sort of phase that the boy was going through.

Alphonse was positioned and ready with a retort and snap f his own before Edward had even finished speaking, "Brother, you can't control my life!" he couldn't either. He thought he could. No cats, no animals period, no doing that, no going there, not that Al, don't touch that, stop it Al. He really was tired of it. He could handle things by himself, he didn't need his brother hanging over his shoulder whispering warnings into his ear all day, "This was your fault anyway!"

"Of course it was my fault," Ed was angry, he would say anything to Alphonse right now if it was to argue. Give him a stop sign, he could take that on. "it's always my fault isn't it?" he felt reckless, he was fuming, and all he wanted was a good healthy argument. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice was telling him not to tread these waters. Not to toss blame. Because it will always come back to him. After all, it probably was his fault, it usually was his fault. Then again, bring out the stop sign, he wanted a good fight. "What about when it's your fault? God forbid we acknowledge the presence of those moments!"

"Yeah, you just g ahead and name one of those mythical moments!"

He's right, Edward knew this, it was always his fault. He would never dare to really blame Alphonse for anything, but he was angry, he was mad, he was seething, "The other day, when you transmuted your way out of headquarters for no reason at all and ran off. Then I had to stick around and fix it, and then find you!" he hadn't been mad at Al for that. Only concerned. Worried for the reason that he had even thought to run off without telling him where he was heading. It was a quick and easy fix, and no one really cared after the problem had been dealt with.

"Oh, yeah, that must have been so very hard on you," Al replied icily, with a uncharacteristic amount of sarcasm lacing his words, "if this was a competition, I would win."

"Sure, maybe," more like most definitely, actually, Edward knew this, "but you can't get off blaming me for every piece of shit situation that you cause!" yes he could. Edward was the one who got them into most of the situations anyway. His fault. So why was he denying it?

"Okay then brother," Al had never felt this mad. It felt weird in his soul, fiery and red and controlling.

"Yeah, go ahead Al, go on," don't. Please. Edward knew he couldn't win this fight. So why keep fighting? What was he so afraid of? Admitting he was wrong? Admitting it was his fault? He already knew it all was. Everything. So why keep fighting?

Red hot with anger, Al was overwhelmed, "Where should I begin?" he screamed, reaching brand new decimals of sound his voice had never before risked the climb to. His young innocent voice sounding strange and strangled, choked by his anger.

"Good god damn question Al," no, please don't begin. "I-"

"Shut up!" Al interrupted, having enough, "You have no right to blame me for any of this!"

Edward knew it was true. He immediately regretted all his previous words. He opened his mouth to agree, it was his fault, not Al's, never Al's. He was sorry.

Al continued on without letting him speak, "I told you it was a bad idea to try to bring mom back!"

"I didn't want to see her body desecrated and bloody before me!"

"I didn't want to kill her all over again!"

"I didn't choose to lose my body! I didn't take away my own life!"

"I didn't ask for this empty shell!"

"I didn't ask to become a part of the military, to leave behind my friends and family. I didn't want to lose Dad. I don't want to be in danger all the time!" he had his back turned toward his brother.

"It's not my fault, none of it. Not mom, or Winry, or Pinako, or Nina, or anyone, or anything." he whipped around suddenly with an accusing finger already extended, "It was yours!"

He stopped abruptly, immediately, as he made eye contact with the now silent boy in front of him. His words finally caught up with his brain and he gasped. He looked toward Edward with an apology lying in his soul for the next moment he could let it out, but the sight of his brother made him freeze up. Terror-stricken golden eyes looked up at him, wide and fearful. He as clenching his automail arm tightly with his flesh hand and shaking his head slowly. He suddenly looked small and fragile, frightened. His mouth moved with inaudible words, over and over again, the same unknown, silent, chant. A look of pure horror was pasted across his face. He looked so... Broken.

"Brother... I'm so- I didn't-"

Edward shook his head more viciously this time. He took a single step backwards and then shook his head once more.

"Ed... Bro-brother! I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

But Edward wasn't hearing him, he took another hesitant step backwards and with that next action...

He turned and ran.

"Brother!" Al called, panic in his voice, "Brother!"

Edward ran.

He ran until his lungs burst into flames, searing, burning fire. He ran until his heart beat its way out of his chest one painful inch at a time. He ran until he felt as if he were bleeding to death from every pore and orifice, as sweat rolled down his body in swift beads of moisture. He ran until he felt his metal limbs would become too heavy to even keep above the ground. He ran until his flesh, every single ounce of it, felt just as heavy. And then he ran faster.

He ran until he had to stop and fall to his knees and retch until his guts all lay on the street in piles of blood and bile. A twisted work of art against a gray cobblestone backdrop. He got up and ran again.

He ran until the burning sun scalded his pale skin and then ducked beneath the horizon. He ran until the stars came out to cool him down with dark caressing fingertips and sadly failed. He ran until all the acids in his stomach were pumping through his veins.

It was all his fault.

And then he ran harder.

Everything, and it always had been.

And then he ran faster.

And Alphonse knew. And Alphonse blamed him. And Alphonse hated him for it.

He ran and ran and ran.

It was all his fault.

And Edward ran.