Chapter Text
I’m real, Edward. I’m not just part of your dreams like you thought. I care, and I make mistakes. I may not live much longer, but I’ll still be here. Just don’t forget me.
Ed closed his eyes. Alfons’ voice was as clear in his mind as it had been the day that last conversation took place. He could still hear the affection in the young man’s voice, an affection realized tragically too late. He could still feel the warmth of the palm covering his gloved hand. And even though he had resigned himself to find what happiness he could in this world with Al by his side, his heart was still burdened by the weight of his loss. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, that any sort of evil be allowed to thrive while someone as kind and sweet as Alfons was cut down far too soon by a bullet or, if not for that, an illness.
He reached for the bottle in front of him and was surprised to find that it was almost empty. After a quick glance over his shoulder to verify that Al was still asleep, he filled his glass and drank deeply. Now, without the restraint of sobriety to hold him back, he contemplated the idea that had taken root in the back of his mind in the weeks since Alfons’ death. If he was going to do it, he would need to act fast, before it was too late to try. But of course he wasn’t going to do it because it was foolish and crazy and there was no guarantee that it would even work.
… But what if it did work? What if the conditions of this world made it possible to do what he couldn’t do in the other?
Ed looked to his brother again, his lips curving into a sad smile. He didn’t like the thought of keeping him in the dark but there was no way that he was going to risk losing him again. Never again. If Ed decided to do this, then he was going to act alone. Alfons had been his… friend. There was no reason to drag Al into it.
Later, as the first traces of dawn crept into the bedroom, Ed made his decision.
He was going to bring Alfons back.
* * *
Once Ed made up his mind to attempt what by all rights should have been impossible, a strange sort of peace overcame him. Happiness, even. The following morning, he was back to the Ed that Al knew best, and the younger Elric was pleasantly surprised by the overnight transition.
“Why are you in such a good mood all of a sudden?” Al inquired as Ed greedily devoured his breakfast.
Ed swallowed a mouthful of food before responding. “Today is a wonderful day, Al.”
“But it just started.”
“That doesn’t change a thing.” Ed shoved a bratwurst in his mouth and smiled. It was his first real smile in weeks. “I have you, I have food—”
And soon I’ll have Alfons.
“—so life is pretty good, don’t you think?”
Al nodded and resumed eating. The underlying sorrow that had been evident in all of his big brother’s words and actions was gone, and he refused to question the reason any further for fear of dampening Ed’s spirits.
After they were finished eating, they sat and made small talk until Noa arrived to pick up Al for their daily tutoring session. Ed’s heart was still somewhat hardened toward the young woman as he felt that she was ultimately responsible for Alfons’ death, but today he managed a wave and a half-smile in greeting, and she was visibly stunned by the gesture. Ed even went outside and saw them off, waiting patiently until they were out of view. The moment they were, he went to work.
The first thing he did was gather up all of the notes he had written down after making his decision. Ed had inherited from his father numerous books on various subjects, including some on immortality and resurrecting the dead, and thankfully he knew just enough German to read over them. Apparently Hohenheim had been looking to extend his life in this world the same as he had in the other, though Envy robbed him of the chance to test any of his theories. While the process wasn’t quite the same here since alchemy didn’t exist, it seemed to Ed that all he would have to do is gather the items needed for a potion that should, if all went according to plan, revive a dead body. Fortunately, the items in question were not rare—there would be no frustratingly difficult and dangerous search for a Stone this time around. As a matter of fact, the process seemed almost too easy. On the surface, at least. If resurrecting the dead really was a matter of measuring and mixing, Ed wondered if it had been attempted before. And if so, what was the outcome?
It was this question that gave him pause. He remembered the… thing… that had resulted from his and Al’s previous attempt. The thing that was not—in any way, shape, or form—his mother. What would he do if the same thing happened to Alfons? What if he was forced once again to destroy the person he cared about?
Ed shook his head, casting the thought from his mind. That wasn’t going to happen this time, not in this world. There would be no monster wearing Alfons’ face. If the potion didn’t work, then it just didn’t work. End of story.
He left the house and hopped into his car, ignoring the ache in his heart as he recalled Alfons’ annoying and endearing backseat driving. There was no time to wallow in his grief; he had places to go and things to do. He needed to find either Hughes or Gracia (though they were likely together, he suspected) so that one of them could point him in the direction of the closest apothecary. There he would get the ingredients he needed, plus a little something extra to guarantee that Al did not disturb him later that night. It would not do for him to discover Ed had left the house or, even worse, what he brought back.
But first, he needed to purchase a shovel. While he was at it, he would also get a thick length of chain and a lock. Just in case.
* * *
The sedative worked a little too well. Al had practically fallen asleep at the dinner table and Ed had to carry him up the stairs to put him to bed. After tucking him in, he went downstairs and grabbed his coat. Then he waited.
As soon as the sun went down, he left the house. He parked the car in a clearing in the woods about half a kilometer from the cemetery, grabbed the shovel and a heavy blanket, and then went the rest of the way on foot, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of others. When he reached the cemetery, he went straight to Alfons’ grave; having visited it frequently over the past few weeks, he didn’t have to look for it. Ed’s jaw clenched as he looked at the final resting place of his friend, and again he thought about the unfairness of it all. Alfons should be there with him, smiling at him in that way he had, like the sunlight bursting through the clouds, and rambling incessantly about rockets and Ed’s terrible driving. With any luck, he would be, very soon.
Had Ed never been forced to go into his own mother’s grave to retrieve what he needed to fight Sloth, he might have been too appalled to move forward. But because he had, and because his feelings for Alfons trumped all else, he wasted no more time and started digging. He had a moment of hesitation when the shovel struck something hard, but the image of Alfons’ face, which was never too far from his mind to begin with, inspired him to continue. After that, there was no looking back.
He tossed the shovel out of the deep hole and tied a handkerchief around his nose and mouth. Then, with a deep breath that expelled the last remnants of doubt, Ed pried open the casket. Even with the handkerchief, his stomach rolled at the ungodly stench of death that hit him like a physical blow, and it was all he could do not to vomit all over himself. But miraculously, he kept his dinner down and proceeded to pull Alfons’ body out of the casket. Getting him out of the hole took some effort, and more than once Ed had almost dropped him back down, but he finally managed. It was too dark to see the full extent of decay on Alfons’ face, but Ed could feel it in his skin, and he wrapped him carefully in the blanket lest something vital… dislodge.
After hastily filling in the hole, Ed tossed the shovel aside and picked up Alfons. The head lolled to and fro before coming to rest against his shoulder, and in spite of the smell, Ed nuzzled his chin against the matted blond hair that poked out from beneath the blanket. This wasn’t a thing to be feared. Dead or alive, this was Alfons. His Alfons.
“Let’s get you home,” he whispered through the handkerchief.
* * *
When Ed got back to the house, he hurriedly ran upstairs. Al was still out like a light, in the same position he was in when Ed put him to bed. With that confirmed, Ed brought Alfons into the house and down to the cellar. Thanks to his daytime preparations, everything was in order, and he stretched his friend out on a long work table, gently cradling his head all the way down to keep it from banging against the wood (and possibly damaging his skull as a result). He locked the door and returned to the table, then removed the blanket. And for the very first time since that dreadful day, he got his first, full look at Alfons Heiderich’s body.
There wasn’t nearly as much decomposition as he had anticipated, for what little he wanted to know about such things. The skin was a ghastly imitation of its former beauty, discolored in some places and split open in others, but it wasn’t nearly the horror show that Ed had feared. Maybe bodies in this world broke down at a different rate or maybe it was because of some strange thing Noa had told him about called embalming, but at any rate, Alfons still looked like Alfons. More or less. For that, Ed was relieved and grateful.
He moved over to a counter and, referring to his notes and books, began preparing the potion that would bring Alfons back to him, forcing himself to go slowly and get it right. One wrong measurement would ruin the whole thing and he didn’t want to chance that, despite his eagerness. When he was finished, he let out a shaky sigh. He transferred the test tube from his flesh hand to his automail hand as he didn’t trust his now sweaty fingers to maintain a good grip. Then he approached the table.
“Here goes.”
Ed gingerly lifted Alfons’ upper body. When he realized he would have to pry the dead young man's mouth open, he lowered it and did so, wincing at the putrid smell that rushed out from between his lips. With that done, he tried again, holding him upright for a few minutes afterward to make sure that all the liquid went down. He put down the test tube and wrapped his arms around Alfons, fingers lovingly stroking his back while he waited. He counted off one minute in his head, then two, then three. After five, the first waves of sadness crept in. After ten, he cursed with tears in his eyes.
“Goddamn it,” he swore, returning Alfons back to the table.
Not to be outdone, Ed returned to the counter and double-checked the notes. He measured and mixed and poured again with renewed determination. Once again, he forced the liquid down Alfons’ throat. And once again, nothing happened.
“This can’t be it.” Ed paced around the cellar, his hands tearing at his hair. “I did everything right.”
Then he remembered that he had done everything right with his mother, as well. And look how that turned out.
“Fuck!”
An automail fist slammed against the counter, scattering books and papers and tubes and leaving a fist-sized dent. With a pained whimper, Ed closed his eyes and covered his face, his heart drowning in anger and misery and defeat. This was it. It was all over. Alfons was dead, really and truly dead, and there was absolutely nothing that Ed could do to bring him back. And not only did he fail, but now he had to sneak the body back to the cemetery and bury him all over again. He had to say goodbye to the man he didn’t realize he loved until it was too late, all over again—
“—ward.”
Ed spun around, his heart hammering away in his chest. He looked at the table, his eyes wide and mouth open, and he was terrified and elated all at once.
Alfons’ eyes were open. His right eye was completely filmed over and his left eye was almost entirely pupil and both of them had a sickening, sunken look about them, but they were still Alfons’ eyes, and they were open and staring directly at Ed.
“Alfons?” Even in his growing jubilation, Ed had enough presence of mind to stop just short of the table. “You know who I am?”
A deep rumbling noise issued from Alfons’ throat. After considerable effort, he finally managed to speak again. “Ed… ward.”
Upon hearing his name spoken in such a slow and pained manner, a brief mental image of a darling little girl who suffered the worst kind of fate surfaced in Ed’s head and he quickly pushed it aside. He would always mourn Nina but there was nothing he could have done to save her.
But as for Alfons? He was alive. Ed was able to save him. And now that he had, he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that he never lost him again.
Caution be damned. Ed closed the space between them and swept Alfons into his arms, paying no mind to the smell of him or the coolness of his body… and completely unaware of the clawed hand that slowly inched toward his neck.