Disclaimer: I own nothing here. The idea was not originally even mine; I just created a story from it.
"Edward, come along!"
Ed looked up from the patch of violets to his mother. One hand held Alphonse's clingy, stubby fingers, and the other she held outstretched for him to run to her. Al peeked around her skirt and promptly popped one thumb into his mouth. Ed stuck his tongue out at him across the distance, and Al pouted at the tease. Trisha called once more for Edward to come. Ed got off his knees and yanked up the rest of the flowers, grass too, to join the bunch he had already carefully plucked.
Petals and bits of grass wriggled free from Ed's fist as he ran to his mother. She reached to take his hand, but he thrust forward the flowers instead. "I picked them all by myself!" he declared proudly.
"For me?" Trisha smiled sweetly. "Why thank you, Ed." She took the little buds into her hand and smelled their minor fragrance to show she truly appreciated the gift.
Ed beamed. Al stood watching, thumb still in his mouth. Trisha put them into her dress pocket.
"I could make you something to put them in when we get home," Ed offered with childlike charm.
"You are so good with alchemy. Even so young," Trisha smiled and reached down to grab his hand, but as her hand came closer, the skin seemed to peel away and vanish into the air like dust. Ed stared. Her whole arm began to twist in brutal deformation. Still she reached closer and closer to him. As the deformation began to travel up her arm to the rest of her body, Ed tried to step back, but his feet were stuck to the ground. No, foot.
Ed fell backward with a cry as he realized in horror that his leg and arm were gone. Still his mother reached closer and closer. Her voice came out raspy and inhuman, "So good…but with all that skill, you couldn't save me."
Ed dragged his bleeding body back, a scream bouncing in his lungs but unable to escape. Panicked, Edward glanced to his brother. Tears started to flow from his eyes when instead of Al, he saw a giant suit of armor standing behind the writhing form of his mother.
"You did this to me," Al said. His tone was flat – no anger, no betrayal, no life. "This is your fault. You did this to me."
"Al," Ed sobbed, the scream forcing its way out in heaving pants and a flood of tears. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to save Mom. Mom…I'm so sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" His voice rose into hysterics, and he didn't fight as his mom clasped a dry, leathery, bone-hand around his one arm.
As she touched him, however, she burst into dust. Alphonse disappeared as well, and all that was left was a white light all around Ed. He lay sobbing into himself, but before the panic could start to recede, a voice boomed through his ears in an endless echo.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Truth's grin seared into his eyes, and all Ed could do was scream.
… … … …
"Brother. Brother! Wake up!"
Al's voice cut through Ed's panic. Ed's eyes snapped open, and he physically wrenched himself from the nightmare by jerking his body upright. Al knelt on the floor beside the bed so his helmet would be on the same level as his brother's. Edward sat panting, unbidden and embarrassing tears trailing down his cheeks. After a minute, Ed brushed them away angrily with his one hand and closed his eyes with a shudder.
"Brother, are you okay?" Alphonse inquired tentatively. The answer was obvious, but Al was good enough to give Ed the chance to cover up his tears with a flimsy excuse or two.
Surprisingly, Ed only stared at him. Al watched his hand clench and release repeatedly, the only true outward sign of anxiety Ed now showed. "Brother?" Al asked again.
Edward tried to make a sound, wanted to brush off his fear and assure Alphonse he was fine, hardly traumatized at all; but only one sentence echoed in his mind, going around like an eternal carousel.
What have I done? What have I done?
"AH!"
"Stop squirming or it will go on wrong."
"ACK! Stop pinching!"
"Ed, we're not pinching you; that's your nerves hooking up to the automail."
"Granny, are you sure Ed's going to be okay?"
"Don't worry, Al, he's just in pain since his wounds are still tender."
"YEE-OW! You said it wouldn't hurt very much!"
"No, I said that since you have never had automail before, this time will be the worst. After you get used to having it, taking the limbs on and off won't hurt much."
"Winry, would you hurry up and get it attached!"
"Calm down, Ed, I'm working as fast as your wriggling will let me. If you don't hold still, I might graft it on crooked and then you will be even worse off then you are now." She grunted and the metal gave a finalizing click.
"Ughh…" Ed panted. "Is it on now?"
Winry stood back from the bed. The flecks of worry fell behind a mask of confidence as she beamed proudly. "Okay, try it out. If it worked, then we'll attach your leg."
Hesitantly, Ed glanced over at the metal atrocity attached to what remained of his shoulder. "What do I…?"
"Try moving your fingers," Granny Pinako urged. "It's only been two months since you've lost your arm. You're body will know what to do. Just try."
Ed looked down at the metal limb once more and with his mind willing it, he twitched his fingers. From the other side of the bed, Al cheered. Gaining confidence, Edward flexed his entire hand, closing it into a fist first before spreading the fingers wide. Rehabilitation wouldn't take three years. Just as he promised, he would do it in one. He smiled a bit, but it quickly slid into a grimace when he tried to lift the arm.
Winry noticed. "It will take you some time to get use to the weight and movements of it. After all, you've not had to use that side for a while." She advised cheerfully, "It's best if you start with the little movements before getting into any heavy-duty action."
"Try moving it around a little more so we know it's fitted correctly," Pinako ordered.
As Edward moved his prosthetic in jerky motions, he turned to Al. "It's not so bad," he spoke cheekily. "I thought rehab'd be worse, but we might get out of here in less time then we thought."
Granny Pinako poked him with her pipe, "One year, young man. You are staying under surveillance for one year and not a day less. You just wait until you are walking around. You might not feel so haughty then."
"Hey, watch where you point that thing!" Ed exclaimed, completely ignoring her otherwise.
"I think it's on right," Winry assessed, having monitored the limb without paying attention to anything around her. "Let's get the leg on."
Ed blanched. "A-already?"
Winry nodded.
Ed clenched both fists – flesh and automail – into the sheets and gave a small nod. This time when Winry and Pinako fitted the automail onto Ed's stump, he only gave a small grunt, although the whiteness of his flesh hand betrayed his pain.
After stretching the new limbs for ten minutes, Ed declared his intentions to get started with recovery right away. Despite the physical restraint at Winry's and Al's hands, Ed managed to worm his way out of bed. One hand on Al's arm, Ed stood on both feet.
"Brother, are you sure you should try this right now?" Alphonse asked nervously. "You barely got them on."
"Of course I'm sure," Ed gritted. His stumps throbbed; his leg hurt worse, but if there was one thing Ed wanted, it was to walk on his own. He'd be happy to push his wheelchair off a cliff and never see it again. He was going to start walking on his own today even if it killed him.
"Okay…" Al stepped back and Winry moved closer to Ed on the other side, both of them ready to catch him when he fell.
For a moment Ed just stood, focusing on balance and what movements were needed to move his leg. He closed his eyes to concentrate. First one step, then another, then another, then –
"Gah!"
Al grabbed for Ed and Ed leaned heavily on his armor, using it to push himself upright.
"Since when did you leave metal scraps on the floor, huh, Winry?" Ed complained, gesturing with his automail arm toward the mess he had tripped on.
"Well, it wasn't my fault you had your eyes closed!" Winry crossed her arms angrily.
Ed grumbled at that, thankfully ending the argument there, at least until Winry paid attention to what he was saying.
"What was that about 'stupid gearheads'?" she leaned closer to him, a hand grabbing a wrench left on the bed.
"You want me to say it a little louder?" Ed challenged, trying to push himself away from Al to look more intimidating.
Al looked between the two before glancing at Pinako. She did nothing to interfere.
Winry waved her wrench next to Ed's head. "I put that automail on you, and I can take it right back off. You watch what you say about your mechanic! You're going to be stuck with me whether you like it or not, so you could at least show some appreciation!"
"Fine!" Ed shouted. "Thank you for leaving the parts on the ground for me to trip on. I really wanted to see what it felt like to fall with new automail on."
Winry's face flared red, but before she could escalate, Ed suddenly went pale and his automail leg folded under him. Al still had a hold on his brother and gently dragged him back to the bed. Ed cursed the automail under his breath, but this time Winry let it slide. She knew well enough he was only cursing his own weakness.
"Ed," Pinako got his attention. "You can help me with household chores for the next few weeks. Al and Winry will help you with walking till you can do it steadily on your own."
"I can walk on my own," Ed gritted out.
"I said 'steadily', she corrected calmly. "That way you can work on the more miniscule movements and walking. We'll consider your work around the house payment for the automail. Agreed?"
Ed glanced at Al and at his automail limbs. Steeling his gaze, he looked into Pinako's eyes and nodded.
"Brother?" Al called through the house for him. "Brother? Where are you?"
It had only been a week, but Ed had managed to stumble around convincingly enough that Al and Winry didn't have to stay by him every minute. Regardless, Pinako had put so many mundane tasks on him that he was dying of extreme boredom. Honestly, couldn't she have set the table and washes the dishes herself once this week? Ed knew it was all for his benefit, but the tasks had him brimming with frustration. Moving shouldn't be so hard and painful. Who winced over the thought of sweeping the floor? Turning a doorknob? Getting out of bed?
Thanks to Den, Winry's dog, having a technical difficulty in her automail leg, Pinako and Winry were both busy discussing probable solutions. Ed had slipped away into their storage room. He told himself he was giving himself a break from the chores, but in reality he was in hiding.
"Brother?" Al opened the door.
"Sh!" Ed pulled him in and shut the door. "She'll hear you."
Although Al could not make facial expressions, Ed could almost see the confusion in his mind. "Winry?"
"No," Ed looked around, almost as if she might be in the room. "Granny. She's been practically making me clean the entire house one thing at a time. First dusting, then replacing the window Winry broke, and it's only 'cause of that dog I got out of scrubbing all the countertops. Next she'll have me beating the carpets!"
"You agreed to do it," Al reminded practically.
"Yeah, I know."
"And it's making you use your automail."
"I know."
Al hesitated. "Does it hurt?"
Ed stopped his unconscious fidgeting. "No," he denied "Why would you think that?"
Al looked down. "I just…you were crying in your sleep last night."
Ed frowned, uncomfortable with a truth he couldn't deny. "You were probably just seeing things."
"Yeah…" Al shifted closer. "You taking a break?" he tried to move past the accusation, knowing Ed would attempt to deny it no matter what Al said.
Favoring his flesh leg, Ed turned away. "Yeah, that crazy old woman doesn't know how to give a guy a break."
Al chuckled, the sound hollowly echoing in his armor. "I thought you said you were going to do whatever it took to get through recovery before the year was over."
Ed grumbled and shoved some neglected project off a dusty piano bench to give himself some place to sit. "Everything that is necessary. Granny Pinako is making me do things that don't even require me to use my automail."
"So maybe you should try some stuff on your own," Alphonse suggested.
Granny Pinako's voice rose outside the room.
"Al, go distract her for me, will ya?" Ed asked, trying hard not to make it sound like begging.
"Mm," Al agreed and left. A minute later, Ed heard Al stuttering as he tried to cover up. "Brother said he was tired so he went upstairs to get some rest."
"I'll go check on him."
"NO!" Embarrassed silence. "I mean, he wouldn't say it, but he's ashamed and frustrated with being tired. I think it's better to just let him be for a while."
"You just had to say that, didn't you Al…?" Ed muttered to himself.
He looked around the room. Every surface bore the marks of oil, screws, wires, and leftover bits from previous automail projects. The neglected, little storage room was only half the size of the bedrooms upstairs, but despite the small space, the Rockbells had somehow found room to store a dingy piano there.
Not about to take automail as a hobby and certainly not willing to sit and do nothing, Edward turned toward the piano for entertainment instead. If Al's excuse worked, Winry and Pinako would be outside digging up the last of the potatoes before winter. Who knew where Al had gone. Ed felt a bit surprised by his lack of reappearance. Normally Alphonse tended to stay beside Ed day and night. In the beginning it had just been practical, but they both knew that some personal security was added to when they were with each other.
In any case, Ed assumed no one was in the house to hear him, so he might as well occupy his time. Besides, if he managed to learn something from all those chores, he learned that even a task done wrong taught him to use his automail better.
Winry thought it was a onetime occurrence. She had never known anyone musical, but at odd times of the day she thought she heard songs vibrating through the walls. It was the simplicity of the songs that made her suspicious at first. The melodies ranged from out of key to a mess of notes arranged so that the only thing they held in common was a rhythm. But as the days passed, the songs got better. Haltingly so, but she heard the improvement.
The day came when she had to know. Every time she looked into the storage room, the only place the music could be coming from if it was truly someone on the piano as she suspected, the bench was conspicuously pulled out, the piano cover open, and the room vacant.
Winry was irked by the mysterious music, and at dinner she threw out the topic, ready to jump at anyone who gave even the slightest hint of reaction.
"I don't know about you, but I've been hearing music around the house lately. Piano music. Have any of you been playing?" That was it, straight and simple. Best to ask up front rather than to get subtle. She had never been one for subtle accusations.
To her chagrin, no one seemed to react. Well, perhaps Al did, but he was only capable of so much expression. It amazed Winry how Ed could sense Al's mood without even looking or listening to assess. So maybe Al reacted, but Winry didn't know.
To her vexation, Ed shoved a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth and started talking around them, "What are you talking about, Winry? We don't even have a piano. You're probably hearing things."
Before she could get mad, Al stepped in hastily, "Yeah, like the radio," and diffused her anger.
Pointing a frown at everyone in the room, she opened her mouth to say more, but a warning look from Pinako told her not to pester them with the subject anymore. Instead, Winry vented her frustration by pushing her glass of milk toward Edward.
He glanced up from his plate and glared murderously at it.
"At least drink your milk, Ed. There's got to be a reason you are so short."
Ed's eye twitched a second before he exploded. The table jumped as he shot to his feet, and Al caught his chair as it fell. Pointing a finger at the milk first and then Winry, he shouted, "I don't have to drink your milk, and I am not SHORT!"
Al set the chair upright and sided with Winry, "Brother, you are a bit smaller than all the other boys. She's probably right about the milk."
Red flushed on Ed's cheeks as he realized his own brother had turned against him, and Ed began pointing his finger at Al and shouting down the short comments in his direction.
Winry grinned in self-satisfaction. She only teased him because she cared. She was a bit upset with her question not being answered, but honestly, why did Ed have such a vendetta against milk?
Dinner continued this way till Pinako ordered Ed to clean up and Winry to talk to her in the back room. Winry followed, expecting a lecture on her behavior toward Ed, but the conversation went a vastly different direction.
"Winry, Ed is the one who plays the piano."
I knew it, Winry inwardly grinned.
"But I don't want you to tell him you know."
Winry frowned. "Why not?" Her grandmother never held secrets in high regard unless they were necessary or worth keeping.
Pinako sighed. "Ed has been doing well the past few weeks on his recovery, but his body isn't the only thing that needs repairing."
"You mean his mind," Winry provided slowly.
Pinako nodded, "The piano will certainly help him with the finer movements in his automail fingers, but I believe the music offers him a greater relief then just training himself to move from one note to another. He needs this, but he doesn't want us to know. He's had it hard enough on himself struggling to recover, let him have his secret."
"Even if we know?" Winry asked in a softly skeptical tone.
Pinako nodded.
"Does Al know?"
"I suspect he does. Those brothers may keep things secret from each other, but I believe they both know the other's thoughts and feelings; they just choose to ignore that knowledge to give the other a chance to express it."
"Hm," Winry frowned. "At least they aren't at each other's throats like some brothers I know around Resembool."
"Or like you and Ed rowing at the dinner table?"
Mentally, Winry cued Pinako, and the expected lecture spilled out.
Everything was perfect. The weather was bright and lovely; the house was uncharacteristically quiet; and the blankets on top of him were radiating warmth. It made him cranky enough to start causing disorder himself just to disrupt the atmosphere.
A tickle caught in his throat and Ed started coughing roughly to rid himself of it.
"Do you need some water?" Al asked from his spot on the floor.
The tickle vanished and Ed sighed into a sneeze. Groaning and bemoaning the fact that he was in bed with the flu and two aching stumps, Ed ignored Al's concern.
Al grabbed the pitcher of water and poured out another cupful of clear liquid for Ed in spite of Ed's grumblings. When given the cup, however, Ed thanked Al and sipped it.
After a minute, Alphonse got up again to replace a book on the shelf lining one of their walls. "Do you want something to read?"
Ed placed the cup on the little bedside table. "I want to not be sick," he sniffed loudly," and I want to work on getting stronger." He sneezed.
Al seemed to frown in concentration as he watched Ed. "If you don't want to be sick, maybe you shouldn't push yourself so hard. You kind of scared me when you started coughing up blood last night."
Ed waved it off, but the gesture lacked its usual carefree air. "It was only a little blood, and it was only because I was lifting those crates inside for Winry."
"I could have done that."
"I know, but I wanted to see how far I'm getting in recovery."
"Granny said not to lift anything heavy until after three months – at least."
"Two and a half is close enough." Ed tried to grin, but it fell short and morphed into a grimace. "Besides, Granny wasn't there."
Al pointed out, "But now you overworked it and caught the flu."
Ed pouted in defeat. "Yeah, but not for long."
Al returned to his spot on the floor without choosing another book. He sat quietly for a few minutes. Ed's sniffs, coughs, and occasional sneezes were the only noise breaking the silence. At last Alphonse admitted, "I miss what it's like to feel."
"Hm?" Ed turned his head, gazing somberly at his brother's sagging metal suit.
"I've even forgotten what it's like to feel pain or to get sick." He laughed sourly. "I never thought I'd want to remember that."
Edward sat silently, a bitter sadness weighing down on him. "Al…" Al looked at Ed. "We'll get your body back. You'll see. Then you'll be able to feel again, and not just pain or – Achoo! – stuff like that either. You'll feel the good things too." He smiled a bit before coughing close-mouthed.
Al seemed to smile, and his voice reflected his renewed determination. "Yeah. We will. And we'll get your limbs back so you don't have to deal with automail all the time."
Ed agreed to that, "And then maybe Winry won't drive me up the wall about how to take care of it properly."
"You know, one of these days you're going to have to actually listen to her instructions. We won't be living here forever so you won't have her nagging you about what to do when it squeaks."
Ed laughed, but with his plugged nose and dry throat, it came out like a bark. "One of these days," he agreed.
Metal clanked as Al rose and returned to the bookshelf. He ran a leather finger over the binding of each book, scanning the titles for ones he hadn't read. As he did so, he repeated his earlier inquiry, "Do you want something to read?"
Ed sneezed again and reached for the tissue box. "I think my head would explode if I tried to force anything else into it right now."
Trying to be helpful, Al glanced around. Seeing the desk that had been pushed to the side to allow more space for Al to maneuver, he clanked over and searched the drawers' contents. Producing a writing board, a pen, and some paper, he dropped the items in Ed's blanketed lap. "Well, maybe if you can't put anything in your head, you could try letting some of it out."
Ed stared at the materials and shrugged, wincing as his right shoulder complained. While Alphonse settled on the floor with yet another book, Ed sat staring at his paper. The first few sheets of white were soon covered in scrawls about alchemy, drawings included, but the more he thought about alchemy, the more his head filled with questions begging to be answered. This wasn't helping.
After a few crumpled papers, Edward gave up and lay down, a single sheet of paper and a pen on the writing board in front of him on the blankets. For a while he watched Alphonse reading. Not much excitement there, but the image was a constant. Over the past few months of living with the Rockbells, Ed had gotten so used to having Al in the room when he slept that if, for any reason, Al was gone during the night, Ed could not fall asleep. He had grown used to having his brother watching over him to protect him.
But the more Ed watched Al, the armor perfectly still until suddenly flicking a page, the more he realized how much Al must have missed. Ed had a hard time dealing with automail rehabilitation, but it was nothing compared to the void of emptiness Al must be experiencing. What would it be like to forget warmth? How would it be to forget hunger or the taste of food? Or to smell freshly baked apple pie? To miss the bad wouldn't be so hard, but to forget all the good things in the world?
Desperate to be rid of his spiraling thoughts, Ed grabbed the pen and propped himself up on one elbow, his fingers resting in his loose hair. Without censoring his feelings, Ed began to write.
How can I repay you, brother mine?
How can I expect you to forgive?
Clinging to the past, I shed our blood
And shattered your chance to live.
Ed sneezed onto the paper. Frowning in distaste, he used his flesh arm to rub off the specks of moisture, only rubbing them into the paper. With a sigh he gave up and returned his hand under his head.
Though I knew the laws, I paid no heed
How can I return your wasted breath?
What I didn't know has cost you dear;
For there is no cure for death.
The pen stopped moving as Ed stared at the words he had written. Did he really mean that? Death had no cure? There was no way to return their mother in the first place? Only months ago, Ed had told Truth that there was a way, he was only missing something. Was he doubting himself now? Ed didn't allow himself to answer, but the doubt grew as he continued writing. Death only reminded him of one thing now:
Beautiful mother, loving and kind
Once you were gone we were not complete.
Back through the years we reached for you;
Alas, it was not to be.
The pen trembled in his automail grip. The nerves were attached securely enough to let his artificial limb betray his feelings as well as his human hand. Edward fought the sudden urge to cry, biting his lip till the pressure became painful. He told himself that he wasn't weak for feeling this way. He wasn't even belatedly mourning. He was just sick and the illness was setting his emotions on a dangerous ledge.
And how can I make amends
For all that I took from you?
Ed looked up at Al and finished the last two lines without removing his eyes from his brother.
I led you with hopeless dreams.
My brother, I was a fool.
The pen slipped from his hand and rolled off the board onto the bed sheets. Ed stared at Al, despair and guilt burying him along with the shaking urge to cry. Alphonse noticed the hitching pattern in Ed's breath and glanced up from his book. He dropped it.
"Brother, you're shaking!" he exclaimed in panic and moved over to the bedside quickly.
Ed dragged the paper off the board and under the covers, crumpling it in his fist before stuffing it into his pants pocket. Lowering his head from his elbow, Edward lay down despondently, still shaking as he fought the tears angrily. He did not deserve to cry. He swore he would never cry in front of Alphonse, not until Al could be allowed the same liberty.
Al fussed over him worriedly.
"I'm okay, Al," Ed muttered. "I'm just a little cold, that's all," he lied.
"Do you need another blanket?"
Ed bitterly thought that if only Al could feel he would know Ed really had a fever and the last thing he needed was more heat. Ed shook his head. "No, that's alright. I'm just going to get some sleep now."
"Oh. Okay." Al moved the writing board and pen and kept his eyes on Ed until sleep overtook him. As he succumbed to the thick darkness, Ed wondered if the thoughts going through Al's head as he watched him were anything similar to his own.
They moved as one. Every opening Al gave him, Edward took advantage of it, slipping in to land a punch. Just as quickly, Al pulled his giant armor away, swinging out of the way and leaving another opening for Ed to jump into. Winry watched them from above, her arms resting on the balcony rail. After a bit she went inside, rolling her eyes fondly at them. Ed knew she disapproved of his use of alchemy to modify her automail, but if he managed to pass the test in four months and become a state alchemist, he might end up needing the modification.
Overall, Ed was pleased with his progress. Certainly he still had a long way to go, but he had already showed up Granny Pinako's prescription of three years rehabilitation. Alphonse swung a fist toward Ed's head. Ed caught it with his automail arm and tried to force his arm to the ground in order to drag Al's body onto the grass with it. He nearly missed Al's other fist coming for his chest and the leg trying to trip him where he stood.
Ed jumped back, and closed in from the side, ducking low to get at Al's legs. Moving was easy. It had taken months of spitting blood, just as Pinako predicted, but Ed could run and jump and spar with relative ease. He thrust his arm forward to stab through Al's metal side, but Al aimed a kick.
"Urck!" Ed rolled, clutching his stomach. A bit of blood clung one side of his mouth. Okay, so maybe he wasn't completely over the spitting blood stage yet.
"Brother!" Al dropped to his hands and knees, bending over Ed. "Are you–!" he stopped suddenly since he seemed to be missing something important. His head.
Panting, Ed pushed himself upright and admonished, "Never let your guard down, Al." He coughed and tiny red dots landed on his clothes.
"Uh…" Al's armor turned, searching for the missing helmet. It lay a few feet away on the grass. He crawled to it and stuck it back on. His eyes glowed back to life in the peep holes. He crawled back to Ed.
Ed collapsed backwards onto the lawn with an umph. "Powerful kick, by the way," he commented as Al lay down next to him. The two rested for a while in silence. Although Ed would never admit it, he was falling asleep from exhaustion when a question from Al jolted him fully awake.
"Brother? What do you remember about Mom?"
"Huh?" Ed peeked an eye open and looked at Al. His helmet was fixed so that he stared at the sky, unmoving. "What brought that up?" Ed questioned.
Al sighed. "I don't know. I guess your alchemy did. For some reason, I couldn't help but think about…then when you used it."
Ed lay in uncomfortable silence.
"I remember Mom, but you probably remember her more clearly then I do. I just wondered…"
Ed stared at the cloudless sky. His mouth was oddly dry. Hesitantly, he asked, "What do you remember?"
Al's voice smiled, "She was soft and sweet. She loved us a lot. Nothing really specific, but I remember I always felt safe and loved."
"Yeah…" Ed echoed the sentiment. He moved his hands up under his head.
"I really thought the human transmutation was going to work…" Al said sadly.
Ed didn't really want to recall that night, but he couldn't bring himself to deny Alphonse his right to talk it through.
"I missed her. I still do." Al's voice hitched, and Ed's heart clenched. It wasn't fair. Al should be able to cry, he shouldn't have been cursed with such an inability to express his emotions. He was always the one to show them more readily anyway. "I really wanted it to work." Alphonse turned to look at Ed, and Ed held his gaze. "I guess we let our emotions take over. That's where we really messed up, when we thought we could do the impossible and…and get her back."
Ed stared, totally at the mercy of his emotions, unable to think of something to say. It didn't seem that Al expected an answer, however. He got up and stretched his hollow body. Ed sat up and watched him. "I'm going to see if Granny needs help getting lunch ready," Al excused himself. Ed suspected he just wanted to do something useful to forget the horrifying memories of their past.
He watched Al clank up the path to the house. A question surfaced in his thoughts, one he had worried about for months now but hadn't had the courage to ask. As Al ascended the front steps, that damning question pounded in his heart till he could barely breathe. "Hey, Al?" Ed called.
Alphonse turned back.
Ed stared, mouth open but unmoving. Do you hate me? Do you hate me for what I did to you? Do you blame me for everything we've gone through? He couldn't say it. He couldn't make himself ask those questions. He had no idea or any assumptions about the answer, but though he wanted to know, he was afraid to hear it. "…Make sure Winry and Granny don't try to give me milk with lunch," he said instead, dredging up a smile.
Al half-laughed and went inside.
That evening, Ed escaped. He slipped away from everyone and disappeared without a word. Ed hid inside the storage room. Everyone pretended not to know about his piano playing, but he knew they couldn't miss it. That evening he couldn't get Al's words out of his head.
I missed her. I still do.
The music did nothing to calm him as he stumbled on the notes. After five minutes of fumbling, Edward let his fingers collapse on the keys. They rang in dissonance until his lifted his hands away. He sat dolefully motionless. An idea made his fingers twitch, and dismally he removed a worn paper from his pocket.
He hadn't written on it since he had been bedridden with the flu, but since that day he had reread the words many times. Ed pulled down the piano cover and grabbed a pen. Using Al's words, Ed made a correction. He crossed out "loving and kind" and instead wrote:
Beautiful mother, soft and sweet
He stared at it for a moment. With a frown he looked under the final line he had written. Al didn't have the ability to express emotion the same way Ed did, but he still felt as much as any other human. I guess we let our emotions take over. That's where we really messed up, when we thought we could do the impossible and…and get her back. Al's shaking voice echoed painfully in Ed's heart. He began to write.
Don't cry for the past now, brother mine
Neither you nor I are free of blame.
Nothing can erase the things we did
For the path we took was the same.
Ed chewed his cheek idly, his stomach grumbling in complaint. Mentally he hushed it and promised a large snack before bed. First he needed to get his thoughts out before he faced Al again.
My dreams made me blind and mute.
I longed to return to that time.
You did too, Ed frowned and reworded Al's earlier musings:
I followed without a word.
The questions rose in his mind again. Do you hate me? Do you blame me? Ed closed his eyes and released a slow breath. Maybe the questions arose from his own self-blame. Ed avoided thinking too deeply about it. It didn't stop him from casting the shadow of blame on himself.
My brother, the fault is mine.
Ed set the pen and paper on the stand and opened the piano cover again, exposing the keys. For a while he rehearsed the little melodies he had created, but he wasn't getting anywhere. A melancholy idea plucked his heart strings, and Ed tried it.
He had numbered the piano keys, knowing nothing about music and letters of notes, and these numbers soon appeared over the words on his paper. An hour after his initial absence, the walls of the house vibrated with a new melody.
Ed winced as he heard a crash.
"Winry Rockbell!" Granny Pinako exploded somewhere downstairs. "This is the last time…"
Edward didn't mind the noise. His ears had long since learned to tune out the brief and loud lectures from their typically soft toned Granny. He shifted on his stomach and brought his other hand up to steady the paper he was writing on. The mattress underneath him tempted his eyes to close. No one would blame him.
He had just returned to Resembool after passing the State Alchemist exam and his body demanded rest. Upon greeting Al, Winry, and Granny Pinako, Ed had told them he and Al would be leaving that very night. That gave him six hours to pack, sleep, eat, and finish his song.
The song was why Ed refused sleep. Over the last few months of recuperation, Ed had put notes to the scribbled words he had written. Over time it transformed into a real song, but it was missing the end. The night he and Al committed the ultimate alchemy taboo had not been the end. There was still more, and that's what he was writing.
Somewhere out in Resembool, Al said his goodbyes, and downstairs Pinako lectured about controlling a temper. Up in their room, Ed scratched out his fourth draft. Groaning in frustration, he threw the pen across the room. Blowing out a puff of self-annoyance, Ed dropped his head into the blankets and lay with his face stifled in their heat till he couldn't breathe.
He turned over and lay on his back. "Now what?" He asked the ceiling. "I can't even finish this stupid song. How am I supposed to do anything?" Edward wouldn't admit it to Al, but he was worried. Confident, but worried. Ed had no doubt about his own capabilities to discover a way to restore their bodies, but he had no idea where to start. Over the past year they had read every book in town in the hopes of finding some clue. Only a name came up: the Philosopher's Stone. It was a start, yes, but where would it get them?
"…if the bolt would have gone in straight!" Winry's protests came up loudly through the floorboards.
Ed smiled fondly. He would miss this place. It had become a sort of home for him and Alphonse during Ed's recovery. Their old home held no allure any more. It stood empty on the hill. Empty of life, full of memories.
During the trip back to Resembool, Ed had toyed with the idea of burning down their house. It was a choice he felt Al had a say in, but if Ed had the final word, he wanted to be rid of it. He hated seeing it there because it only connected him to the past. Maybe what he needed was a way to cut himself free of those memories. Some way to start anew without being able to turn back.
Ed looked at the pen on the floor, glared at it, and then relented by getting up and retrieving it.
So where do we go from here?
And how to forget and forgive?
What's gone is forever lost
Now all we can do is live
He had barely made the final "e" when Granny called upstairs. "Ed, come down and fix the bench Winry broke, would you?"
Ed dropped the pen and got up, stretching. Some minor alchemy wouldn't be a big deal. Maybe if he fixed it, they would stay quiet long enough for him to get some sleep.
… … … …
Alphonse entered the front door. As soon as he stepped in, the arguing could be heard in Winry's workshop at the back of the house. Ed seemed to be in trouble for repairing a bench incorrectly, and Winry was rubbing it in that even a certified State Alchemist made measurement mistakes.
In an effort to skirt around the trouble, Al tip toed upstairs to hide in their room till it was over. In the bedroom, however, he noticed a familiar piece of paper lying on the crumpled blankets. If Al guessed correctly, it was the same paper Ed sometimes pulled out and stared at during particularly distressing periods of his rehabilitation. Ed never let Al see what was written on the paper, and being alone in the room with it was too much of a temptation.
Al listened carefully for a moment to make sure he could still hear the ongoing argument engaging Ed below. Satisfied, Al grabbed the paper and scanned it quickly. Upon first glance, it appeared to be a poem with little numbers floating over most of the words.
His curiosity flared and Al began to read:
Brothers
How can I repay you, brother mine?
How can I expect you to forgive?
Clinging to the past, I shed our blood
And shattered your chance to live.
Though I knew the laws, I paid no heed
How can I return your wasted breath?
What I didn't know has cost you dear;
For there is no cure for death
Beautiful mother, soft and sweet
Once you were gone we were not complete
Back through the years we reached for you
Alas, it was not to be
And how can I make amends
For all that I took from you?
I led you with hopeless dreams
My brother, I was a fool
Don't cry for the past now, brother mine
Neither you nor I are free of blame
Nothing can erase the things we did
For the path we took was the same
Beautiful mother, soft and sweet
Once you were gone we were not complete
Back through the years we reached for you
Alas, it was not to be
My dreams made me blind and mute
I longed to return to that time
I followed without a word
My brother, the fault is mine
So where do we go from here?
And how to forget and forgive?
What's gone is forever lost
Now all we can do is live
Halfway through, Alphonse's heart dropped like lead, cold and heavy. Was this what Edward was going through underneath that boldly optimistic surface? Why didn't he say something? Why did he place the burden of their sin on his shoulders alone? Did he truly blame himself so heavily?
A voice bounced up the stairs. Ed's grumblings about flying wrenches and over-explosive grannies penetrated the door as he got closer.
Al panicked, torn between confronting Ed and feigning ignorance. In a second, he made his decision and replaced the paper on the blankets. It was Ed's choice when he wanted to talk about everything. Al would let him have the chance to bring it up the way he wanted, not by having Al figure it out behind his back.
A leather hand tore a book from the shelf, and Al sat down in his usual spot, opening the book randomly and trying to look engrossed in whatever subject he had in his hands.
Ed opened the door. And stopped.
"Hey, Al," he said slowly, his eyes subtly darting to the paper and pen lying conspicuously on the bed. "When'd you get back?"
Al looked up from the book. "Oh, only a few minutes ago. I thought I'd finish up some books before we left." He held his up, hoping he hadn't buried himself too far under the lie.
Ed crossed the room, glancing at the title on the book's spine as he went. "You've already read that one," he pointed out suspiciously.
Al chuckled nervously. "It's such a good book I thought I'd read it twice."
"Energy Flow in Alkahestry?" he read skeptically.
Al avoided looking at the title to double check that Ed wasn't testing him. He just trusted his brother's skepticism and blurted out, "Never know when it might come in handy."
"Hm." Ed frowned sideways at him but let it go. His focus left Al and he collapsed onto the bed on his stomach. Taking the pen, he made a few marks on the worn paper.
Al decided to test Ed, at least to see how willing he was to talk about his feelings. "What are you working on?"
Coolly, casually, and without looking up, Ed responded, "Just some alchemy notes."
Liar. Al didn't call him out on it. He got the feeling Ed would only shut him out completely if he pushed too far. Without moving his helmet, he watched Ed until his brother folded the paper note and slipped it into his pocket. Within ten minutes, Ed was asleep, head at the foot of the bed and feet near the top. He snored openmouthed with one hand unconsciously pulling his shirt up to expose his stomach. Al put his book down and quietly finished packing Ed's things. As he closed the suitcase, he wondered how long Ed had been blaming himself and if he would ever gather enough courage to talk about it.
Flames curled around the edges of their house. The decision was mutually agreed upon. Burn the house, burn the memory, never turn back. In the firelight, Alphonse watched his brother.
Ed stood in front of the heat with his face set in something next to defiance and resolve. In his flesh hand, he held a folded paper note. Al watched him pull out his new state issue pocket watch. Edward's eyes never left the collapsing frame of their house, but his fingers carefully placed the note inside his watch. He shut the cover over it and slipped the watch back into his pocket.
Alphonse looked up at the flames. Ed hadn't said a word the entire time, but his actions were enough. As of this moment, they were moving forward and letting go. If they stayed bound to their mistakes, they would be consumed by them. Ed was right.
All we can do is live.
This idea came from a headcanon post I saw. It said this: "The 'Brothers' song [from the OST of FMA] was written by Edward during the time he was in rehabilitation of his automail. It was a way for him to vent about all he did to his brother and how he wished he could give a full apology face to face with him as deeply as he wrote it in the song."
If you want to listen to the song in Japanese, go to youtube, enter a slash after "com" and type: watch?v=BXQLrkW33f0
If you want to listen to the song in English, go to youtube, enter a slash after "com" and type: watch?v=FfAEMal84ag
I have other headcanon inspired plot ideas so look out for more. As always, "After Saving the World" takes priority over my other fanfics, at least until it's done, but you'll likely be seeing more FMAB one-shots from me.
-Dante