Disclaimer: I don't own the world of FullMetal Alchemist: Hiromu Arakawa is the rightful creator of this amazing universe and the beautiful characters that inhabit it.

A/N: For everyone in the States, Happy Thanksgiving! You've probably noticed that I like posting on holidays, so what better time than today to publish the ending of a FullMetal Alchemist story I've had up since last August? And it's exactly fifteen months to the day since I last updated it! How well did that work out?

I don't entirely know how to feel right now. Excited? Tired? Relieved? I think a little of them all. I've had the main idea for this since right after I published Chapter Two, but I just could not find the flow I search for when writing; it never came, so I put this on the back burner. And then around the end of September, after I re-edited the first two chapters, I sucked it up, forced myself to sit down, and dedicated a good bit of time to this (not an easy feat when college is threatening to take over your life). You know how I complained about the previous chapters being somewhat difficult to write? I knew NOTHING. This beast tried to suck all of my creativity into a black void, and it's not even that long!

And yet for all the trouble it gave me, it turned out so much better than I anticipated, because while working on this, it was all over the place, bits and pieces of stilted conversation and lines that I wanted to fit in; looking at it now, it's hard to believe this is the same document I touched upon. It changed so much: from using the brothers' POVs for specific scenes, then switching them around, then back again, so it's been more than a bit hectic! I intended to give both Edward and Alphonse an equal amount of time, but once I started with Edward's POV, it just kept evolving and, well...you'll see.

To everyone who's read this story, I'm sorry this conclusion took so long; I know you probably all abandoned hope, but if you have stuck around for this, thank you: thank you for putting up with my craziness, my ranting, and my slow updating schedule. I hope this is what you've been waiting for.

So, without further ado, here's the final chapter of Just to Hold You.

StarKatt427

Was it really possible to miss the way the sunset felt?

Yes, Alphonse realized, it was.

The afternoon sun had been hot on his pallid skin, enough to burn through the coat Colonel Mustang had given him, so bright that he'd had to squint unused eyes for nearly an hour before they had adjusted to such intensity. Now, with the sky tinted a pale, twilight pink and the sun an orange glow where it touched his face, he couldn't contain a contented sigh; there was nothing exceptionally special about the approaching dusk, and yet it was absolutely perfect, dazzling because he could actually experience it in a way that was more than just distorted sight.

All of it was a bit staggering, really, his senses heightened and overly responsive but his body so utterly weak after all that time without use, and it was as if each action he carried out was new: his eyes stung with the exertion of blinking, tongue slow to form words and limbs too feeble to do much of anything. He'd been able to walk around for a short period of time, but then the shock of being outside The Portal, of having a soul inhabit his body for the first time in years, had rapidly caught up with him, and he'd sunk to the ground in a graceless heap. He wasn't discouraged though, not while he could still remember the texture of cool grass tickling his toes and sun baked concrete soaking into his feet.

Since he was unable to walk or do much of anything, Alphonse was more than content to simply flex his toes and stretch his fingers, reveling in the action of muscles going taught and tendons standing out beneath his skin and joints popping in a way that was not quite painful.

Because he was feeling it all.

Alphonse couldn't get over it, over any of it: after so many years of searching, endless nights spent agonizing over his existence and a lifetime's worth of sorrows, he was actually back in his body. He could smell smoke and burnt rubble from their earlier battle when he inhaled every precious breath of oxygen, feel the clement spring breeze ruffle the hair back from his face, caressing his exposed skin. The military coat Edward had helped him slide into was coarse, made of wool, which turned out to be a blessing, seeing as he couldn't get warm enough. His head was heavy, neck incapable of supporting its weight any longer, and was tipped back onto the rolls of bedding Edward had earlier deposited him against, ears ringing with voices and footsteps that seemed unusually loud amid the calm he found himself basking in. He wondered, quite suddenly, if what he was experiencing was similar to the first few months of a baby's life: everything was fresh, instincts buried deep but present, and like a newborn, he found it very taxing just to remain lucid, eyelids drooping and body limp with fatigue, begging for the sleep that he fought off until after they got to the hospital.

Watching wispy clouds cross the sky and forcing his eyes to stay open, relishing in the way his mouth pulled upward at just the thought of going through the actions of a smile, Alphonse felt such a sense of tranquility that it was nearly enough to make him want to cry. "It's so beautiful," he said softly, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Yeah," Edward observed beside him, "it is."

Ever since he'd sat down not ten minutes ago, finally allowing himself a moment's rest while waiting to head over to Central Private Hospital, Edward had been oddly quiet in comparison to the boisterous brother Alphonse had watched for most of the day. He was wearing down, though, frame bent beneath tiredness and injury, and if Alphonse hadn't insisted he let one of the on-field medics look him over, his older brother probably would have continued running around helping others until his wounds reopened and he collapsed. Spotted with grime, upper body covered in bandages, hair slipping from its braid and clothing ripped nearly to shreds, Edward should have reflected nothing a but battle-weary warrior.

When Alphonse looked at him, though, studying his brother from the corner of his eyes (as he had often found himself doing since reentering the real world), he saw that it wasn't just Edward catching a quick respite. It was the shoulder touching his own, radiating such a profound, sought after heat that Alphonse had unknowingly nestled into it as soon as the older boy had plopped down next to him. It was the fact that he saw not enervation but a satisfied, easy smile on his big brother's face, eyes lit with a vibrancy Alphonse hadn't seen since before their mother died, sheer satisfaction bubbling into his features and momentarily worry-free. It was the fact that Edward was savoring this peace between them, the first they had shared since the night they'd lost their bodies, their innocence; five long, heartbreaking years, and there they were: not yet whole, or healed, but physically together in a way both had yearned, dreamed, prayed for.

Alphonse's chest grew tight, lungs constricting and a heat blossoming somewhere inside his belly, almost more than he could stand, it was so powerful. He had nearly forgotten the physical side of emotion, the effects it racked upon the body, and though the sensations were barely more than distant memories, Alphonse knew he had never been affected so; but his older brother was always surprising him like that, bringing out more in him than he thought he was capable of ever feeling, and now was no exception, not with such a strong sense of pride, happiness, and love bunching inside him, so potent that it threatened to steal his breath. Alphonse's throat compressed painfully, but he couldn't recall what that signaled.

God, he'd missed Edward.

Finally registering Alphonse's watching eyes, Edward looked over at him, still smiling that atypically easy, serene smile. But then his gaze narrowed, attune to the air catching in the younger boy's throat and the lack of it exiting his lungs, and he straightened up to look at him better, brows snapping down over alert eyes as he searched for any indication of pain, of something being wrong. "Al, you okay?"

It took a few tries, but he managed to give a weak nod, laughing around the thickness that threatened to block his windpipe. He felt—felt!—Edward's body loosen in relief. "Yeah, I…I just...I don't know," Alphonse admitted, a little embarrassed by his inability to express the joyfulness he felt, mere words incapable of describing the sentiment that sat upon his heart. Swallowing, he smiled at Edward, the action stretching his mouth and hurting his cracked lips, but the raw bundle of emotion inside him needed to be known or else he feared he might be crushed beneath it. "I'm just really, really happy."

He watched the anxiety bleed from Edward's face, leaving behind an amazed, very naked expression for only a second, his brother's eyes flashing more brilliant than a comet and mouth obviously on the verge of a smile; it was a small pull of lips that rapidly spread wider, pleasure and delight in the line of his mouth. "Okay. Then I'm really, really glad."

Alphonse laughed, but had to stop when a cough threatened to overtake him. He probably should have asked for more water, especially since his body was in all likelihood dehydrated, but he'd nearly choked when Edward had brought him some earlier, drinking too much too quickly and not able nor wanting to slow down, the liquid shockingly cold as it moistened his mouth and traveled down his parched throat. He was a more than a little leery of such a coughing spell, one that seemed to rip at the meat between his ribs and inflame his esophagus, but he also didn't want his brother to get up in search of a drink, didn't want to lose the proximity they shared, didn't want Edward to leave him alone.

"Say something else."

They had been silent for maybe a minute when Edward voiced this, and Alphonse, using as little strength as possible to lift his head back, turned his eyes to him. "Huh?"

Edward didn't look at him for a moment, instead staring down at his right hand where it was fisted against his thigh, stunted and weak and as pale as Alphonse's entire body. Then he reached out, the motion a little jerky as he touched his fingers to the back of one of the younger boy's jagged-nailed hands.

A shock coursed through Alphonse, the friction of skin against skin sharp and delicious, nerves alive with it, and he couldn't stop the whine that vibrated in his chest. Edward paid special attention to tracing the bulging veins and knobby knuckles, stroking Alphonse's palm as he slid his hand to lace their fingers together, nails lightly scratching at the junctures between each digit. He lifted his gaze from their entwined hands, eyes blazing with determination and open longing, and when he spoke, his voice was rough in a way it very seldom was, a huskiness to his words that Alphonse had missed more than he realized.

"Your voice. Say something again," Edward commanded.

When it came to his brother, Alphonse had no difficulty seeing through the mask of indifference he often snapped into place over his genuine feelings, but in that moment, there was no veiled emotion for him to uncover because it was right there, flaring in those expressive eyes of his. Edward watched him eagerly, eyes solely on his face yet seeing everything about him and filled with a wanting, a need, born from years of separation, his gaze expressing what words could not. Alphonse was subjected to yet another emotional rush when he remembered that this was the first time his brother was hearing his voice without a metallic tinge to it.

Movement sluggish, Alphonse shifted the hand in Edward's so that he could get a better grip, grasping his fingers in a hold that was supposed to be firm but ended up causing his bones to throb in protest. He grinned past the pieces of hair that kept falling into his face. "Brother, you're hopeless."

Edward chuckled under his breath and leaned his head against Alphonse's for a moment, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze before sliding free; the loss of warmth was immediate, as was the chill that kissed the fleshy part of his palm, and Alphonse automatically tried to reclaim his hand but stopped as a weight settled over his shoulders: Edward's arm pulling him into his side. He moaned, unable to contain the low sound when his brother's body heat engulfed him, when he felt a hand slide beneath his mane of hair to brush lightly over his neck, and he pressed his nose into Edward's shoulder, inhaling a deep, quivering breath. His brother smelt like sweat and blood, salt and copper, but beneath that was the scent of cheap soap and sunlight and skin and something long forgotten, a smell Alphonse couldn't put words to but one that was instantly familiar.

It wasn't exactly like he remembered but was everything he had hoped for.

Edward had been right beside him for nearly every day of the last half decade, but without a nose, it had taken no time at all for the memory of his scent to evade Alphonse. Now, he breathed his brother in greedily, and when he felt a nose press into his hair, he knew Edward was doing likewise.

Their goal had been achieved, but the journey stretching out ahead of them was a long one. Even with Edward's body feeding nutrients into his own, Alphonse had received a great deal of damage to his muscles and bones, possibly even his organs, and it would only be once they got to the hospital and he was examined that they would know the full extent of it. But sitting there, watching the sun gradually approach the skyline, a sense of rightness he hadn't felt in many years settled around his heart, and Alphonse tuned out the rest of the world so that there was only this: Edward and him, his brother's shoulder against his chin and Edward's hand rubbing at his arm.

And in that moment, everything was perfect.

By the time the medical staff entrusted with their delicate situation had completed diagnosing Alphonse's condition and checking both brothers for impairments, it was dark out, the sky inky blue and peppered with stars, and Edward was utterly exhausted—physically, mentally, and psychologically. Painkillers had taken most of the bite out of his countless injuries, the twinge dulled to a blunt soreness that he did well at managing, having long ago grown accustomed to handling pain. What with their battle against Father and the aftermath following, he had been too preoccupied to feel the lack of sleep, but now that he was somewhat comfortable and sitting still, lassitude was creeping up his spine and begging him for rest. In all honesty, though, he didn't think he would be able to sleep for a long while, not when he was so enraptured by the miracle that was his little brother lying across from him.

Some of it was probably shock, but no matter how long he stared at Alphonse, saw his chest rise and fall with each breath and caught the miniscule movement of his twitching eyelids, Edward couldn't entirely comprehend the fact that this was real. Years spent in search of a solution, lead after useless lead and hours dedicated in silent study, spilling blood and sweat and shedding tears while trying to obtain a seemingly impossible end…and yet there he was, no longer clanking metal and echoing words, an unfeeling shell, but with lungs that took in and expelled air and a heart pumping untainted blood through his veins, possessing a warmth Edward couldn't get enough of. Alphonse was utterly small in his hospital bed, pallor so sickly pale that he seemed to blend in amid the regulation white sheets and pillows, but he was still one of the most beautiful things Edward had ever seen.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Edward had allowed a physician to look over his arm, the limb shrunken and sallow, for just a moment and only because Alphonse had asked him to, long enough for him to learn what he already knew: after physical therapy, exercises to rebuild the muscles, he'd be fine. A nurse had then rebandaged several of his deeper lacerations and removed the inflamed pieces of metal lodged in his shoulder and chest, the last traces of his automail arm, applying antiseptic that stung like a bitch and stitching up the wound in his left arm, the whole while asking him to stop fidgeting; the pain was a mild discomfort, one he instinctively cringed away from, but he'd mostly been trying to get a better view of what was going on with his brother, worry making him impatient. He'd returned to his place at Alphonse's side as soon as she'd finished, where he'd watched Doctor Knox like a hawk as the man carefully flexed his little brother's hands and feet, stretched his legs, asked him to lift his arms as high as he could, while another—Kitchard, Edward remembered, his last name was Kitchard—checked his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth with a flashlight.

Initially, because of Alphonse being in such a susceptible state, they were to have separate rooms across from one another, but Edward had shot that idea straight to hell with nothing more than a stern glare at the doctor who proposed it. "We're not being separated."

Kitchard, not yet familiar with Edward and his well-known tenacity, had looked to Knox for confirmation, and the older doctor had simply snorted and left it at that, knowing the issue was not debatable.

After nearly two hours of examination, blood work, multiple tests, and machines being hooked up at his side, it was determined that for the time being, Alphonse's condition was stable. Since they wouldn't receive any results for at least another day, both doctors said that the only thing they needed to worry about was keeping Alphonse comfortable and making sure he got some sleep.

Sitting in one of the hospital's hardback chairs, Edward found his gaze almost continuously on his brother, still amazed that Alphonse was actually in the flesh again and feeling a newfound peace as he watched him. Distantly, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd wake in the morning to find all of this nothing more than another dream; that he would see the hulking armor sitting in the corner of the room, hunched in on itself, hear the hollow clanging and feel the jar of each footstep through his entire body, have those soul-fire eyes bore into his. He couldn't go back to that, not after hearing Alphonse's voice without that cursed ricochet and feeling soft skin beneath his fingers and seeing his little brother look at him with his human eyes: molten honey, rich and luminous. In some ways, today almost did feel like a dream—a crazy, impossible, wonderful dream. But Edward, ever logical, knew that he was awake, that even his imagination couldn't create a plot twist so elaborate, that he'd finally, finally, made good on his promise to return Alphonse to the body he was born with.

Reality was much better than anything he had ever dreamt up.

Cheek propped on his fist, mouth curling into a slight smile, Edward continued to study his brother, watching his eyes slowly blink open and listening to the sound of his even breathing. It was a feat of willpower that Alphonse was still alert, just an example of how strong he was; as the night grew later and the darkness of the room deepened, so did the signs of physical fatigue upon his body. His eyes were heavy lidded, bleary at times from lack of sleep, and Edward caught them fluttering on more than one occasion. He'd almost completely stopped trying to move around, too worn from the doctors' earlier probing, a fact that annoyed Edward more than he'd thought it would; he knew they'd just been gauging the degree of damage done to Alphonse's body, but seeing his little brother so defenseless and drained of energy afterward had caused a crushing wave of protectiveness to wash over him.

When Alphonse's mouth opened with the first yawn Edward had heard from him in a lustrum, a sudden tenderness wrapped around his heart, still as ardent as when he'd first clasped his brother's hand in his, slipped his arm around Alphonse's scrawny back. A little captivated, he asked quietly, "You asleep yet, Al?"

A throaty chuckle, eyes that had just closed opening, and Alphonse looked to him, answering the same question Edward had been asking off and on since the hospital staff had left their room for the night twenty minutes ago, just down the hall in case of an emergency. "Nearly. Brother, I literally can't keep my eyes open much longer."

"Then stop trying. Isn't sleep what you missed the most? You've got a lot to catch up on," Edward reasoned. He knew he would never understand just how lonely, how isolating, those long nights had been for his brother while the world around him grew still and silent; all he could do was imagine the utter exhaustion that must have plagued him in his solitude, the strain on both his soul and sanity, and Edward never wanted his brother to bear that again.

Besides, if he was being honest, he wanted to see Alphonse asleep, to hear his breathing go slow and deep and watch the lines around his eyes ease in peaceful slumber, to know his little brother was finding the rest he had coveted for so long.

Alphonse started to reply, the beginning of words exiting in a raspy breath, but stopped abruptly before whatever he'd begun to say could make itself known. He sighed and sunk further into the pillows supporting his head, almost as if the action of exhaling caused him to deflate, eyes lowering to his lap. "That's not what I missed the most. Not really," he said quietly.

Edward, now curious, asked, "So then what is?"

Instead of answering, Alphonse titled his head to look at him better, some of his long, lank hair falling over his eyes; he probably would have pushed it back, but even such an effortless action as brushing hair aside was tiring, so his face remained partly obscured by his blonde bangs. The fluorescent light overhead had been too harsh on Alphonse's unused eyes, so Edward had turned it off in favor of what moonlight spilled in through the windows, illuminating the room in a muted blueness that seemed to bleach not only Alphonse's skin but his eyes, eyes that Edward was unable to stop staring into. "Come here for a second," his younger brother said, phrased as a question more than an order.

The mild request endeared itself to Edward's heart, his stomach and chest clenching with an affection from long ago, and he stood gingerly, movements slow so that he wouldn't wrench his muscles any farther or tug at recently knitted skin as he walked to his brother's hospital bed. Standing there over Alphonse, he quickly scrutinized the equipment attached to him, looking over each device to make sure everything—heart rate, pulse—read normal. Thankfully, no oxygen mask was required since Alphonse was getting enough air on his own, the only apparatus on his face being the feeding tube inserted beneath his nose. Several machines had taken up residence on the other side of his bed, one tracking his heart rate through the monitor cuffed on his pointer finger, the other an IV dripping clear fluid into his bloodstream and filled with all the nourishments, supplements, and fluids he required. Taped to the back of his left hand was the IV needle, which seemed abnormally large to Edward, the skin around the puncture sight already bruising a bluish violet; he'd had to restrain himself from assaulting the nurse when she'd felt out one of Alphonse's larger veins and pierced translucent skin with the sharp point, causing his brother to wince, eyebrows pulling down marginally and face twisting in momentary confusion. Then he'd looked at Edward, smiling sheepishly, and said in astonishment, "That hurt," and Edward had very nearly lost any ability to speak, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or start sobbing.

For a few moments, all they did was stare at each other, Alphonse not able to do anything besides look up at him with a little half smile on his face, and Edward, who had never been much of a patient person, waited tolerantly and did not rush his brother, simply watched Alphonse and waited for his desire to make itself known.

It came in the form of a gaunt hand reaching out, Edward instantly alerted to the clumsy progress of fingers splaying toward him, sliding over the back of his right hand before taking hold. The touch brought about a current that shot up his wrist and arm and shoulder, fresh skin against fresh skin electric, a tingling he hadn't managed to adapt to yet that caused his breathing to speed up involuntarily. His little brother's fingers fumbled as they slid to grasp at his, and Edward had to forcefully swallow down whatever sound tried to emit from his throat as he let Alphonse tug his hand toward himself, watched as he placed their interlocked hands over the middle of his gaunt chest.

And there it was, the steady, thudding base beneath his palm, thumping a similar rhythm to his own: Alphonse's heart.

Drawing in a tremulous breath, Edward centered in on that stable beat, able to detect the slightest quickening in speed as it tapped against his hand, and his own heart seemed to respond by accelerating.

Seeing Alphonse smile, hearing his voice and laugh without the reverberation of metal, feeling supple skin and brittle hair and having those day-glow eyes lock with his, was nearly too much for Edward's weary soul, but it was exactly everything he had wished for.

Alphonse laughed, the sound a little shaky. "It's so weird, being able to feel my heartbeat again. Just having one."

Edward couldn't respond, voice lost somewhere around the base of his sternum, could only smile at his little brother and hold more tightly to the hand in his but not enough to cause pain. There was no need to say anything: Alphonse saw every emotion that threatened to overtake him, knew of but could not fully understand the absolute misery that had nearly succeeded on more than one occasion to break Edward's heart, the guilt he'd suffered through because he had lost only two limbs while his brother was robbed of his entire body. Having Alphonse's physical, human presence at his side once again was the balm that would begin the process of healing his tormented soul.

Still, Edward had regrets: that his brother was so skeletal, body almost cadaverous, that he hadn't been able to sleep enough or eat enough or even drink enough milk to keep Alphonse in better health, that the younger boy was restricted to a feeding tube and wouldn't be able to physically eat anything on his own for a while yet, that he could barely move or speak without tiring, that he wasn't going to be able to walk for a long time. But having him back…it made everything else seem miniscule at the moment, worries of another day, and so Edward didn't let himself dwell on the struggles ahead of them, not when Alphonse's hand held his and his brother's heart was a sure, thumping beat.

He'd been so busy looking at their hands—pathetically underdeveloped, pale, identical—that when he raised his gaze back to Alphonse's, he wasn't expecting the pensive expression that tugged at the younger boy's mouth, furrowed his eyebrows unhappily. Edward's initial thought was that he was in pain—that his atrophied muscles were cramping or his other hand hurting from the needle in it, but he managed to remain calm. Barely. "Al?"

Alphonse pulled their hands into his lap, bringing his other arm up slowly from where it rested by his leg so that he cradled Edward's hand between both of his, his thumbs caressing the busted knuckles he'd received from fighting Father earlier. Without looking at him, Alphonse said almost inaudibly, "You gave up your alchemy for me."

First came sheer relief at knowing his little brother was alright, then understanding at what his words meant. Edward didn't deny it. "Yeah."

Alphonse swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and looked up at him with what only could be described as shame, which made Edward kind of want to smack him upside the head; wasn't Alphonse the one who always said he took on too much guilt? "You…you didn't have to do that. I never wanted to you—"

"I'd do it again in a instant," Edward interrupted without hesitation, voice dropping in pitch with the significance of his words. "I would give anything for you. You know that."

"But Brother, you…you're…"

"The FullMetal Alchemist?" he asked with a grin, lips pulling back from his teeth. "No, Al. I've never been anything more than a human. Just Ed." He sighed, looking at his hand where Alphonse held it, at the joints jutting out and the nails he'd already bit off, blue veins like rivers flowing up the inside of his arm. "I'm not gonna lie…I'll miss it. For as long as I can remember, it's been such a big part of my, you know? Ever since we realized it made Mom happy, because we'd do anything to make her smile. And after she died, it was about bringing her back, and then getting you your body." He lifted his eyes back to Alphonse, to the one person his life had centered around for five years now, his driving force, his best friend, and he knew he would never regret his decision; how could he? Yes, he would miss alchemy, he didn't try to delude himself or lie to his brother. He would miss the resounding clap as his palms made contact, the feel of earth shifting beneath his hands, the pure, glowing light that accompanied a transmutation, the smiles that lit peoples' faces when alchemy helped them. He would miss it, but he would not mourn it. Because when it came to Alphonse, his brother won.

His brother would always win.

Edward smiled, shifting his hand so that he could brush his thumb over the pulse at his brother's wrist soothingly. "But I don't need it. Not when I have you, and Winry and Granny, and Teacher and Sig. Mustang, Lieutenant Hawkeye, Ling…not when I have everyone. I don't need it anymore."

Alphonse stared owlishly at him, eyes shimmering and hands gone still beneath Edward's gentle ministration, the honesty of his words settling over him. And then he smiled, not quite laughing through his closed lips but almost, and that was the end of that.

The younger boy looked down at Edward's hands, the left strengthened by years of hard work and larger than either of his own, the right as gangly as the ones that held it. His eyes traveled up Edward's arm, all the way to his shoulder, and he smiled crookedly, an extremely Alphonse gesture Edward hadn't realized he'd missed so much, lips pursed slightly with the grin that lifted them. "Wonder what Winry will say when you show up without that masterpiece of hers?"

Edward grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes. "She'll probably take that dammed wrench to my head. As usual."

"She only does that when you deserve it," Alphonse remarked.

"Who's side you on?"

"Neutral party."

"Smart-ass."

Alphonse giggled, gravelly and faint beneath his breath, music to Edward's soul, a prelude to the moment when he would full-out laugh, loud and pure and unrestrained. "She'll be happy," he said.

Gradually, Edward smiled, imagining those blue eyes of hers filling, crying the tears of happiness he'd promised her all those months ago as she welcomed them home; he found himself quite fond of this picture. "Yeah, she will."

He was still in the middle of envisioning Winry, blonde hair and sapphire eyes and wide smile, when Alphonse said softly, "I'm happy too, Brother."

Snapping back to the present, Edward looked to see that Alphonse was still staring at his right arm, eyes half-lidded and peaceful, not smiling but still obviously happy. He looked at Edward, and suddenly, the resemblance between Alphonse and their mother was devastatingly apparent: same eye shape and facial structure, even with him being so gaunt, same compassionate soul that was both giving and stubborn. The customary ache that accompanied the thought of his mother gripped Edward when he saw that serene expression, yet nothing could have made him break eye contact. "I got you your arm back," Alphonse stated.

"And nearly gave me a heart attack," he reminded not quite without vexation. While he was thankful for the sacrifice his brother had made to restore his arm (which he had never really thought was a possibility), Edward did not like thinking of just how close he had come to losing him, those God awful minutes when he couldn't think of any way to bring Alphonse back safely, when he had been faced with that sickening desolation of being alone for the second time in his life, something inside him threatening to shatter irreversibly.

Alphonse, though not remorseful for what he'd done, smiled apologetically at the fear that had slipped into Edward's voice. "You sacrificed your arm to bring me back, that's why I was able to use my soul to return it to you. I'm glad I could help you win."

Edward laughed, using his free hand to lightly ruffle the other boy's hair, fingers catching in the strands as he pushed it from his face. "Stupid. You are the reason we won."

Alphonse didn't comment on that, simply basked in the familiar touch against his head and tightened the hold he had on Edward's hand, a baby's grip, feeble and without much pressure.

Moments later, when he was still staring at their hands, Alphonse hesitantly began drawing circles up Edward's right wrist, and the older boy sucked in a sharp breath at the contact; it was a nearly weightless pressure, but wherever those fingers touched, his skin flared to life as if he was regaining the flow of blood, skin pricking almost painfully, and he wondered how Alphonse could stand every inch of his body feeling so susceptible. The younger Elric trailed his hand up Edward's forearm, then along the withered muscles of his bicep to slide beneath the sleeve of the cotton T-shirt he wore before stopping. Alphonse's eyes flickered to his shoulder, signifying the silent, unsure wanting, and without question, Edward gently pulled his brother's hand free, lifting it to touch at the exposed skin of his neck so that fingers rested over his pulse point. He kept his eyes with Alphonse's, hyperaware of lengthy nails catching on the raw, bumpy scar tissue at his right shoulder, his little brother's hand traveling up the side of his throat to halt abruptly at his chin.

When Edward spoke, his voice shook slightly. "Alphonse?"

The younger boy watched him with a hungry, forthright yearning, eyes flashing with it as his teeth came out to graze his bottom lip, expression shy and a little uncertain. "Brother, can…can I…?"

Not for the first time that day, Edward was afraid he might cry. He'd already shed tears once, broken and hurting and alone and terrified, and he wasn't entirely sure that he would be able to prevent more liquid from filling his eyes now, not when Alphonse was looking at him with such a profound wanting, not when he could feel his little brother's touch as it was meant to be.

Edward didn't answer, wouldn't have been able to force words past the knot in his throat, just leaned in closer so that Alphonse's hand was touching his face.

Eyes gone wide, Alphonse struggled to take in a lungful of air as he timidly let his fingers stroke along Edward's jaw, traveling back to trace the ridge of his ear before returning to ghost over his cheekbones. Alphonse felt at his eyes, Edward blinking so that the lashes would tickle his fingers, and his brother's mouth opened in awe at the feathery touch, causing the older boy to smile. Fingers tentatively touched the corner of his mouth, their pads cool at they outlined his lips, and a deep, rumbling sigh thundered out of Edward's chest as he leaned into the hand that cupped his cheek.

"What's it like?" he asked somewhat roughly against Alphonse's palm, lips touching the base of his hand. "Being able to feel again."

The smile that lit his brother's face was brighter than any stars shining out of the dark sky. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

Edward chuckled, closing his eyes as he brought his hand up to touch the back of Alphonse's, smiling at the heat that flushed his cheek, spread like fire down his neck, a deep-rooted contact that for so long had been nothing more than a wistful memory. A thumb rubbed hypnotic patterns over his jaw, behind his ear, and he sighed, more than content to remain in whatever sort of trance held him for eternity.

When Alphonse's hand dropped abruptly to his lap, an instant cold replaced the warmth of his fingers, and Edward tried not to miss it too much as he lowered his own now empty hand. Though Alphonse had used up what little strength he had left, he didn't look deterred: instead, an utterly thrilled, if not slightly dazed smile lifted his mouth, delight glistening in his eyes as he watched Edward, and seeing that was almost enough to replace the feel of his touch.

Almost.

Since they had returned from The Portal, both had been almost constantly touching one another; small, simple exchanges that were still intimate, whether in the form of a hand holding Edward's arm for support or Edward hoisting Alphonse up onto his back as if he were a child. In those few minutes they'd shared before going to the hospital, Edward had been able to sit by his brother's side and bury his face in his hair and just breathe for the first time since they'd lost their bodies, a deep breath full of relief at knowing their search was over at last.

Now, in their hospital room, was the first time they'd been together—really, truly together—since the start of winter, without the scrutinizing eyes of doctors and nurses and soldiers, free to find comfort in each other's presence.

Edward had never been very affectionate and never would be, but looking down on his brother and yearning to let his fingers rememorize each feature, feel the heat of blood beneath his skin, just touch him…that was the only word he could think of to describe the need inside him. He had been able to wonder at his brother's touch; it was only right that Alphonse got to do the same. Equivalent Exchange, after all.

Swallowing, not exactly nervous but unable to describe the emotion writhing in his chest, Edward extended his hand toward his brother, pretending not to notice the infinitesimal spasm that jerked his fingers as they descended to linger just over Alphonse's wrist, waiting for confirmation though he knew it wasn't required. He looked at his brother, at his parted lips and rounded eyes, lashes fanning against the discolored skin beneath them as he blinked rapidly. Then Alphonse gazed at him, needy and anxious and looking so much younger than fifteen, giving Edward the distinct suspicion that he couldn't form words as his head tipped down in the slightest nod.

Edward's fingers touched lightly to the backs of his brother's, and for what felt like the millionth time since their hands had first clasped earlier that day, he marveled at the sensation of being able to feel smooth skin rather than unforgiving metal. Nerve endings snapping to life, Edward caressed each finger, massaging their bases, before encircling his wrist, the bones there fragile and poking out against his hand. Absently delineating the lines of his palm, Edward let his hand travel along his brother's skeletal arm, mapping veins up to the crease in his elbow, all the while unable to look away from the movement of his fingers moving over Alphonse's skin.

I'm touching him. I'm actually feeling him.

Alphonse sighed out blissfully, eyes slipping shut and mouth graced by a smile. "If you keep doing that, I'll definitely be asleep soon."

"Good, your voice is starting to slur," Edward jested, the words not entirely carrying the lighthearted tone he'd hoped to achieve.

The only response he got was a half intelligible grunt, Alphonse too comfortable to form a reply as Edward let his blunt nails scratch at the skin below them. He stroked up his brother's shoulder, similar to the attention he'd received, then to the hollow at his thin neck, fingers sweeping over the protruding collar bones and along his throat before stopping to momentarily hover just above Alphonse's face.

When the tips of his fingers came in contact with a lean cheek, he did not miss the gasp that ripped from his brother's chest, a overwhelmed, breathy little sound that made Edward's eyes sting. Alphonse shuddered, opening clouded honey eyes to watch him as he slid his fingers down the younger boy's jaw, pushing aside the curtain of hair that fell to the middle of his back so that he could touch the curl of one ear. Fingers gliding over his brother's cheekbone, he tweaked Alphonse's nose, tracing it from bridge to tip, over the hideous feeding tube, then down to his lips; they trembled beneath the friction ridges of his thumb, the breath that Alphonse exhaled warming his hand as he smoothed over the chapped skin. Edward drew over the curve of his eyebrows, let his fingers slide across Alphonse's forehead to push the hair back before trailing a feather light touch down to his eyes, which closed momentarily, his little brother's frame visibly quavering the longer he continued his exploration.

Edward didn't realize until then that he, too, was shaking, shoulders quaking and inhalations coming in ragged pants, the hand that now clutched Alphonse's cheek unsteady as he thumbed the skin around his brother's eye. There was a thickness within his chest he couldn't recall ever feeling, sticky and warm and nearly enough to send him folding in on himself to the floor in an emotional heap. His throat ached, eyes throbbing and damp, the area above his nose gone tight with tears, and he couldn't get a hold of himself; really, though, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

With anyone else, it would have been uncomfortable, the attention they paid one another; but because it was Edward and Alphonse, because they were brothers and because of what they had gone through together, shared together, it wasn't awkward. It could never be awkward, not after everything they had faced, not after the separation they had endured; and though a barrier had stood between them, one not physical but still imposing and nearly impossible to breach, it was never enough to severe their connection, a union born the moment they bound themselves together all those years ago, their blood mingling in an everlasting bond.

Alphonse's other hand, the one debilitated by the needle, came to cover his, the sigh that left him hot against Edward's palm and eyes glassy with tears. "You, Brother," he whispered, voice choked. "You are what I missed most."

Edward lost it.

With a half strangled laugh, he bent over and shoved his face into Alphonse's neck, breath hitching unsteadily when his nose came in contact with the skin there, ignoring the flare of pain that traced up his side as his bruised ribs objected to the sudden movement. Alphonse's entire body went rigid, the sense that was touch still so overpowering, and then his muscles relaxed, a heartrending whimper lodged in his throat as he somehow found the strength to gradually get his arms around Edward, using the momentum to pull himself up enough so that he was able to bury his face against the older boy's throat, hand catching at his loose ponytail. "Brother, it's okay. It's okay."

"I know," he croaked, unable to feel self-conscious when he realized his vision had finally blurred and tears were leaking out from beneath his closed eyelids. He caught at the back of Alphonse's hair, smiling when his little brother breathed out a garbled laugh. "I know."

The tears that clogged his throat, made his temples pulse and eyes burn, were unfamiliar; Edward had never cried out of joy, had never thought it possible, until then, when he was clutching his little brother and Alphonse was holding onto him without restraint, and there were no more boundaries, no more holding back.

Alphonse nuzzled into him, hands snatching at the back of his shirt and arms trembling with exertion, yet he did not let go. "You kept your promise," he whispered, words warming Edward's skin.

"Of course I did. I always knew I'd get your body back."

"No, not just that," Alphonse said with a slight shake of his head. Wetness pooled at Edward's neck, soaked into his shirt, and against him, he could feel Alphonse grinning through his tears, the first he'd shed since he was a ten-year-old child. "You're hugging me. You're really hugging me, Brother."

Edward laughed, though it was more of a relieved sob, and simply held him tighter in a hug that was both fierce and tender.

For years, he'd dreamed of this day; when he'd be able to witness his brother's smile, see him cry the tears his armor body had never allowed him to weep, when he'd no longer have to stare into the straight-faced visor and guess at whatever expression accompanied his words, when he'd be able to commit each feature to memory so that he would never again forget the slight crinkle of his little brother's eyes when he laughed, the way his smile pulled up more on the right side, every shade of gold in his irises and each pale, nearly nonexistent freckle that dotted over his nose, barely visible due to his time without sunlight. Edward had dreamed of fulfilling the vow he'd made in that surgical bed, just before he'd begun the long, arduous process of acquiring automail, when he'd looked up at Alphonse and swore he'd return him to his body; he'd dreamed of the moment when he'd be able to see the soul shining out from his brother's eyes, feel the warmth of his smile and the love in his touch, relax into the familiarity between them and allow himself to be everything he'd denied these last several years: broken yet complete, vulnerable but also strong, simultaneously restless and calm, both protector and protected.

Dreams, though, were never enough, and paled in comparison to the reality of both holding Alphonse and being held by him, of smelling his scent and feeling his bony body vibrate with tears and laughter, mouth smiling against Edward's shoulder and hands clinging to him.

With a sniff, Edward pulled back and swiped his face over his shirt sleeve before cradling Alphonse's head, the heels of his palms against his brother's cheeks and fingers snarling in his hair, blinking the last tears from his eyes. He pressed their foreheads together, grinning widely, and Alphonse laughed, his hands fumbling to grab at Edward's, a steady stream of tears dripping down his chin.

Dreams weren't enough.

But this—this real, beautiful, breathtaking moment—was more than enough.

It was everything.