A/N: Another one that makes little sense.

Sacrifices and Poetic Shit Like That

Ed looked to the bindings being presented to him, and then gave one last glance at Alphonse. If he truly wanted, it would be easy to break them; child's play, even. But he would not, because he had promised his cooperation in exchange for a conversation with Alter-Al. And even though he knew it to be an empty, selfish hope, Ed also knew this was as close to his brother as he would ever be again. And as it twisted something inside of him to admit, he knew that he missed Al so much that he was willing to pretend, even if it were through the bars of a prison.

"Alright" he took consolation in the fact that he had made most of the shinigami pull hilariously flabbergasted expressions. It almost made up for the bondage he was being subjected to…

And that was when everything went to hell. The moment he had agreed, there were shouts from all sides, and if he cared to listen intently upon the individual voices- rather than the collectively incoherent yells and the explosion of light and sound that followed said yells- he would have been able to discern the various names of Kido seals for physical binding being aimed- at him. But he hadn't, and so was completely nonplussed when several beams of light seemed to hit him, solidify and then proceeded to bind him good and proper.

He was however, aware of the second shout, and it was with a sort of horrified amazement that he recognised what was being said. A spiritual energy seal, and a powerful one, if he took the dozen or so people required to perform it as any indication. He likened the feeling of being sealed to being slowly drained of life (something that had happened on more than one occasion, having died twice and all). It was strange; they had told him that sealing's did just that- compressed his spiritual pressure down and locked it within him, inaccessible. Clearly they had been wrong, because right now he could feel his energy be pulled from him, violently, and he desperately clung to the remaining dregs of his spiritual energy, his life force, as it drained from him. The sealing stopped, and he was awash with relief now, because he had succeeded in retaining that small spark, just enough energy to keep breathing. And he thought vaguely rude, vindictive thoughts about the people who had just attempted to murder him (though, if they were as stupid as the ones in Heuco Mundo, then they probably bought that 'sealing' shit too, so he couldn't blame them too much) as he sank into blissful oblivion.

Man, this poetic shit was becoming more of a habit than he thought.

A/N: thoughts?