Archive of Our Own

Ed can barely feel the scalding spray as it spills down his back and darkens his golden hair. 

The truth hidden within the truth… it’s what Marcoh told them that day, it feels like years ago now, though it was less than a month. So much has happened since then, including finding out the horrible truth about the philosopher's stone, the business with Armstrong, and now, Ed barley made it out of the Fifth Laboratory with his life. 

Taking a shuddering sigh, Ed turned the water in the Hughes household shower hotter, till he could feel the burn of his skin. He’d tried to spring himself from the hospital after Winry repaired his automail but Hughes caught him and practically dragged him, Al, and Winry to his house.

Ed closes his eyes, numbness spreading through him rapidly, like a dam breaking and water rushing past. He can hardly feel the spray and the fingers of his left hand tingle, down to his spine. 

Images splatter his mind; Marcoh’s notes… when they cracked the code… Human life, using prisoners who the world had abandoned, experimented on and their souls poured into the stone. Those brothers, Envy grabbing Ed by the braid, the alchemist circle painted in blood.  

“Brother!” A knock sounds and before he can answer, Al opens the door. He huffs and Ed peeks his head behind the curtain to see Al waving a hand through the thick steam. “You’ve been in there for ages! Hughes said dinner is ready and you know I can’t pretend to eat!” His voice has an edge to it that Ed hardly recognizes. Al has been oddly since the hospital, the red glow of his eyes dulled. There hadn’t been time to ask what was going on, what with Winry smacking him around and Hughes dragging them here.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed replies over the spray, ignoring the thudding in his ribs in tandem with his heart. Al’s entrance brings back some of the feeling in his shoulders, including the hot water thundering down on him. He winces at the bruises and stab wounds decorating his body. Everything really aches, even after his hospital trip. He closes his eyes, pressing his metal hand against the wall for support, picturing the brother’s blade diving toward his eye, overlapping with Scar’s arm reaching for his head. He’s been ready to die twice in so many weeks. Maybe the Colonel Bastard was right about him having a death wish. 

He turns off the spray, bangs dripping water into his eyes. 

That annoying woman’s finger knife stabs into the suit of armour, piercing the blood seal. Then Envy is stabbing their blade over and over, the red splitting like an opening wound. When Ed sees it, it’s Al flailing around, dying under that blade. He hits the wall with his flesh fist, the throbbing bringing feeling back to the numb appendage. 

“Always remember, we allowed you to live,” that woman’s face appears, her lips turned in a smirk. He shivers, the cool air from the door Al left ajar. He spots some clothes laying on the counter, everything but his red coat ruined from the explosion and fire. 

He towels himself off with some held-in grunts. He clenches his fist, looking at the automail arm. The damn thing failed him right when he needed it most… he wanted to hurl just thinking about it, but maybe that was the nausea from getting punched in the stomach and ditching the hospital early.

As annoyed as he is at Hughes, it’s probably good to have some kind of place to stay while their mental and physical scars heal. It still is such a pill to have him insisting they stay at the house to recoup. Ed’s starting to get itchy under his skin after idling for too long. 

Even the year it took for him to recover from automail surgery, clawing and spitting blood, made his insides prickle. It was too long. Everything was taking far too long, and Al’s dull gaze seared in his mind. Maybe… Al was giving up on him. Maybe, despite Winry’s insistence, Al does resent him, and the resent grows inside the empty armor like a fungus, infecting the love he has for Ed, turning it toxic. Maybe each day longer it takes to get their bodies back is another day his anger grows inside, germinating hatred for Ed. 

Ed suppresses the tears clogging his throat. He feels so useless, unbalanced in a way he never has with Al before. The image of Alphonse sitting in the dark hospital corridor presses against his ches. Something is bothering him, his long silences, his downturned gaze. 

Al is probably coming to his senses, seeing those other suits of armor, bonded to their souls in a hollow husk, to do the bidding of the homunculus. It’s all Ed’s fucking fault. He knows it deep in his chest, in his soul. He never could muster the courage to ask Al and what if…

Ed grips his port of his arm, squeezing so tight it hurts. He feels a gaping maw in his chest, something that hasn’t quite been sewed up since he saw the life flicker out of that suit of armor. 

He dresses, poking his sore arm through the fabric of the too large shirt and attempting not to lift his aching flesh arm too high. He slips on the underwear and pants next, both also too big, and he has to roll the pants three times before he can see his toes peaking out. He rolls his eyes and limps out of the bathroom, his wet hair clinging to the back of his neck. It makes him want to chop it all off. He hates his hair down and loose, it’s so wild and unruly. Maybe he can ask Al to braid it after dinner, his shoulder still too sore to raise above his head. 

He stumps into the dining room, following the chatter of voices. Winry, Al, Elicia, Gracia, and Maes gather around the dinner table ladened with food. Ed’s stomach growls and it’s only now he realizes how hungry he is. Five heads swivel to meet him when he enters, and they all beam at him. Ed looks away, undeserving of their kindness. When people are too nice to him, Ed looks for the trap in it.

He sits beside Al, across from Winry, who gives him an odd look, like she’s inspecting a piece of machinery. Ed looks instead to the food and then to their hosts. 

“Looks great, thank you,” he says, trying to inflect as much excitement into his voice as he can but Al stiffens, so he knows it sounded more strained than anything. 

“Of course, there is plenty for everyone!” Gracia says, nodding for them all to load up their plates. 

Ed piles his plate high, avoiding Al’s longing gaze, his stomach churning. He’s so hungry but what right does he have? Eating’s been a struggle for Ed since he shoved his brother in that metal prison. Alphonse loved sweets, and savory meats and stews, and he used to eat twice as much as Ed when they were kids and their bodies were whole. Ed preferred to eat quickly so he could get back to playing, not quite savoring his food like Al did; with glowing gold eyes and little hums of content. Why then, was Ed the one who got to eat? He didn’t wish the pain of automail on anyone, but he would trade with Al in a second if he got to see his brother eat with the reverie and gusto he used to. 

He glances to Al, seeing his soulfire gaze scanning the heaping piles baked potatoes, the glistening gravy in its boat shining in the kitchen light, the steaming rolls and tender steamed vegetables. There’s a plate of wild salmon too, shining with lemon juice and peppered with flecks of seasoning and rosemary. When Hughes cuts into it, it practically falls off his knife in delicate little pink slivers, still steaming. 

Ed’s stomach growls again and he grips it, wishing his stupid body would stop betraying him. The whole table laughs besides Al, who doesn’t look his way. Ed shoves nearly a whole potato into his mouth, the burst of heat and flavor filling his senses and clearing his swirling thoughts a bit. He chews and holds in a hum of contentment.

“Al, aren’t you hungry? You never seem to eat when you’re here.” Maes asks. 

“O-oh!” Al sutters, gloved hands flying up, “I ate at the hospital, a HUGE lunch, and my stomach couldn’t have another bite. But thank you!” 

Ed keeps his gaze fixed on the food and pretends his next bite doesn’t taste like ash. 

******

During dinner, Elicia entertains them all with tales of her day, of her birthday party the day before that her new sister Winry attended, and all the gifts she received. Ed tries to listen, really, but the food is pulling his eyelids closed and his body aches. He’s tired down to his bones, but his heart still stutters in his chest; he’s just a tad bit paranoid by the multiple people who have tried to kill him in the past week.

He rubs at a hangnail on his cuticle, plucking it off and he keeps rubbing, searching for more to pluck. He blinks and sees those freak ass fingers of that lady pierce the brother’s armor, splitting the blood seal. 

He picks harder at his nail, pain and blood blooming there. 

Winry coes at something Elicia says and Hughes lets out a tittering laugh, but it’s all radio static behind Ed’s ears. He feels like he’s floating ten feet above the conversation, watching them interact. 

It’s getting bad again. Ed can feel it in his core. The deep black tar that threatens to choke him. It’s getting bad again because Ed wants to slice his skin open and watch it bleed, he wants to be in control of his hurt instead of aching from those inflicted on him. It’s getting so bad he’s started to feel numb half the time, and uncontrolalbly shaky the other half. Ever since they uncovered Marcoh’s secret he’s been getting worse, like those bad first months after receiving his automail ports.

He grips his flesh wrist with his Automail fingers until he feels the bone creak and pain rock through his wrist. Red eyes sear him. Al’s gauntlet hand rests on his mismatched hands under the table, and squeezes gently. Al has such a good grasp on his own strength now and his grip doesn’t hurt or constrict. He’s so gentle. He could have turned bitter, could have rotten from the inside because of Ed’s actions, but Al remains the most pure light Ed has ever known. He’s the kind of person who would store wet kittens in his armour, treating it like a home, a shelter for those in pain, instead of the prison it really is.

Ed lets out a shuddering breath, releasing his now aching wrist, and the sound brings the table’s conversation to a stop. Even little Gracia turns, concern in those young eyes. 

“Sorry, m’fine,” Ed mumbles before anyone can ask, shoveling his now cold vegetables into his mouth. He clears his plate with a numb precision, willing Winry to look away without calling him out. 

The conversation starts up again and Ed’s shoulders untense a fraction. Fuck. He wants to puke up this amazing food, he wants to bury himself under the covers and sleep for a week, he wants to sneak the razor he saw in the tub, he wants his old life back, he wants to watch Al eat, and he wants his mom. 

Instead, he eats, a shivering numbness trickling down his body.  

*****

After dinner, Ed and Al wash dishes while the Hughes family and Winry (from Elicia insistence that her new sissy read her some bedtime stories) tuck Elicia in. The water whooshes in the sink alongside the squeaking of sponge on plates. Al washes why Ed dries and puts the dishes away. He has to guess on a few items and frustratingly has to ask Al to put the pots and pans in the top cabinet where he has no hope of reaching. Al doesn’t tease him at all, in fact, he doesn’t say anything to him. He’s still acting like something’s bothering him and it’s making Ed’s skin itch. 

“You know Ed,” Comes Winry’s voice from the doorway, she saunters in, her blonde ponytail swinging along with a delighted smirk, “if you drank your milk at dinner, maybe you’d be tall enough to reach it.” 

Ed whirls around, that familiar (and somewhat welcome) anger flaring up in his chest, “who are you calling so small he can’t even reach the lowest cabinet!” 

“Shush up, idiot!” Winry smacks his flesh arm, “we just put Elicia to bed.” 

“I’m not drinking that disgusting milk, Winry,” Ed wrinkles his nose.

“Brother…” Al’s voice sounds tired and too old for his age “you have a living body that needs nourishment. You have to drink it.”

Ed turns to Alphonse, noting his slumped posture, leaning against the sink. 

“I don’t have to if I don’t want to!” Ed grumbles, crossing his arms and only just holding himself back from stamping his foot like a child, “it may not look like it, but I have grown some, but everyone still calls me a pipsqueak!” 

Ed ignores the returning footsteps in the hallway and goes on, “I wish I was like you Al. You’ve got such a big body now.” 

Al pushes off the counter and knocks over one of Elicia’s plastic cups, where it rattles to the ground with a hollow thud, “it’s not like I asked for this body, brother!” 

Al’s limbs rattle, his fits clenched as he glares down at Edward. Ed freezes, all his limbs locking where he stands, looking into the raging fire  in his brother’s eyes.

Ed’s stomach falls into a deep pit, blood draining from his face. He lowers his gaze, staring blankly at the floor, “s-sorry, you’re right,” Ed sallows thickly, “it’s my fault that it happened…” the words taste like the bitter dirt they buried mom in. 

Ed keeps speaking to the floor, his arms heavy and limp by his side, “but I’ll make it right. It’ll get you back into your real body, you’ll see Al—” 

Al takes a step forward, his clanging footsteps rattling against the suffocating stillness of the room, “that’s what you always say but you don’t know that for sure!” 

His brother’s words send a jolt of cold fire through him, worse than any automail reconnection. He looks up at him, having to crane his neck a bit for how close Al suddenly stands to him, “lo-look, I promise I’m gonna get you back, believe me, Al. I’ll do it!” His voice cracks, but he keeps his imploring gaze on his brother, trying to inject as much hope as he can into his words. 

“Believe you?!” Al clenches his massive fist, and a gasp escapes Edward, Winry taking a shocked step backward. 

Al pokes his own hollow chest, the sound rattling in Ed’s skull. 

Al says, “how am I supposed to believe anything when I’m stuck in this body?! What should I believe in, my memories?” He waves his hand around to gesture to his head, poking the empty helmet too, “memories are just scraps of information that can be made up as easily as anything else!” His voice sounds choked with tears, but of course he can’t shed any. 

Ed’s eyes widen, his voice strangled, “Al… w-what are you talking about?”

“Do you remember when you said there was something you were afraid to tell me?” Al asks, his voice high-pitched and scared. 

Ed remembers, of course he does. He’d been unable to ask Al all this time, if he blamed him for sticking him in that horrible body. He’d wanted to rip off the bandaid, to see if the wound was still gaping underneath. But he’d been a coward, as usual, and kept his mouth shut. 

He hears Winry gasp beside him but he can’t take his gaze off Al, who is quivering like a barley attached leaf during a storm. 

“I think…” Al pauses, and if he could bite his lip he would, Ed can still picture what his face would look like if he still had one, eyes welling with tears, lip white as he bit down, “I think I might know what it was.”

Ed braces himself, unblinkingly watching his brother. 

“Maybe you wanted to say that my soul and my memories are really artificial constructions you created!” 

A cold ice fills his chest. His gasp lodges in his throat, snagged like skin on barbed wire. 

Al’s trembling head to foot now, and no one moves as he goes on, “You, Winry, and Granny, you’ve been lying to me all along, haven’t you? What do you have to say for yourself, brother ?” He spits out the last word like he doesn’t quite believe he is his brother. 

Ed takes a step back, the pains from his body renewing in a searching ache. He slams his metal foot into the floor, the tile groaning under the appendage and reverberating up his body like a fizzle of electricity. There’s a collective gasp. 

Ed stares at his mismatched feet, the automail toes poking out from the too-long pants. He growls, “is that what you really think…? Have you… believed that all this time?” His body has gone stiff all over, like he’s holding every single cell in stasis, waiting for his younger brother’s answer. 

Al gasps, taking his own step back, but doesn’t reply. 

Ed’s arms tremble, his bangs falling into his eyes, to obscure his steely look, “so are you finished? Or is there more you wanted to say?” All of Ed’s body is telling him to flee, to get out of here, but if Al has more to say, he’ll listen, he’ll let Al yell at him all night if only to know the whole truth, even if it corrodes his insides. He deserves it, after all. 

Alphonse stays silent. So Ed looks up, smiling at the opposite wall, the final wall slamming shut behind his heart. It’s with a numb and floaty feeling that Ed murmurs, “okay then.”

He walks past Alphonse and Winry, not sparing the parents a glance as he unlocks and opens the front door. He hears through the ringing in his ears Winry whimper, “Ed, don’t go.” 

He closes the door with a soft click, his feet taking him out of the apartment complex, out to the street, and wishing the inky black night would swallow him. 

****

Edward leans against the railing, looking into the Central River. The wind spits droplets onto his face and the spray sprinkles little diamonds on his metal arm. The glow of the moon and nearby streetlamps shine off his automail and Ed glares down at it. He flexes his fingers and watches the way the fingers move to his command. It’s truly a miracle he can walk and stand and fight and cut his own food. But right now, he feels only bitterness at the stupid arm. It crawls up his chest and lodges into his throat. He lets a tear fall, stupid emotions betraying his usually uncracked facade. 

Al’s words pierce like an icepick in his ribcage, and for a second Edward can’t breathe. A part of him expected it, knew Al felt this way, that’s why he’d been so afraid to ask. To hear out loud what he’d already confirmed in the back of his mind… he half considers running away right there, disappearing to Xerxes or Xing, isolating and looking for a way to get their bodies back alone. He will never abandon his cause for Al, but Al shouldn’t be burdened with the search. He shouldn’t be forced to be around a brother who he thinks fabricated his memories. How long had Al thought this? Was he just waiting for Ed to get his body back? But it took too long, so everything boiled to the surface and spilled over, burning them both. 

Ed has been so selfish, he could have split ways with Alphonse and gone on this search alone. He should have slipped out during the night, going to get his certification on his own, leaving him a note telling him to build the best life he could in that body until Ed figured it out. He could be herding sheep in Resembool.

Then he wouldn’t be torn apart by Scar, or the villain of the week, he wouldn’t have heard Nina’s cries or any of the other horrors that play behind Ed’s eyelids when he tries to sleep. 

He hears the metallic footsteps over the rush of the river and creaking wind. For the first time in… well, forever, Ed doesn’t want to look at Al, to see the hate likely lodged in his brother’s crimson gaze. 

“Broth-” 

“You know what, Al?” Ed interrupts, keeping his gaze fixed on the water below, “it’s been a while since we fought like this. I’m gettin’ a bit rusty.” 

He rolls his right shoulder, the newly repaired automail squeaking at the port. He stretches his automail leg next, though the movement tears pain up his aching side where he was stabbed earlier.

There’s hesitance in Ed’s turn, but faces Alphonse with a clear and (what he hopes to be) confident smirk. His heart pounds in his chest, alarms screaming in the back of his head, if this doesn’t work, you’ll lose him forever. Maybe you already have. 

“Brother, what-?” 

He’s only a few feet away now, so Ed rushes forward, kicking his metal leg out against Al’s armored chest. Al ducks to the side, gasping, “brother, stop!” 

But Ed just aims a punch to Al’s side, who blocks it with his own hand, jumping a foot back. Ed aims a roundhouse kick with his normal leg, which is dodged. 

“Brother, your wounds aren’t healed enough for this!”

 He jumps onto a nearby metal bench, using the additional height to slice his metal fist down on top of Al’s head, making the sound rattle and reverberate around the empty square.  

Ed’s heart pounds but if he can just make Al take out his frustration on him, and then once he’s cooled off he can remind Al of everything they did together then maybe he—

Ed jumps off the bench intending to aim another kick but Al picks Ed up mid-air and thuds him on his back, far gentler than he should, on the countrete, a light hand on his chest to keep him there.

“Alright, alright, you win,” Ed grunts, and Al releases him, holding out a hand to help him up. Ed does with a choked-off groan. He can feel blood seeping through his bandages, they must have split. Shit, he’s going to ruin Hughes’ old clothes. Ed stumbles to the railing, leaning against it for support and so he can keep his gaze off his brother. 

Al leans beside him, his giant hands clasped in front of him. 

“You remember that time you saved that puppy who fell in the river? You jumped in after it and I jumped in after you?” Ed asks. 

Al chuckles his hollow laugh, the high notes of it ringing around the empty shell, “I think that’s the only time I ever saw mom that mad.” 

“Nah, she was more mad when we drew transmutation circles on her new rug in red paint,” Al reminds him, and Ed’s heart constricts even as he breathes out a laugh.  

“In our defense, the paint said it was washable…” 

“Mom made us wash it three times in the creek before she gave up and made us use our allowance for a new one!” Al replies, his face pointed toward Ed. He finally returns the look, glad to see Al’s posture more loose and that near joy he can detect in his red eyes. 

“Remember the time we snuck out of Granny’s house to spar? And she found us an hour later, with only 6 limbs between us?”

“I forgot about that,” Al says, “you lost your plastic prosthetic to the creek-”

“And your arm got stuck in a tree when I tried a new transmutation on it!” Ed cackles, the pain in his side stinging but he feels alive, the acid in his lungs dissipating slightly. 

The river rushes onward, tugging away the question Ed wants to ask, something always tugs it away. He got his answer didn’t he? But then why did Al remember things with fondness? Why did he believe Ed could create a puppet brother in the first place? 

He feels cold, the night air and the water’s spittle making him shiver. 

Al’s small voice finally creaks over the rush of water, “Winry told me what you really wanted to ask me. I’m so sorry brother. I never knew you felt that way…” 

So, Winry blabbed and told Al everything. She had the courage to say what Ed could never. He was weak, for letting this fester, for not talking to him sooner. 

The words trapped in Ed’s throat finally break free, “do you really think those memories were created Al?” 

“No, brother. I was just-” His voice trails off, as though taken by the wind. Ed studies his brother, trying to peer right through that armor into the soul that lies under. He knows him so well, has now known him in this body for three years, can read his micromovements and any hitches in breath or shoulders when he’s lying or holding back. 

But Alphonse looks at him with a steady gaze and loose posture as he gathers his words back and gives them to Ed, “The crazy armor guy at the laboratory, Barry, he put these ideas in my head. Barry asked me if I was being controlled, and if I had ever considered it, but I hadn’t, Ed. I really hadn’t. I never ever blamed you for saving my life and putting me in here,” he jabs his hollow chest and Ed’s vision blurs with tears. 

“I just.. got so scared,” Al says, his voice cracking on non-existant vocal chords, “he manipulated me and it was stupid to listen, and stupid to say those things I’m so-”

Ed knocks his metal against Al’s chest, “Don’t apologize, Al. I should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have brought you into all this military bullshit. I should have come here by myself to find our bodies, kept you out of this miserable State Alchemist bullshit and away from people like Barry and Tucker. I’ve been a shitty older brother, Al-” 

To his horror, hot tears carve down his cheeks, but now he’s started talking, he can’t stop, even when Al inhales to interrupt him he keeps going, “I was supposed to protect you. I’m the oldest and I promised mom I would take care of you. After the bastard left, the only male role-model you had was me, and not a year later I fuck that up, make you do the transmutation,” he takes a shuddering breath, “and you have every right to resent me. I know you didn’t ask for this body or this life and I want to make it up to you Al, anything-” There’s desperation clawing at his throat, all the words he held back since that blood-stained night when he caught Al staring at his new, much larger, non-feeling, hands. 

The words burn like bile but he keeps talking, through the mess of tears burning his lashes, “I want to get your body back Al, as soon as possible, but it’s okay if you hate me for putting you there in the first place. You don’t need to forgive me Al,” He flashes him a watery smile, the numbness from earlier sweeping over him. Even if Barry planted the puppet ideas in Al’s head, it doesn’t mean he didn’t have his own resentment swirling around inside. “It’s okay, no matter how you feel, I get it. I deserve much worse and—”

“Brother, stop!” Al shrieks, his hand gently shaking Ed’s shoulder, “don’t say that, please! You have no reason to feel guilty for anything. It was both of our choices, both of us decided to try and bring mom back. I don’t resent it, I miss my old body, sure, but don’t you miss yours too? You gave up your arm for me, Ed, why would I ever resent that? This body is annoying sometimes, but it keeps me from all the pain. You had to go through so much pain, and you still do, you still are,” Al points to his side, where blood has now leaked onto the shirt, “so please shut up about that, because I don’t feel that way at all! I love you, you’re my brother! And we’re both gonna get our bodies back. I still want that more than anything.” 

His eyes shine like a desert sun, and Ed gapes at him, “You.. you don’t hate me for this?” 

“No, so stop hating yourself. I was stupid before, but why didn’t you ever tell me how you feel, idiot!?” Al gently bumps his fist against Ed’s head. 

Ed scrubs his eyes and sniffs, “I was bein’ a coward, didn’t want to hear what I thought was the truth.” 

“Well now you know, so stop bottling things up, at least with me. It’ll stunt your growth,” Al teases, bumping his shoulder and offering his arm. 

“Hey! I’m gonna be taller than you some day!” 

“Not if you don’t drink your milk!”

“Ugh! Fine, just a little.” 

Al snorts, helping Ed back down the night painted in deep blue. 

***

They open the door that the Hughes left unlocked to see Maes, Gracia, and Winry all cupping mugs of steaming tea and talking softly. Winry jumps up when they arrive and Gracia gasps, “Ed, your wound!” She gets up to grab their first aid kit and Winry looks the two of them over, “Have you seriously been fighting?” 

“Just a quick spar,” Ed grins, tilting his head at Al, “we had to knock some sense into each other.” 

Al stands there, sheepish despite his massive size, “I was being stupid, sorry Winry. You and Granny would never lie to me.” 

Winry pulls them both into a hug, then smacks them on the head, “my stupid idiots!” 

She leads them to the couch, where Ed perches so he doesn’t get blood on the couch. Winry thanks Gracia for the first aid kit and snaps it open, prodding Ed to take off his shirt. He does so with a grunt and some mumbling under his breath. 

Winry unwraps his bandages and inspects the split stitches, groaning, “Ed, you moron. When will you learn to stop and rest when you’re injured?” 

“He’s done this before?” Maes asks, sitting up and looking over the wound too. Ed glowers and shrinks away from the scrutiny. 

“So many times,” Winry flicks his head, before snapping on gloves and disinfecting the needle. “Sorry, no numbing cream in here.” 

Ed shrugs and motions for her to continue, she spears his skin and Ed grunts, but otherwise doesn’t react. The pain of getting a wound sewn without numbing feels like a mere prick compared to the other pains in his life. 

Gracia winces as she watches, a hand over her mouth, “you boys have certainly been through a lot. Maes tells me you joined the Military at 12, Ed? Why would-” 

“Gracia-” Maes begins.

“No, it’s okay. You guys should probably know what goes on, since we dragged you into this…” Ed winces when Winry pierces a particularly sensitive spot. He lets Al start the story, so he can bite the inside of his cheek. Al tells them about their mother’s death, the transmutation, and then pauses, glowing eyes staring at Ed. 

Winry ties up the stitches and Ed grunts, “Al lost his whole body. I lost my leg, but I couldn’t lose Al too, so I bonded his soul to the armor in our father’s study.” 

“They took his arm from him so I could live,” Al’s voice is small, and he grips his shaking elbow to stop the rattling noise. 

“That’s why Al can’t eat. He can’t sleep either. And why I joined the military,” Ed says.  

“Colonial Mustang asked Ed to join, to help get our bodies back in exchange for helping his team with military duties,” Al says, sitting down beside Ed and placing a hand on his back, “We’ve been searching for a way to get our bodies back since then. Ed and I went to the Fifth Laboratory last night to try and find more answers,” Al explains about the philosopher's stone and the human sacrifices. Ed glances between the two parents, to see their reactions. Maes looks thoughtful, and he tilts his glasses down to wipe them on the hem of his sleeve, while Gracia sits on the armchair across from them, looking faint. 

“Boys, we need to figure out what’s going on with the philosopher’s stone creations, the Fifth Laboratory is not the first rumor I’ve heard about places like this. Other locations I’ve heard have people going missing, or locations of mass death, like Ishval….” he trails off, places his glasses back on before perking up, “But enough shop talk! You three need rest, well, you two I suppose,” Maes flushes, “Alphonse, we have quite the little library in our guest bedroom if you want to peruse it tonight while these two kiddos rest. Only fiction books though, none of those fancy alchemy books that Roy is obsessed with.” 

Ed’s eye twitches at being called a ‘kiddo’ but he lets it go. Watching the way Hughes’ eyes sparkle when he talks to Al is enough to tame his anger. 

“Winry can have the guest room. Al and I can stay out here. I’ll take the couch,” Ed says.

Winry flashes Ed a look, her eyes both hard and glittering, like shiny automail. But she merely sighs and finishes wrapping Ed’s wounds, her fingers trailing down Ed’s livid bruise on his chest where Envy smashed their knee against his ribs. He can still feel the damn homunculus’ hands in his hair, their smirk in his ear as that woman behind them murmurs, “Always remember, we allowed you to live.” 

He shudders and she retracts her hand, her gaze searching him again like she did at dinner. 

“Let’s go take a look at those books and grab some blankets for the couch,” Gracia says, standing and nearly dragging Maes and Alphonse out of the room. 

Once they’re gone, Winry hands Ed the shirt, but his shoulder screams at him when he tries to lift it over his head. All his adrenaline leaked from him during his talk with Al and he feels close to passing out right here. 

She hesitates, watching him crinkle the shirt in his fist, before she tugs the fabric from him and sticks his head gently inside the top hole, then slowly and gently slips his metal then flesh arm into the holes. She pulls his hair out of the shirt and murmurs, “Want me to braid it for you?” 

Edward blushes, gazing down at the cushions and nods. 

“Well, turn around, dummy,” She smiles at him, poking his metal shoulder, though Ed notices she avoids the scarring where flesh meets the metal port. She knows his body so well, knows where he hurts and what needs healing. She knows all the pain he conceals. She even knows how much he hates keeping his hair down and in his face. 

He turns, glad to hide his blush as she curls her body into a criss-crossed position on the couch, her knees brushing his back. She takes the strands delicately in her skilled hands and hums to herself as she finger-combs out a few tangles, then sets to work. He thinks back to all the times she did this when they were young, before and after he lost his limbs. They’d lay in the grass together, and she’d braid his hair, sneakily weaving flowers in, that Ed would find later. He’d pretend to protest how “girly” they were but never removed them. She’d braid his hair after a shower, wherever he’d hobble on a crutch and simple prosthetic leg, literally unable to do it himself. He’d just turn on the bed so she had access to his long locks and she’d get to work, neither of them saying a word, Winry just humming a tune. 

He closes his eyes and listens now to her hum, the rumble in her throat and chest blooming warmth in him. He didn’t realize just how cold he’s been these last few days until warmth floods him, like she’d injected sunlight right into his veins. 

He hums softly along with her, a song they both know well, like it’s carved into their very bones. It used to waft from Granny’s radio, and he’s sure Winry’s father used to sing it to her before she fell asleep.

He closes his eyes and his muscles loosen. He lets himself enjoy the feeling of her fingers in his hair, sighing and leaning into her touch. Her humming never falters, though he can hear a smile in it. 

She finishes and ties off the braid with a ponytail holder she always keeps on her wrist or in her bag, for herself or Ed. She lays a warm hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently at the pulled muscle there, from when he’s been whipped into a wall by one of the metal brothers. She rubs his shoulder for a moment, her strong hands work into his injured muscle. He groans and leans back against her. She giggles and massages him for another moment before patting his head like he’s Den.  

He turns to look at her, and sees her eyes filling with tears, though she’s smiling softly at him. His face warms and he cups her cheek a moment, moving before his brain can catch up to it. 

He wipes away a tear that falls and though his heart cracks at her glistening eyes, he thinks Winry is always crying for them both, more than Ed would and more than Al could. 

**

After breakfast the following morning, Elicia asks why Al isn’t eating and they all fumble for an excuse, all coming up with different things and making the young girl tilt her head like a curious dog. After Ed and Al clean the dishes, with much more lively banter than the night before, the group settles into the living room. It’s the start of the weekend and everyone has the day free. Ed hates free days, giving him too much time sitting around feeling useless. Maybe they could go to the library or spar a bit to shake some of this nervous energy, but Winry would hit him with another wrench so he doesn’t voice the idea out loud. He runs his finger down the edge of his pocket watch, feeling the bumped edges where he sealed it closed. 

He’d carved the words in the day before they burned down their house. He’d stolen one of Winry’s screwdrivers when the gear-head was out walking Den, and tucked himself into a corner of the attic crawlspace, where Al couldn’t reach him in his new body. Eyes hard and hands steady, he scratched out the words Don’t forget Oct 3, 11. He stared at it for a bit, screwdriver left beside him on the dusty hardwood. 

This is it. This is how I remind myself he’d thought, clenching the cool metal between his feeling fingers, hands shaking as he clapped and sealed it with alchemy. Al didn't need to know. Didn't need this reminder when his body was reminder enough. If the automail was penatance then this would be a private admonition to himself to never be that weak again, to never turn to the darkest depths of alchemy and never put his brother into that kind of harm again. He could never admit to Al how weak he feels, even then, with a shiny pocket watch and a plan to burn everything down, to resolve themselves to their goal. He could never admit to Al the guilt that darkens his mind and pools in his gut, of the fear that Al blames him for the bodily prison he put him in. 

He feels lighter than he has in years, after his talk with all. He rubs the edges of the pocket watch for a minute longer. The resolve is still there, but the fear and blame has eased to a background aching, like automail ports on a rainy day. 

“Ed? Al? Would you like to help me with a little craft book Elicia and I are working on for her daddy? Winry’s gone to the store with Maes, so now would be a perfect time to finish up.” Gracia’s voice brings Ed back to now, seated on her plush and old couch next to his brother. Al nods so rapidly his helmet almost flies off and Ed hitches a smile on, “sure.” 

“YAY! Big brother Ed and Al!” Elicia claps her tiny hands, pigtails bouncing along. Ed turns away sharply, another girl’s face filling his mind's eye. He won’t fail Elicia too. 

He stands with a slight groan, the movement pulling at old and new injuries. It seems like he’s been getting his ass handed to him more often. He needs to get stronger. Maybe they should think about seeing Teacher again, though the thought of her flaying them alive makes him shiver. Would she ever understand their commiting the taboo? Would she forgive them or just be the next in a line of people Ed has disappointed? 

“Ed?” There’s a tug at his sleeve and he looks down to see Elicia’s big eyes piercing his, “Let’s finish daddy’s present! It’s pictures of me and mommy and daddy, a photo a plum!”

“Album, dear” Gracia corrects, hiding her chuckle behind her hand. 

Ed’s smile feels real this time as he allows her to tug him along, not unlike her father, dragging him to the table. Al and Gracia are already seated and looking through a massive stack of photos. 

The photos span years, Ed can tell by the strange stages of Hughes’ hair and beards, and Gracia’s hair used to be a lot longer. There are ones of them at the hospital, clearly right after Elicia was born, there are school and daycare photos of an adorable Elicia wearing a variety of cute bows on her bald baby head, in fancy dresses outside of a church, and each family member celebrating birthdays. Moving those to the side he sees a set of photos of the family that look recent of them at a park at some kind of picnic. There are quite a few of that day, all of them in matching outfits and smiles. And under those is a photo of Elicia messily eating what looks like birthday cake. There are mounds of photos and Gracia chuckles, “I don’t even know where to start! Kids, why don’t you all choose three?” 

Ed bristles at the word ‘kids’ but tampers it down at the sight of all the bright faces at the table. Al looks more relaxed than he has in ages, and Elicia is giving him a sparkling stare that he can’t help but melt under. Al ruffles Elicica’s hair and Ed watches his brother. Perhaps Al likes being the older brother for a change. 

Slowly, Ed turns back to the photos, his heart jumping at a photo of Hughes, who has scooped Elicia into his arms and is kissing her cheeks while her head is thrown back in laughter. She hugs her father tightly back. He can’t look away from the expression on Hughes’ face, one of pure joy and love. It twists an invisible knife in Edward’s gut. The only photos Ed ever saw of his dad, (when he was dragged in front of the camera) the bastard’s lips are turned downward, his eyes furrowed and his back straight and stiff. He doesn’t touch his sons much, Ed doesn’t remember a time where his father ever held him like that, or kissed his cheek, or said anything that Hughes says to his daughter. 

He plucks the photo from the pile, a leadened ball sitting in his chest. He hands it over to Gracia without looking at her, his bangs hanging low over his eyes. He hears more than sees Al’s armour tilt his direction, but Al doesn’t say anything. Edward swallows past the painful marble that seems lodged in his throat and stamps down on the ache in his gut before it can grow. He picks another photo of the three of them on the picnic, the scene so happy and carefree. He grabs another at random, a picture of Elicia and Gracia baking a cake, covered in frosting, and handing it to Gracia. 

A sudden yearning for his mom washes over Ed, so strong that he pushes himself to his feet sharply, the chair shrieking across the wooden floor. The group looks up at him but he just mumbles “bathroom” and stumps off. 

He sits on the closed lid of the toilet, burying his head in his hands and breathing deeply. He sees the picture they took as a family that Pinako has hanging on her wall, of the family, and the covered eyes of Hohenheim where Granny strategically tried to cover up his frigid gaze. The cold frown, the stiff posture. Ed remembers wiggling in his father’s arms, trying to get away from the cool stare and rigid hold. He remembers looking up into those eyes and seeing nothing but a dull yellow gaze like banketed fire. Muffled by something Ed could never comprehend. 

It’s not like he ever expected to have a normal family after Hoenheim left. The faces of Maes Hughes and his adorable family are something totally unattainable for him and Al. Sure, Granny and Winry took them in just like a family, but their mission to get their bodies back created a perfect distance for Ed. He could keep them at arms length, not let them know the trouble they got into, never make them worry and in turn he didn’t have to open up to them. The perfect system, even if it was a lonely one. 

Whenever he sits awake in the dark, listening to the pages of the book Al reads shuffle, he misses Winry and Granny like he misses his own limbs. He wants them there, but more than anything, he wants the life they all had before. Before they fucked up and changed everything. But all he can do is move forward, stop moping, and push the gnawing loneliness aside. Even if it meant a wrench to the head, he didn’t mind wrecking his automail, really. It meant more time with Winry, more time to check on her, to shuffle gazes her way and ask how Granny’s hip is doing. The little updates he gets from them always fills him with something akin to hot steam, sustaining him until the next disaster where they have to return to Resembool. 

He stands and splashes some water on his face, wondering how long he’s been in here. If Al asks, he’ll cite stomach issues, but his brother knows him too well. Maybe he felt the same horrible sinking realization when he leafed through those photos. That theirs is a family forever broken, torn apart by distance and illness and ugly mistakes. 

Ed dries off his face, takes a shuddering breath, and avoids looking in the mirror as he leaves the bathroom. 

He stumps back into the room, where there’s a smaller stack of photos now, Al having chosen his, Ed’s little completed pile still sits with smiling faces staring up at the ceiling, but Elicia seems to be having trouble narrowing down. 

“But momma, I like them all! Can’t we give daddy all the pictures?” 

“What will we do for his next birthday if we give them all to him this time around?” 

Gracia smiles at her daughter, brushing some curls out of her face. She beams at Ed when he sits back down, his stomach flips at the smile. 

“Alphonse, why don’t you help Gracia choose three more? I’m gonna go make some tea if you could help me, Edward?”

Ed nods, standing again and following her to the kitchen, Elicia’s squeals and Al’s giggles following them. 

Once they’re out of earshot, Gracia turns to him, her eyes sparkling, “honey, are you alright? Are your injuries still bothering you?” 

She fills the kettle at the sink while Ed pulls out the tea box they keep in the lower cabinet. The cabinet shrieks and he opens it and he grits his teeth. He’s so damn transparent, isn’t he?

“I’m fine, Mrs. Hughes.” He assures her. 

She gives him that I-don’t-believe-you smile that Granny often shoots his way.

“You can just call me Gracia, Edward.” 

“Then you can just call me Ed,” He parries.  

She chuckles, nodding, “Okay then, Ed. I was just wondering…” She scrunches her eyebrows, placing the kettle on the stove and closing the lid. Ed grabs out some mugs, tensing, waiting. 

“Well, forgive me if this is blunt, but I couldn’t help noticing you getting misty-eyed when you saw those photos of us. It made me wonder if they made you miss your mother, your family?” 

Ed looks away, listening to her light the stove. He sets three matching blue and yellow flower mugs onto the counter with a little clink. He chews on the words, warring with the need to stay strong and the longing to speak what he’s feeling, to dislodge it from his chest. 

She’s patient, waiting for his response. She takes out the sugar, cocoa powder, and milk and they wait for the water to boil. 

“It’s just…” He looks up at her, taking a breath, “there is so little evidence left of our family. We never took photos, and even when we did, the bastard… my father” he clarifies when Gracia’s brows furrow, “he’s always frowning like he hated being there. Guess he did cause the good-for-nothing left right before my mom got sick…” 

Gracia reaches out to touch his arm and Ed doesn’t pull away, if only to not offend her. 

He sighs, “And you guys are such a happy and complete family it… well it’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid, Ed. What is it?” 

Ed looks away, inspecting the floor when he replies, “It makes me a bit jealous, okay? See, stupid and selfish.” 

She squeezes his arm until he looks up at her, where her eyes are glistening with tears, “Oh Ed, that’s not stupid. May I hug you?” 

“Uhhhh…” 

Touches, he’ll allow, but rarely does he allow hugs, particularly from a mother. Not like Teacher was that huggable, and Granny preferred pats on the back. But she’s looking at him with so much warmth that he nods despite himself. 

She wraps him in a hug and he realizes, oh, this is what I’ve missed. He hasn’t felt this warmth, the gentle arms of a mother since he was five. And it makes treacherous tears spring to his eyes for the second time in this shitty week. He buries his tears in her shoulder and she rubs his back, not shushing him or calling him a baby, just holding him gently and rubbing her warm hands up and down his spine. He allows himself a little breakdown (he deserves it, doesn’t he? After almost dying so many times?) and weeps soundlessly into her soft arms. He’s really good at crying silently, perfected the skill when Al was born. He never wanted to scare his brother with his own tears.

The kettle begins wheezing before crescendoing to a full-on shriek and they had to break apart to shut it off. Ed subtly wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his red coat Gracia had washed for him the night before. 

“I have an idea,” She whispers, a conspiratory smile on her pink-painted lips, “We’ll just wait for the others to get home.” 

Her eyes still sparkle with her own tears and Ed marvels at the capacity for empathy she contains, crying for a boy she just met who needed a mother’s touch. 

He clears his throat, nods, and yells into the living room, “hey, Elicia, want some hot cocoa?” 

“YEAH!” She cheers, adding “we found all the best pictures, mommy! Al is gonna help me put them into the album now!”

“Great work you two!” Gracia calls back. 

Her and Ed make the cocoa and tea in quiet contentment, Ed’s muscles uncoiling again. This family has managed to worm their way into his heart quicker than he thought possible. 

*

A half-hour later, after the album is complete and tucked away for Hughes’ birthday the following day, the door opens and Hughes calls, “we’re home! Would my lovely ladies and helpful gents come help us with these groceries?” 

They all head into the kitchen, to find Winry and Hughes unpacking bags of flour, sugar, a sack of apples, vanilla, and other baking supplies.

“What’s all this?” Gracia asks, kissing her husband and stroking his hair lovingly. 

“Winry is going to make us her famous apple pie!” Hughes throws his hands in the air in celebration. The room cheers, even Alphonese, who grabs out his pen and writes it down in his ever-growing list of things he’s going to eat when he has his body back. It makes Ed’s heart flip in both joy and sorrow.

They all bake together, though Ed’s not sure what Elicia is doing can count as baking, but they have a  great time doing it. Winry has always been an amazing baker and Ed brags to them all about Winry’s other goodies she used to make growing up before she started to pursue Automail engineering. He doesn’t miss the blush creeping up Winry’s cheeks at his words. 

They tuck into the steaming pie, Ed pushing down his guilt to try and just enjoy the food for once, knowing Al will get to enjoy it someday soon too. 

After they eat, rubbing their full bellies, Gracia springs up and sing-songs, “be right baaack!” 

They share confused looks before she comes back clutching a large polaroid camera. 

“Let’s get some family photos!” She says. 

Ed, Al, and Winry step aside as the family gets into position but the three Hughes’ shake their heads and gesture them all, blushing, into the photo. 

Maes explains, “ours has a little five-second delay, so let’s put it on the shelf right there.”

“Sissy, hold me up!” Elicia demands, tugging on Winry’s sleeve. She beams, and her smile nearly knocks Ed over. They position the camera, then figure out the standing position so Alphonse can fit into the frame. He has to lean a bit forward in the back but they all get into position, and Maes rushes over to start the countdown and then back into his place beside Gracia and Ed. They all smile and the flash clicks. 

“Let’s take a few more, just in case!” Gracia calls and the group nods. 

They repeat the process a few more times, then break formation. Elicia plants a wet kiss on Winry’s cheek that has her giggling and she kisses her head in return. The girl squeals in delight and says, “I love you sissy!” 

Ed watches and turns to gaze at Al, who nearly has hearts in his own bright eyes. 

Once the photos develop, they all gather around the couch to look through them. All three turned out great and Gracia hands one to Winry, one to Ed with a knowing smile, and one to Maes, who is cooing about his beautiful family, (now including “his three new kids.”) 

Ed looks at the photo of them all, beaming and scrunched up close to accommodate everyone in the frame. His heart leaps and he presses the photo to his chest for a moment, then passes it to Al, who clutches it and whispers, “thank you so much. We don’t have many photos of our family…. thank you.” If Al could cry, Ed is certain he would. 

Gracia beams and takes Al in a hug. Al squeaks and hugs her back. Even if Al can’t feel it, he sees the softness in his brother’s eyes and Ed mouths ‘thank you’ to the mother. Gracia hugs Winry next who wipes tears away after they break apart. 

“Now, one more surprise! Honey, I know your birthday is tomorrow but since the kids leave in the morning…” She dashes off again and Elicia beams proudly, crawling onto her father’s lap. 

“My sweet Elicia and I share so many things, including our birthdays being so close together!” 

“I can’t wait to have more birthdays with you, daddy!” Elicia pats his cheeks and he cooes. 

Gracia returns with her hands behind her back and says, “the boys and Elicia put this together for you. And I thought you could add another photo to it,” She nods to the photo of them all in Maes’ hand. 

She holds out the album, the front holding a picture of the three of them Ed chose at the picnic. Maes squeals just like his daughter and proceeds to look through each photo, Winry circling around behind him to get a look at it too. Each photo elicits another barrage of joyful noises from Hughes and Ed thinks bemusedly about how annoyed Roy would be at the sight of his friend in near hysterics over some family photos. But it melts something cold inside Ed, watching this family, this family that Gracia and Maes and Elicia so easily tugged them into. 

He glances at Al, who puts a hand on Ed’s leg. 

Maes reaches the end and tucks the photo they just took inside, and retrieves one his wife, him, and his daughter, claiming, “I’m keeping this one in my shirt pocket, so you are always by my heart!” 

Ed almost groans at the cheesy confession but bites his tongue. This is, he realizes, how families are. Cheesy and all.

When Winry, Ed, and Al depart the following morning, Ed on the mend and their next task biting at their heels (Winry to visit Rush Valley and Ed and All off to Dublith for the dreaded meeting with Teacher), they linger in the hallway to say their goodbyes to the little family. 

Gracia hugs Ed and whispers, “whenever you miss home, take a look at that photo. We’re always here for you Ed.” 

Ed nods, unable to speak. He squeezes back and they pull away. 

“See you around, kids! Stay out of trouble, won’t you?” Maes waves and ruffles Ed’s hair. 

Ed swats him away but smirks, “Always!”  

Elicia gives them all one last hug and they walk down the hall, Ed tucking the photo into his breast pocket and declaring, “let’s go get our bodies back, Al.”