Mossmask: The following is post Brotherhood, and AU in ways which should become obvious rather quickly.

~Dash

For Worse
Fullmetal Alchemist fanfiction
by The Cinderninja

Al just kept getting weaker.

It was all wrong.

He was supposed to be getting his strength back and sitting up on his own and being able to start eating solid food. He wasn't supposed to be getting thinner, he was already too thin, far too thin. He wasn't supposed to be breathing through a mask because his lungs were to weak to do the job right. His hair wasn't supposed to keep falling out, even after the hospital staff had cut it.

He wasn't supposed to be dying, but that's exactly what he was doing.

After everything they'd gone through to get his body back, he wasn't supposed to just die.

The worst part was, it was all Ed's fault.

There were so many ways it was his fault. He had been the one to bring Al back, after seeing how frail he'd been in the Gate. He had been the one who was supposed to be eating and sleeping for both of them. So why was his own body so strong still while Al's withered in the Gate? It should have been the other way around. He didn't need all of the nutrients. His body shouldn't be so healthy while Al's was so utterly weak.

He was the one who had put his brother there in the first place. He was the one who had come up with the idea of trying human transmutation, he was the one who had ignored his brother ever single time he tried to voice his concerns. He was the one who asked for his brother's help when he should have just done it alone if he'd wanted it that badly. He was the one who'd thrown his brother's body to the Gate without a second thought. He was the one who only lost a leg while his brother lost his whole body. How was that fair at all? It just wasn't. It wasn't fair.

He was supposed to be the big brother, and he'd made so many mistakes. Big mistakes. Unforgivable mistakes. Not the kind of mistakes that you could fix with apologies or band aids. The kind of mistakes that left your baby brother dying on a hospital bed in front of you while you sat there, helpless, and failed him yet again.

He was supposed to be responsible for him. When Al was born, his mother had told him to protect him. She had told him that Al was his, that he was something to cherish, and keep safe. Ed had promised that he would. He had failed both of them. Al was the most important thin in Ed's world. Al was Ed's world. Why couldn't Ed have just seen that he had Al, and that was enough? Why had he needed to put both of them through this? Al had suffered so much because of Ed's selfishness.

Al had trusted him.

Al had always trusted him and he had done nothing but let him down.

And then Al had forgiven him. Time and time again when he didn't deserve it.

Ed felt hot tears leaking down his face, and it was a strange sensation. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to cry. It was silent, but it still hurt. Ed could hardly breathe for all the heaving his chest was doing. It felt like his heart was being raked over hot coals. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Ed's hands – both flesh – were balled into fists, gripping the blankets on the bed so tightly that his knuckles were nearly the same shade of white as the linen. The entire room was dark save for the moonlight filtering in through the windows, and silent save for the sound of Al's laboured breathing and his oxygen machine. Ed watched as his brother slept, not knowing if this would be the time he didn't wake up again.

Ed didn't believe in God, and he never would. He didn't believe in equivalent exchange anymore either. He definitely didn't believe in himself. Everything he had believed in had failed him. He would believe in Al, and that was it. He would put his faith in Al. He would trust that Al could succeed everywhere that he had failed.

Ed had not let himself cry for years. Not since he had trapped Al in his armor prison. Now he couldn't stop if he tried.

He swore at the doctors every time they tried to wean him onto the idea that Al would not be leaving this hospital while he was still alive. He shouted and broke things and had been forcibly removed more times then he could count, but he always found a way back in and in the end, they let him be.

Al used to tell him not to be so harsh on the doctors, they were only doing their jobs. And Ed would say that they weren't doing them good enough. Al would try to convince him that they were doing the best they could. Ed didn't know how even then, Al was the positive one.

Al used to spend his time playing with Ed's hair. He could waste hours braiding it and unbraiding it and running it through his fingers. He always had to be touching something, or playing with his hands. By far his favourite thing to touch, however, was Ed's hair. He said that he had always wanted to know what it felt like. Al used to brush their mother's hair when they were little, and he said that combing Ed's reminded him of that.

He would get Ed to climb up on the bed beside him and they would sit there and talk the whole day. After a while, he stopped being able to talk as much and let Ed do the talking instead. He would lean his head against Ed's chest and listen to the vibrations. He stopped playing with Ed's hair a little while after that. He would still get Ed to climb up beside him though, and he would lie with his head in Ed's lap. He would rest there and instead have Ed play with his hair – which was still long at the time. This was all before the doctors had cut it in attempt to get it to stop falling out.

He didn't like sleeping alone, and made Ed stay with him. That is, he had asked once, nervously, almost embarrassed, and Ed had immediately agreed and made it clear that whether hospital staff had any different ideas was irrelevant. Ed would climb into bed beside his brother and they would sleep together just like when they were little. Ed didn't care if people saw him or what they might think. It had never been about his reputation, it had always been about his brother. The reputation had just come as a side effect of his strong, and occasionally abrasive personality.

But Al was too weak for all that now. He was too weak for braiding hair, too weak for talking, too weak to climb in his brother's lap. Ed wasn't allowed to climb up on the bed anymore either, because it might disturb Al's breathing.

There was absolutely nothing Ed could do. He was a genius, a prodigy, he and Al together. And they'd come this far. They'd done the impossible and gotten their bodies back. And now he was going to lose him again this soon and there was nothing he could do and there would be no more binding his soul to something else. Even if he could still do the alchemy to keep his brother's soul here, he wouldn't. It would be selfish to put his brother through that all over again. He'd give up all of his limbs all over again if it could keep his brother here for even a little bit longer, but it couldn't. There was absolutely nothing he could do. It had been a very long time since he had felt this helpless.

None of this would have happened at all if it weren't for him. He and Al could have just lived normal lives and grown up in Resembool with Winry if he hadn't felt the need to play God and drag his brother down with him. He was always dragging Al down. Al could have been so much more. He could have done so much. If Ed hadn't ruined his life.

It was all his fault.

Everything.

Ed's grip loosened as he pulled a wad of sheets up to his face and buried it in them. He was overwhelmed by Alphonse's scent – he'd forgotten it – and he let himself cry. He cried until the sheets he held were soaked through and then he kept crying because he was so sick of losing everyone he loved. He wasn't ready for this. And he'd never be able to live with himself if Al died because of him.

His chest hurt and it wasn't just from the tightness of the tears. It burned and his heart felt heavy and he felt like everything was over right then. This was worse then when their mother died because this time there was no false hope and this time it was his own fault. He only quieted when Al stirred.

He was an awful brother.

Al wanted to see Winry. He wished he could see her face one last time. He took off his breathing apparatus and told Ed as much. Ed said nothing and instead stared at Al. Al didn't even realize what he'd said, so it never occurred to him that Ed would be so bothered by his word choice.

Ed watched him silently for a few moments until he started to cough. At that point Ed reached over with his – flesh and blood – right hand and replaced the breathing mask on his face. Then he'd promised to do what he could. He hadn't told Al, but he'd already called Resembool and let Winry know the situation. She should be on a train arriving later that very day.

Al moved the mask again – he wasn't feeling any stronger today. He didn't feel any more able to talk now then he had the day before. It just felt more important so he managed it. He had a sense of urgency about him today. He needed to spend it with the ones he loved. He didn't think this body would last him too much longer.

"Ed..."

Ed looked up again and frowned softly. He didn't like Al taking his mask off, but he had felt the exact same sense of urgency. It was like an aura that hung over the room, and Ed was selfish. He'd been selfish from the start and would be until the end. He wanted to speak with Al again.

Al wanted Ed to climb back up beside him. Ed knew he'd get in trouble again, but couldn't find it in himself to care. He'd listen to his baby brother over stuffy old doctors any day.

Al rested his head on his brother's chest and Ed played with his short but brittle hair. Al kept his breathing mask off the whole time. It would only get in the way. They talked about home, and they talked about going back. They talked about what would be the first thing Al ate when he got out of the hospital. They wondered about what Ed was going to do now without his alchemy. Al teased Ed about Winry, and when was he going to admit that he liked her? Ed responded by asking Al how long he was planning on waiting before he visited May in Xing, which shut the younger brother up quickly.

Al suddenly remembered Julia. He told Ed about the promise he made to go see her once he got his body back. Ed laughed and when Al asked why, he said that they would need to start making a list of all the things to do and places to go and people to visit. Both boys agreed that they were going to be awfully busy once Al got better. Probably even moreso then they had been dealing with this whole Philosopher's Stone mess and the homunculi.

Al wanted to go swimming.

They spent hours talking, and in those hours, the world consisted of Ed and Al and nothing else. Because Ed was Al's world and Al was Ed's, and they were together.

Those boys who mixed their blood together and shared their souls and were closer then anyone else in the world.

And it was Winry who found them like that, side by side and hand in hand with Al's head on Ed's chest and Ed's head on Al's shoulder, looking for all the world like they were asleep. And Winry fell to her knees and couldn't make a sound because she knew she was too late.

It was always the two of them, leaving her out of everything.

They always left her behind.

She stood, entwined her hand with theirs, and planted a kiss on both of her boys foreheads as she finally let the tears fall. But at the heart of it, they were happy tears. Because Al was in his real body, and the brothers were smiling, and in the end, they were together. Always together.

It was the best either of those boys could have hoped for.