He had no idea why Vincent had flinched at the weather report. The forecaster had come on, stating that strong thunderstorms were headed their way, and would probably hit in the middle of the night. After that, the news changed promptly to the local reports, and he might've been interested, had Vince's reaction not worried him. It was nothing to be bothered about, but the boy had flinched as if someone had raised a hand to strike him, his face visibly drawing up into one of nervousness and more than a little fear. Al's crimson eyes narrowed.

"Vincent, whit's the matter?" The puma had said, his hand poised to change the channel on the TV, a customary cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Vincent loved watching it bob up and down when Al spoke.

"What?" Vince jumped in shock, and nervously twisted his shirt in his small hands, "Oh… uh, nothing Al. I'm fine." Alphonse looked at him dubiously, the corners of his lips turning downwards ever so slightly, and the demi-phoenix raised his hands in the universal gesture of sincerity, his flame colored eyes widening. "No, Al, I'm fine, I really am! Promise!"

"Hn," was his only reply, and Vince once again curled back onto the couch, his chin resting on his knees. The mobster scratched the scruff on his chin thoughtfully, one ear twitching towards the television at the mention of a murder he may or may not have had anything to do with, and he leaned back, sneaking a glimpse at his younger ward. The boy looked mostly fine now, with only a few traces of the worry he'd shown remaining, but Al was still bothered and more than a little perplexed by his actions. Surely thunderstorms weren't so bad?

He was very wrong.

---

The rest of their waking hours passed uneventfully. They sat around and played cards for a good few hours, Al teaching Vince the finer points of Black Jack and Five Card Stud. The demi-phoenix was a quick learner, and soon Al found himself being trumped time and time again by the smirking boy, wondering if his luck had turned for the worst and being thankful that no money was being used in their games… he'd have already lost a small fortune by now. Vincent's eyes were wide and smiling as he set the flush on the table, unable to hide his pleasure at Al's hand of absolutely nothing. With a scowl the puma leaned back, blowing smoke into the air and quietly made a mental note to never gamble against the kid, not unless he wanted to lose house and business to the little brat.

"It's gettin' late, Vincent," the older man stated, glancing at the clock on the mantle, and pushing his hair back from his face, "And Ah have to get up in the mornin'."

"Ah… okay," he couldn't hide the disappointment on his face as he slid the cards back into their box, and pushed his chair away from the table to stand. Al even saw his stunted wings droop a little.

"We'll play again tomorrow, kid." Al said standing, and leaned over the table to impart a ruffle on Vince's oddly colored hair, giving him the faintest of smiles at Vincent's pout.

"Hey, stop that!" Vince complained, pushing his large hand away in annoyance. He picked up the poker chips that were laying on the table, putting them neatly back into their box, and was silent. Al took a drag on his cigarette, and pushed his chair under the table, occasionally flinging a chip at Vince just to see him scowl, and try and give him a scathing look. Since this was Vincent after all, he just ended up looking only mildly irritated, and not the furious anger he was going for.

"Do you promise?" Vincent asked finally, hopefully, looking up at the much taller man.

The mobster looked at him silently for a moment, before nodding. "Yes, we kin do this again tomorrow."

The boys beaming smile was enough to assure Al that he'd made the right answer.

---

It was the middle of the night when the storm hit, just like the forecaster had predicted. For once, the man had been right. The first crack of thunder rattled the windows in their jams, and lightning pierced the sky in bright, jagged arcs; the rain was practically a monsoonal downpour, beating against the roof of the house, and streaming down off the eaves to flood the roads. The eternally dark streets were lit up in harsh, white light, some of it filtering through the cracks in the curtains to dimly light up the rooms in the house. The thunder rolled, and Alphonse slept on.

He didn't even so much as twitch.

He did, however, jolt awake when something zoomed under the bedsheets, and his hand unconsciously reached for the gun he always kept underneath his pillow, his fingers curling over the familiar harshly textured grip and his thumb inching up to cock the lever when—

"Al?"

Vincent's voice crept out from under his blankets, and he pulled his hand away, somewhere in his mind vaguely pissed at his young ward for scaring him like that. He growled unconsciously, furiously rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to clear the sleep out of them. He could see the blurry outline of Vince's face peeking from underneath the covers, and he blinked rapidly; the sleep fuzziness wouldn't go away.

"Whit?" He managed to grate out, his brain still very much asleep, like the rest of his body wished it could be. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he was grateful that he'd decided to wear clothes to bed after all. He lifted the blankets up to get a clearer view of Vincent, his eyes still hazy. Vince was curled within himself, or it looked like he was trying to, his knees pulled to his chest, his arms tucked under them; he looked scared to death.

"Can… can I s-sleep with you t-tonight? P-please?" His quivering voice pleaded, and his wide eyes implored him. He almost could have swore that he saw tears gathering there, but it very well could have been a trick of the light and his own unfocused vision. He was quiet a moment, staring in Vince's direction but not really seeing him before rubbing his eyes yet again.

"Whit?"

"A-Al… please…" He begged, and let out a small, choked sob when thunder once again cracked through the house; he buried his face into his knees.

"Please, don't leave me a-alone…"

"Vincent—"

He never got a chance to finish because, at that moment, a blinding flash of lightning lit up the room for one split second, and the demi-phoenix's head shot up, his flame-colored eyes wide. The seconds between the lightning and thunder felt like an eternity, but wasn't long enough by a long shot. When the thunder finally came, he clung to Al's shirt with a small shriek, burying his face in his chest and gasped as if someone had hit him.

Alphonse had no idea what to do. He'd never comforted a woman, or a child, or anyone for that matter in a very, very long time. It was awkward, to say the very least, the way Vincent was pressed against him, and there was no way he could just push him away and say go back to your own bed, not with him like this. Vince was almost hysterical, shivering and shuddering, crying out when the thunder rumbled ahead. He knew he should do something, but was a little lost at exactly what to do. He wasn't the sort with the eloquent words of comfort, with the long winded speeches intended to make someone feel better, or the clever anecdotes some people employed. He was a man of action. So, he twined his arms around Vincent's lithe figure, showing his concern the only way he really knew how: through physical contact. He felt Vince's smaller fingers fist in his shirt, and he pulled him closer, resting his stubbly chin on the phoenix's hair. He relaxed somewhat, but was still far too scared to be left alone. He spent the next few minutes in silence, the teenager lying comfortably in his arms before it was finally broken.

"I-I hate storms…" His muffled voice was faint, and laced with fear, but at least it wasn't hysterical any longer; that was a definite improvement.

Al nodded, but realizing Vincent couldn't see he smiled to himself. "I noticed."

It was then that Alphonse noticed that his hands had been rubbing small, soothing circles on Vince's thin back for the past few minutes, and he blanched when he felt Vince shift against him, unknowingly pressing their groins together; he doubted the boy cared, or even noticed for that matter, but he certainly did. He grunted a little, shifting himself into a more comfortable position and settled back down to his back rubbing and strange form of reassuring. Eventually, Vince calmed a little as the storm began to dissipate, but still shuddered every time he heard thunder.

"Better?" he grunted quietly, and when he didn't receive an answer, looked down.

Vincent was still very much curled against him, his forehead pressed against his collar, but he was also very much asleep. His expression was relaxed, after a whole night of tension, and his hair was strewn across his nose and lips, the strands stirring at every slow breath. When Al tried to pull away, something akin to a whine rose in his throat, and he clutched at his shirt with white knuckles, his face tensing. The puma immediately stilled, and contemplated his options. After a few minutes, he decided there wasn't much he could do, and so the best course of action was to simply stay there. He settled against his pillow, his arms still wrapped around Vince's smaller, very warm body, and he shut his eyes. As a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, he though:

Maybe losing all that sleep had been worth it.

_______________________________________________________

A/N: I wrote this for a friend a while back, but I could never seem to complete it. So, finally, at around three o'clock in the morning, I was hit with the inspiration, and I managed to finish it for her. All the while listening to this: .com/watch?v=3zps34YuXDI