Ed and Al have doubts the night before they attempt to bring their mom back.
He sits there, a large leather bound book propped open on his lap, eyes traveling slowly down the page, drinking in the information that no honest person, let alone anyone of his age should have to know. But he is used to it by now, by this time there is nothing that he isn’t afraid to do, to try; anything to bring her back. Finally he looks up, leaning back in his chair slightly as he stretches, rubbing one hand across his face. He is not sure how long he has been sitting there, turning the pages of these age old books, trying to find something, some small piece of information, anything that might help, anything that would give some clue of how to do it; how to attempt what everyone else had failed. With a small sigh, he glances over at the smaller figure beside him. He is leaning foreword against the table, head resting on one arm, another book laying a few feet away. The first boy sighs quietly, reaching out. He grabs his brother's shoulder, shaking him softly. He jumps in response to the touch, spinning around to face his older sibling. Then simply sits there, staring straight ahead of him, his unblinking gaze resting on the wall. Finally he lets out a shaky sigh, the panic residing from his eyes. The first boy frowns slightly, brow wrinkling in concern. His brother turns away, shaking his head. There is no need to voice what is wrong, for they both know that it will only increase the pain they are both drowning in, attempting to tread water in the steadily growing pool of guilt and terror. They turn to look at each other once more, and something seems to break in both of them. Scooting his chair closer, the smaller of the two leans foreword, resting his forehead against his brother’s shoulder, a shaky sigh escaping him. The other groans quietly as he wraps an arm around his younger sibling’s shoulders, unconsciously tracing the all too familiar outline of a transmutation circle in the small of his back. He squeezes his eyes shut, attempting to block it out, all of it, every last memory, every small thing that reminds him of her. For he knows deep down inside, just as the small figure pressed up against him does that there is a possibility that they will fail. More than a possibility in fact, but he pushes the doubt to the very back of his mind, along with the memories, leaving it to rot, unwilling to believe that it may very well be true.