Their Boys.
Trisha Elric never abandoned her sons; she was always with them, even if they didn't know it. The same went for Van Hohenheim.
She watches them.
Every day, without fail, she watches them.
She was there, shaking and fuming with anger when that man and his Lieutenant – whom she would later thank profusely for leading her son's down that path and taking the best care they could of them – and came into Granny Pinako's house, offering her son a chance to join the military and become a State Alchemist, enticing him with the possibility of getting their original bodies back.
She held his hand when he bit back screams of agony and clung onto consciousness willing him to get through the surgery, telling him that the worst was over and he'd soon have working limbs from one of the countries finest Automail engineers.
She caressed the metal helmet atop the blood encrusted soul transmutation mark that bound him to that world, running her fingers through the lengthy rope he claimed to be his hair, comforting him that his brother would be fine, that it wasn't his fault; that she loved him and would always love him and so did the boy in surgery and he shouldn't be upset because there was nothing to be upset about.
They were both alive, after all.
She stood with crying eyes when her two sons raised the torch and threw it into the open window, sending the family home into an angry blaze, destroying the picture on the inside and burning up the frame. When they vowed to never return, never turn their backs, and always keep going, forward, because that's the only way they could go.
She cried once more that day, when he sat in that dark room, screwdriver in hand, scratching the delicate engraving to the inside of his newly acquired pocket watch, the light emitted from his clapped hands lighting up and reflecting in her eyes as he sealed it alchemically shut.
Later that night she would tell herself it was because of the smoke and soot blowing in the wind, and not because of all the memories that house had made, of all of the antiques it held within, even though she knew she was lying to herself.
She was there when her youngest lost faith in her eldest; when he lost faith in what was right. When he ran and had to be chased, when they fought in apology because actions speak louder than words and words are minuscule and sparring is what they're best at.
She positively glowed with pride when her two boys and Winry helped to successfully deliver a baby in Rush Valley.
She just always watched.
And sometimes, just sometimes, she talks to them.
She spoke when they first discovered the truth within the truth; the ingredients to the Philosopher's Stone. Her voice echoed the words that left Lt. Maria Ross's mouth, her actions not quite as brash as the slap, but just as meaningful.
Spoke when Gracia and Maes took them in as sons, saying that it was okay and they weren't replacing her and she wasn't upset; they were just finding someone to fill in the gaps she left, and she was glad.
But mostly, she watches.
Watched with fierce determination when their teacher abandoned them on that island for a whole month, leaving them to survive with just instinct their reckless selves.
With pure compassion when her youngest – her most kind, her most honourable – made the decision to break his own seal to regrow his brother's arm.
With touched finality when her eldest – her bravest, her smartest – drew the shaky circle around himself, prepared to once again give up everything he had in order to save his little brother.
Her precious, precious boys.
She was there, watching from afar with a smile gracing her fair features, when they returned to their hometown of Resembool; returned triumphant from their frustrating years of searching and trying and failing and fighting. When they were healed. Not emotionally, and not completely physically, but still – they were healed.
They had done it; they had defeated the homunculi, the corrupt military, Father, and they had fixed themselves.
She watched when he fumbled with words and blushed and practically shouted his love at the girl from next door. She shared knowing smiles with the pair of doctors standing beside her; aware that they, too, had been watching. Not only their daughter, but their daughter's grandmother, and even her boys.
She watched when they parted ways. When he, without that dreaded suit of armour, got onto that newly built train port and headed East across the desert, to reunite with the Emperor and the young girl who made winning all that possible. When his brother fled in the opposite direction to learn all he could to help his world prosper and grow in the right direction.
She wasn't the only one watching.
He watches too, not as much for he still has a life to live, still has people he cares about, but watches he does.
He who offered his last life to reunite his two sons, willing to do anything to change the imprint he left as a father figure when his boy was young.
He who loved his family, loved his-no, their boys. The alchemic prodigies; Edward and Alphonse Elric.
The people's alchemists.
This didn't, sadly, turn out as good as I had hoped it would, but I'm still pretty proud of it!
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