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“Al, stop. I’m fine.”
The hulking suit of armor sighed dramatically, shoulders hunched in defeat. “Brother, we both know that anytime you tell me you’re fine you are most definitely not fine.” The childishly high-pitched voice seemed incongruous with the 220 cm stature and broad chest piece, but neither the blonde youth marching to his side nor the smirking blonde woman behind them noticed. Once, when first she first encountered the two, when she first heard that voice come from that source, she had been disconcerted. Now, merely a year later, it was normal. Well, normal for them.
The teenaged prodigy marched determinedly beside the massive suit of armor; his long golden hair swayed behind in its simple braid. She could not see his face from her trailing position, but she knew it would be set into a customary scowl, though softer than usual while dealing with his larger, but younger, brother. She also knew that Alphonse Elric was usually correct when it came to judging his older brother’s health. She scrutinized the barely thirteen-year-old Alchemist as he walked.
His gait was slightly uneven, but she was accustomed to that as normal. His left leg was automail from the mid-thigh, and the heavy weight of the prosthetic made his left steps land a little heavier than his right. Perhaps, in time, he would completely overcome that slight variation of steps. As it was, she was still amazed that he had fully recovered from the automail surgery in the single year he had allowed himself. The Colonel had told her he had fire in his eyes. He had been right.
Under the deep red coat, which did show quite a few rents and stains from the last mission the Fullmetal Alchemist and his younger brother had been assigned, the right arm swung less than the left. As with his left leg, the right arm was also automail. She only knew, of course, because she had been with Colonel Mustang when he had gone to find the genius in Resembool. She had seen the child, sitting in a wheeled chair, one arm and one leg missing under the blankets draped over him for privacy or warmth. The right arm did not swing as fully as the left, and she could only assume that was from the automail’s weight.
“Lieutenant Hawkeye! Please tell my Brother that he should be checked out by the medical team. He listens to you!” the younger Elric pleaded. She looked up at the glowing eyes without flinching then back to the ramrod stiff back of the Fullmetal Alchemist.
The young man in question glared at her over his shoulder without checking his stride. “I’m fine, Lieutenant,” he growled, shifting his golden eyes from her to his brother. “I’m tired, I’m sore, I’ve got a headache, but otherwise I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor; I need to sleep.”
Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye quirked an eyebrow but otherwise shrugged. “I’m sorry, Alphonse,” she apologized, “I don’t see anything wrong with him that a good night’s rest can’t fix. Were you injured during the mission, Edward?” she asked gently.
Golden eyes glanced back at her then returned to the path ahead. The streetlamps shed warm radiance along the sidewalk as the trio headed from the motor pool to the East City Command offices. Boot heels and metal armor against concrete blended into the muffled sounds of distant traffic and a light wind. The early spring air was crisp, but not so cold as to have them scurrying. As the office building came into view, Edward Elric sighed. “No, Ma’am,” he answered finally.
“Yes, he was!” Alphonse answered simultaneously.
The two glared at each other as Hawkeye frowned. She glanced back and forth between them. She had only known the two for a few months, and though they seemed to accept her counsel, she did not know them so well as to want to step in between a brotherly quarrel. Still, in those few months, she had learned that Edward was reckless where Alphonse was cautious; that Edward would regularly downplay his injuries and his successes, while Alphonse would not allow the elder Elric to do anything of the sort. After a short internal debate, she turned back to Edward. “How were you injured, Ed, and how badly?”
Golden eyes glared hotly at the cool white glow of the armored Alphonse. “I. Am. Fine,” he bit off each word, gritting his teeth in poorly controlled anger. His burning gaze flicked to her. “It was nothing then, and it’s nothing now.”
She might have pressed but they reached the main doors to the Command Building. All three stopped and the two youths turned to face her. Sternly, she looked at the sullen teen. “Alright. But,” she continued as Edward threw a smirk at his brother, “if you even think you might have been injured worse than a few bruises, promise me you’ll go to medical and be seen.”
The smirk fell flat into a scowl, but the blonde youth nodded. “Fine. If I need to, but I don’t need to, so don’t worry.”
Nobly Hawkeye refrained from rolling her eyes. She did, however, sigh heavily. “The Colonel will expect you tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred with your report.”
Edward made a face but nodded. “Yeah, yeah. See ya, Lieutenant.”
“Have a good evening, Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Alphonse added, waving slightly as he followed after his brother.
She watched them leave, wondering if she had been wrong to not insist. Four months, maybe five, and most of that time they were off on various assignments. She didn’t really know them that well. Was he moving slower than usual? Had he been more surly than normal? She watched until they exited the gate and turned the corner, then headed inside to let the colonel know that she had successfully retrieved the boys from the train station, and they were headed back to the barracks they currently called home.
** **
Alphonse was hovering. He denied it, of course. Vehemently, preemptively, he denied that he was hovering. The scowl on Edward’s face gave such assertations a distinct lack of credibility. After the fourth, or perhaps fifth, hesitant inquiry as to the state of his health, Edward finally snapped, “Alphonse! Enough!”
Soulfire eyes widened even as the expressionless helm jerked up. “But-”
The slight tremble of the younger brother, reflected by the soft rattle and creaking of the hollow suit of armor, had Edward sigh and soften. “I’m sorry, Al. Really, though. I’m fine. You’ve already bandaged up the few cuts-”
Alphonse grumbled under his breath, “You mean knife slashes.”
Ignoring the interruption, Ed continued, “You’ve salved my bruises, brought me water, and offered both an ice pack and a hot water bottle. You’re hovering, and you really don’t need to because I really am fine. The slashes,” he added, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “were hardly anything – the don’t even need stitches, you said so yourself!”
Solid steel could not frown. Fluted and forged armor could not shrink in upon itself. A fancifully articulated face plate could not express emotion. Yet, somehow Alphonse managed to do just that even as he sighed with breath he did not require. “You’re right, I did, but only barely, Brother! You’re reckless and I worry about you.”
Alone in their shared barracks suite, Edward gave his brother a rare, genuine smile of affection. “I know, Al. And I’m sorry. But you know that if I hadn’t jumped in there…”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. And you know I’m still going to worry.”
Ed’s golden eyes closed even as he leaned back in the armchair. “I know,” he answered softly.
Truth be told, his right ribs where the blade had skimmed across the bone in a short swipe, and his abdomen that had nearly been opened like an overripe fruit, were hellishly sore. They burned, throbbed in time with his pulse, and refused to let him ignore them. That day was not the first time someone had tried to knife him – it was the second, and he did not recall the first knife wound being this painful. Then again, nothing was as painful as the automail surgery, including the annoying, burning, throbbing, aching pain in his ribs and stomach.
Without opening his eyes, Edward queried plaintively, “If I let you get me some ice for my ribs, will you give me some peace?”
Alphonse laughed even as he got up to grab a bag and shovel in some ice from the cold box. “At least for a little while,” he replied with mock severity.
Ed laughed with him but stopped when it hurt. “Thank you, Alphonse.”
“Any time, Brother,” Alphonse said as he handed over the ice pack. “Any time.”
** **
Alphonse looked up from his book with a mental frown. His brother had fallen asleep in the armchair after a short time, the ice pack forgotten. Al had scooped it up and dumped it out, pulled a blanket over the passed-out alchemist, then sat in his usual corner of the room and pulled out a book he was in the middle of translating. Several hours had passed in silence but for the scratching of his pen on paper and the soft snores of his brother, but something had just disturbed that easy quiet.
Whatever it had been did not repeat while he listened, so Alphonse bent his head back to his work. Only a few moments passed before it came again. This time, Alphonse’s head snapped up and his focus narrowed onto his brother. In the gentle lamp light, a gleam of sweat shone on his furrowed brow even as his eyes tightened in pain. Alphonse set down his book, stood, and came to Edward’s side. “Brother? Are you okay?”
With no response forthcoming, Alphonse gently nudged his brother’s shoulder to try and wake him. He knew – how could he not know? – that his older brother suffered from nightmares. He was certain he would as well, if he could sleep. In some ways he was grateful. Watching his brother wake up screaming, crying, shaking, or frightened was hard enough. He was shamefully glad that he did not have to suffer the same, that his wonderful older brother did not have to comfort him while he cried from those same horrors.
The nudge, however, did not produce the response Alphonse was looking for. Blonde, sweat matted hair stuck to Edward’s pale face even as the head lolled to the side and he groaned quietly. Golden eyes opened to the barest of slits, hazy and unfocused, before closing again.
“Brother? Wake up, Brother. You don’t look good. I- I don’t know what to do.” Alphonse gently pulled up his brother’s shirt only to find that the skin around both bandages was an inflamed, angry red. Streaks of black traced across the skin, and both wounded areas looked swollen and puffy. “Oh, no! Brother! This looks bad! C’mon, wake up, please!”
His eyes opened again, no clearer than before. “Wha-?” Ed said, thickly. “’m tired, Al. ‘mma go back to sleep.”
“No, no, no, no.” The pleading whisper had no effect as the golden eyes shut again. Afraid and desperately unsure of what to do, Alphonse wished that Mother was there. She would know what to do. Or Teacher. Or – wait. Lieutenant Hawkeye had always been kind to them. And she understood – well, a bit anyway. She knew what the brothers were and what they had done. He could trust her. With a last fearful glance at his brother’s pale face, he bolted for the door to get to the phone in the barracks’ lobby.
** **
The gauntlets were hardly of an appropriate size to easily turn the rotary of a telephone, but he had seen others do such things with pencils, pens, or other handily sized objects – one General had even used the stem of his pipe, though Al had been fairly grossed out by the idea that the man’s spit had then been all over the telephone’s dial. Such knowledge was well used now as Al’s massive hands held a slender pencil to turn the rotary dial on the face of the telephone. He recalled the Colonel giving the newly minted state alchemist an emergency phone number, which his brother had dismissed with an airy wave of his hand and a brash raspberry. Though Al had laughed, he had also committed to memory the number his brother had chosen to ignore. He was grateful now that he had done so.
“You’ve reached Eastern Command. Please state your reason for calling,” the bored, disinterested male voice intoned.
“Um, this is Alphonse. Alphonse Elric, and Brother needs help – he’s sick, and -”
The droning voice broke in, “This is a restricted line. If you require medical attention, please call the hospital.”
“Wait!” Alphonse nearly shouted into the receiver, only to hear the damning click from the other end. Dumbfounded, he stared at the phone, hearing only dial tone from the machine in his hand. “Wait…” he whispered in horror.
He replaced the receiver carefully, unsure what to do next. The supposed emergency number was decidedly unhelpful. He didn’t want to leave his brother alone to go get help. With nothing else coming to mind, he hurried back to their room. Calling a hospital might not get him very far, but taking his brother to the hospital – well, it would be very hard for a doctor to ignore him then.
Less than fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had left his brother to make that useless phone call, but Alphonse was certain his brother had worsened since then. Gently, Alphonse picked up his older brother in a bridal carry. “C’mon, Brother. We’re going to get you taken care of.”
Pained moaning and unintelligible muttering were all the response he received as he picked him up. Once he had a secure grip, he quickly exited the room, then the building, and ran to the hospital. Five blocks did not sound far, but the panting breath and unhealthy color made every second of the trek feel like a year to Alphonse.
The claxon ring of steel armor pounding on pavement as he ran cleared what little foot traffic there was from his path; pedestrians leapt out of his way and stared after him as he passed. At one point Alphonse nearly ran down an elderly man who was not spry enough to jump clear. “Sorry!” he called over his shoulder after spinning to miss the unfortunate stroller.
Alphonse burst into the hospital and had the immediate attention of several nurses, other patients, and a few armed soldiers who looked to be either on duty or recently relieved. They both drew their side arms even as a few shrieks punctuated the abrupt silence. Before anyone could make a move, Al’s tinny, youthful voice wavered, “Please! He needs help!”
The soldiers hesitated. The medical personnel did not. In seconds a gurney was wheeled up and several people in white uniforms were pulling Edward gently from the armored grip. He was peppered with questions: “How long has he been like this?” “When was the injury?” “How much automail?”
Alphonse followed anxiously, wringing his gauntlet hands even as he answered every question they asked as well as he could. He simply ignored questions about himself; he understood that they were concerned for his health, but he did not want to even attempt to explain that he was not at risk of whatever had Edward ill.
A firm hand to his chest plate stopped him. “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to wait out here until you’re called. The doctor needs to examine him and, if you’ll forgive me, you take up quite a bit of space in that armor.”
Alphonse looked down at the male nurse who was speaking gently, dumbfounded. “I- ” he paused, unable to come up with any argument that could get him inside. He bowed his head. “I’ll wait here,” he finally stated, and stood still against the wall.
“There’s a waiting area…” the man tried to offer, but his voice faded as the eerie stillness of the armored young man had him doubting the appropriateness of his assistance.
“Don’t worry about it, Henry,” a newcomer said, striding up to Alphonse with a clipboard in her grasp and a no nonsense look on her face. “Here is fine, or we can sit, but I need some information about the young man you brought in –”
“Edward Elric. He’s my older brother, Ma’am,” Alphonse interjected.
She gave him an indecipherable look before continuing. “Very well, Mr. Elric. I have some questions about his health, specifically his automail.”
He’d known it was coming, but he had not expected the question to cause a flutter of panic in him. His brother did not like to talk about the automail. It was … complicated. Alphonse was not sure what he could and could not say. What if she asked something he couldn’t answer?
An authoritative voice smothered the flickering panic as quickly as water would douse a flame; “Nurse Flemming, I’ll take that.” Colonel Mustang’s voice was not loud, but it was clear as he strode across the tiled floor with crisp, quick steps. Behind him was Lieutenant Hawkeye, and Alphonse could not recall a time he had been as grateful to see them as he was at that moment.
The nurse, Abigail Flemming, turned at announcement. “Colonel?” her voice raised the question of not just who, but why.
“That’s my subordinate you’ve got in there. State Alchemist Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist,” he clarified as he stopped within reach of the nurse and her clipboard.
Alphonse was certain that the woman’s dark eyebrows were about to vanish into her equally dark, coiffed hair. Her expression then shifted from surprise to uncertainty. “Subordinate? There must be a mistake – he’s barely a child.”
“He’s thirteen, ma’am,” Alphonse piped up, then shrank into himself at the Colonel’s dark look.
“Lieutenant, take Alphonse and find out what happened. I’ll take care of this.” He nodded toward the nurse.
Hawkeye stepped forward and laid her hand on Alphonse’s forearm. “C’mon, Al, let’s find somewhere to talk.”
Alphonse followed the slim, blonde officer even as Colonel Mustang began answering questions for the nurse and her clipboard. As soon as they entered the waiting area, he blurt out, “I tried to call, Lieutenant, I did, but the person who answered the phone didn’t believe me, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Sit down, Al. I know.” Following her own directions, Hawkeye took a seat in one of the least uncomfortable looking seats in the room.
None of the chairs were adequate for the seven-foot armored soul that was Alphonse so he sat on the floor. After he settled, Hawkeye gently asked, “What happened?”
Though he struggled to keep his voice even, the tinny, high-pitched voice wavered as he told her everything since they’d separated outside the headquarters building. “I just don’t understand,” he whispered. “He was hurt, sure, but … he’s been hurt before.” He trailed off, not sure how, or even if he should, explain the level of trauma they had both experienced, how Alphonse had carried his nearly dead, bleeding brother in arms that were his but not. His brother was no stranger to pain. Though Alphonse could no longer feel pain, he knew that his brother felt enough for them both and still kept going. It was part of his burden to understand but not be able to share, and the guilt he felt for that was crushing.
“… when the Colonel arrives.” Abruptly, Alphonse realized Lieutenant Hawkeye had been talking and he hadn’t heard any of it. Just as he was going to admit that and ask her to repeat, Colonel Mustang entered the waiting room. He began to stand when the weary officer waved him to stay put.
“Easy, Alphonse. We’ll be here awhile.” He nodded to his lieutenant then took a seat. She stood and exited the room having already divined his intentions. After she was gone, the Colonel steepled his fingers in front of his lips, placed his elbows on his knees. He did not turn his head nor lock eyes with the suit of armor but addressed the boy while staring blankly at the wall. “Turns out that chimera you two tangled with was more than just a horrible monstrosity, it was purposefully created to do as much damage as possible to those sent to hunt it. You, of course, were immune to its spores. Edward, unfortunately, was not.” Now he looked at the giant-sized child in armor. “I just received the report from the coroner and was headed to your quarters to have Fullmetal tested when I received word that a large, armored figure was seen sprinting through the streets carrying a blonde youth.”
Alphonse couldn’t help but laugh at the dust dry tone. “I … I guess I was a little noticeable, and I was definitely sprinting.”
Mustang nodded and gave a half smile. “I’m just as glad you were. The lieutenant and I were already driving to the barracks; turning to the hospital just shortened the trip.” The smile fell and his face relaxed into its usual mask. “The autopsy of the chimera not only discovered the spore, but an antidote to its effects – a fairly critical discovery since the medical personnel were all immediately exposed when the corpse was opened up.”
“Oh, no!” Alphonse was horrified. “They’re alright, aren’t they?”
Finally, Mustang turned his head to look at Alphonse, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. “Of course they are. If they weren’t we wouldn’t have known that Fullmetal was in danger, much less how to cure him of the effects.”
Metal grated as Alphonse sat straighter. “Cure him? This spore you mentioned was poisonous? I was afraid the claws were envenomed or simply toxic, but an airborne spore. I see.” More clanging sounded in the small room as Alphonse stood. “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see the doctors. I know why it took so long for Brother to fall ill.”
Mustang stood, surprise showing on his face. “You do?”
The helm nodded as Alphonse rushed out the door. “Where did they take him, Colonel? And who is the doctor?”
“I’ll take you. Follow me.”
It was only a short distance; they had Edward in an isolation room where the nurses were all wearing full coverage suits with masks and goggles. “Doctor Andres,” Mustang hailed a middle-aged man who was in the process of donning his own coveralls. “A moment. This is Alphonse Elric and he says he has information for you. He was with Fullmetal when he was exposed.”
The man, Doctor Andres, paused with one leg in the pants, hands gripping the gathered fabric. Myopically, he looked up at Alphonse. “Hello, Alphonse. What have you?”
“Hello, Doctor.” Unfailingly polite, Alphonse could not brush off courtesy. “Thank you for taking care of my brother.”
“Of course, of course. Now, what is this information you have? I’m afraid his condition is not good, so anything you know will help.” The man continued putting on the coveralls while he listened.
“Brother mentioned the thing smelled bad, so he was using alchemy to filter the air around him periodically.” The doctor paused again and gave a long, slow blink.
“He did what now?”
“Um. It might actually be easier to show you.” Alphonse pulled a piece of chalk from his pouch and drew a small circle on the tile floor. He did this quickly but with precision, mentally calculating the size of the room, the amount of air they were breathing, the correct ratio of gases in the air. When he was satisfied, he placed his hands on the floor and the circle flared to life, washing the entire room in a wave of turquoise light and the brief scent of ozone. “See?”
Mustang nodded thoughtfully, still looking over the deceptively simple appearing circle on the floor. The doctor, on the other hand, was sniffing the air, a perplexed look on his face. “How many times would he have had to redraw that circle, then use it, to have –”
The colonel’s brief snort interrupted the doctor. “The Fullmetal Alchemist is … special. Let’s leave it at that.” Thoughtfully, he eyed Alphonse. “Doctor Andres, would it help if Alphonse purified the air in the isolation room while you work? Would that help the medicine work faster?”
The doctor’s face lit up. “I think it just might!” He looked at Alphonse, then started to open another cabinet. “You’re a rather large one… I’m not sure I have a set of coveralls that will fit you.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Doctor. I seem to be immune to the spore. I was with Brother the whole time and it didn’t affect me at all,” Alphonse added blithely.
An arched eyebrow was all the look he got before the doctor finished putting on his suit, mask, and goggles. “Well, we certainly don’t have time to test you for that immunity, but if you’re certain?”
In unison, Colonel Mustang and Alphonse answered.
“I am.”
“He is.”
“Very well, then. Colonel, if you’ll step out, Alphonse and I will get to treating your subordinate.” Colonel Mustang left the changing area; the doctor and Alphonse entered the isolation room.
Inside the room was eerily muffled sounding to Alphonse. He couldn’t help but look around at the plastered walls, the lack of a window, the bright overhead lights, and the heavy door that closed behind them. The doctor saw the direction of his gaze and commented, “The walls are thicker, and more tightly sealed, for this room and the others like it. There are filtered vents,” he indicated with one hand, “that bring air into and out of this room, and the exhaust vents are run through the furnaces so that, hopefully, any contaminants are burned off before mixing with outside air.”
Alphonse nodded. “That actually should make this easier, then. The only bad air, so to speak, is whatever is coming off Brother, right?”
Doctor Andres nodded even as he approached the bed and the chart hanging at the foot. “That is what we understand at this time.”
Without waiting for permission, Alphonse withdrew his chalk again and set up his circle, this time larger and close to his brother’s hospital bed. Hearing the labored breathing and occasional groans of discomfort made Alphonse mentally wince, but he kept his focus and scribed each rune and symbol with exactitude. When he was done, he allowed himself a moment to recheck his calculations, then said, “This might be a bit brighter than before, but the room is larger and there’s more in here to be purified. You, um, might want to close your eyes.”
After it appeared that the doctor and the nurse in the room had followed his direction, Alphonse placed his hands on the floor, just touching his circle, and allowed the alchemical energy to flow from him. It was odd, since he could not feel things with his armored body, but alchemical energy came from the soul, and he could feel that. It was like warmth, like being hugged, and it made him long for his real body. It was one more thing he knew he could not tell his brother lest it cause more pain and guilt.
The bright blue energy flowed through the room, the air within crackling and sparking in places, just like he recalled seeing around Brother when they had been first tracking, then fighting, the chimera. The air had not sparked outside the isolation room when he had demonstrated this process, so he knew he had been right. “There,” he said, indicating the fading sparks. “That’s what I remember seeing when Brother was doing this while we were looking for the chimera. Those sparks are the spore you mentioned. They have to be.”
The nurse had let out a little shriek but had relaxed somewhat when she realized the sparks had not harmed her. The doctor was wide-eyed behind his goggles. “That’s amazing! Let’s see if we can force the rest of it out of him for you, shall we?”
“Um,” Alphonse was unsure what the doctor meant, and was more than a little concerned.
“Not to worry, Alphonse. The medicine we’ll be administering is, essentially, an antifungal. It should kill the spores that are in his body, and the dead spores may shed into the air.” He pulled the medication and a syringe from his coverall’s pockets and began loading up a dose to add to the IV line already providing clean fluids to Edward. As he depressed the plunger into the line, he said, “From what we’ve been able to tell, this should not take long to work, so you may want to be ready to do that purification again.”
The medication had an orangish tint and Alphonse watched as the color flowed down the tube and into his brother’s arm. It was odd, and discomforting, to watch, knowing that it was going into his brother’s body. He gave it a minute to work, then touched the circle again, letting the alchemy flow like water.
The immediate lightning-like reaction danced through the air like the best Xingan fireworks. The nurse covered her head with her arms while the doctor stepped back against the wall. The sparks danced as Alphonse continued to pour his energy into the circle.
On the bed, Edward twisted, a low groan pulled from his lips. Hesitancy forgotten, the doctor and nurse immediately leapt to his bedside. She took vitals while the doctor pulled back eyelids to check for pupillary response. His stethoscope took in lung sounds while the nurse drew blood from an IV port. A loud gasp, followed by a blistering, if somewhat slurred, curse, announced Edward’s return to consciousness. “Alphonse? Alphonse!”
Alphonse answered even while he continued to feed the circle. “I’m here, Brother. Just let the doctor do his job, okay? You’re going to be okay.”
“I don’t feel okay, Al. Ow!” Edward jerked his arm away even as the nurse was trying to remove the uncooperative line.
“Sorry!” she exclaimed. “Just hold still, please, and I’ll have this out in a moment.” Her voice was soothing, but not saccharine – a fact Alphonse knew his brother would appreciate. The nurses who had come to treat their mother had all used that tooth-rottingly sweet voice to tell them everything would be okay.
Over the next several minutes the lightning weakened to sparks, and the sparks faded to a soothing blue. When there had been no sparks to be seen for over a minute, Alphonse finally stopped the flow of energy into the circle. The sudden lack of alchemical light made the room seem dim; the doctor and nurse blinked owlishly behind their protective goggles.
Into the quiet room, Edward said, plaintively, “Why am I in the damned hospital?”
“Oh, Brother,” Alphonse laughed. “Because you have the worst luck of anyone alive.”