The breeze moved through the air, bringing the scent of the countryside with it. After so long, it was exactly what he needed. He had visited all over the country and further, but of all the places he had visited, Resembool was his absolute favorite.
The road weaved its way through the tall grass and led up to a house on a hill. A tree spread shade over the area. A rope swing hung from the largest branch. Near the tree and the swing was a clothes line with brightly colored clothes hanging from it.
Hanging clothes on the line was a beautiful woman in a purple dress and a white apron. Her brown hair was not in the ponytail he had become associated with, but in a long braid down her back. Seeing her made his heart stop.
"Trisha," he called out. She turned around, trying to identify the source of her name. When she saw him her eyes grew large and tears began pooling in the corner of her eyes.
"I knew you would come back. I knew it!" Then she ran towards him and wrapped her arms around him. He squeezed her tight as she cried silently into his shoulder.
"I'm home, Trisha. I'm home for good. I'm going to grow old with you and the children. No more leaving or staying locked up in my study. I love you Trisha and I never want to spend a moment away from you again."
"Mom?" a voice asked, confused. Hohenheim turned and looked into the confused and wary eyes of his sons. There was no mistaking Ed. He looked just like when he was a child, only much older. Even though he couldn't be older than fourteen, his shoulders were already well on their way to being broad. Alphonse looked different; he seemed more confident and assured than the child that needed his brother's help to use the bathroom.
"Edward…Alphonse…" Ed stared harder at his father's face. Trisha bit her lip and waited for her sons' reaction.
"…Dad? Is that really you?" Al asked quietly. Hohenheim nodded once. "Dad!" Then he ran into his father and wrapped his arms around his waist. Ed came too, but he didn't hug him right away. Instead he pointed a finger in his face and shouted "Don't you ever leave us again! Or I'll knock you out!" Then he joined his brother.
"Don't worry," Hohenheim said, fighting the tears that were coming to his eyes. "I'm here to stay. Nothing will take me away from you now."
The restaurant was falling into disrepair anyways, the sign shouldn't have been a big deal. For some reason though, it seemed to mean a lot to the man. When he saw the large crack he started shouting loudly in a language Hohenheim frankly did not recognize.
"Excuse me," he said to the man. He turned, ready to attack whoever dared to talk to him when he was angry, but stopped when he saw who had spoken. Hohenheim tended to have that effect on a lot of people; with gold hair and eyes, broad shoulders, and his outdated sense of fashion, it was understandable.
"What do you want?" the man snarled.
"I can fix that for you, for a meal." The man eyed him suspiciously.
"How are you going to do that?"
"I'm an alchemist of sorts," Hohenheim answered. "I can easily fix it."
"If you can fix it, you've got yourself a meal, Mister."
Inclining his head in thanks, Hohenheim stepped forward to examine the sign. It was simple wood and lead based paint, nothing hard to repair. The question was how to do it. A normal alchemist would have to draw a circle, but that would take time that he quite frankly didn't have. He was very hungry.
Making no motion whatsoever like he could easily do might be dangerous. Not that the man might be able to figure anything out; but rumors spread and might reach the ears of those that could. Maybe it was irrational, but there was nothing wrong with being cautious.
Clapping shouldn't be too dangerous. The alchemists who had performed human transmutation were able to clap and preform alchemy. True, the State Alchemists would probably start hunting him down, wanting them to get him under their control, but he could easily avoid them. He never stayed in one place long so finding him in the first place would be hard for them. There would be no harm.
Clapping his hands together in a prayer-like fashion, he concentrated and watched as the sign mended itself into a solid piece. The man's jaw dropped.
"How did you do that?"
"I told you I'm an alchemist. My food?"
"Oh yeah! Sure right away Mister! Imagine, a real alchemist fixing my sign!" The man, who introduced himself as Wilson, bustled around the small café trying to rummage up something edible. What I wouldn't give for some of Trisha's home cooked meals right now, he thought to himself. When Wilson finally came up with a bowel of… something, he gave it to him and promptly leaned across the counter.
"You know who you remind me of?" Hohenheim shook his head, too absorbed in the food in front of him to really care. It was far from the best thing he had ever had, but it was filling. "That new alchemist guy! What was his name… Fullerton Alchemist? Not that's not right. Fullmetal! That's it. The Fullmetal Alchemist!"
Hohenheim rolled his eyes. Honestly, the names they gave they gave to State Alchemists these days. At least Fullmetal was better than something ridiculous like the Life-Sowing Alchemist. He had heard of the Life Sowing Alchemist once and how he had created a talking chimera. Unlike most people who hailed the man as a hero and a genius, Hohenheim knew what it took to create something like that. He didn't want to know who Tucker had sacrificed.
"He can just clap his hands and do alchemy too!"
So he finally got his hands on someone stupid enough to commit the taboo. That was information worth knowing. This man was probably going to be used to help him accomplish his country wide transmutation. That was a second reason Hohenheim kept moving; he couldn't let Dwarf in the Flask get his hands on him.
"Could you tell me more about this Fullmetal Alchemist?" he said nonchalantly. "I travel a lot and I'm usually very slow on picking up the news."
The man seemed only too happy to oblige.
"He's amazing. Normally the State Alchemists are real jerks, Dogs of the State and all. But this guy actually fights for the people. I know in this one city he rescued a whole family of people from a flood and then restored their home! I've never actually met him, but they say he's pretty short for his age. He's got—"
"How old is he?" Hohenheim interrupted. The man's eyes were shining with admiration.
"That's the coolest part. He became a State Alchemist at the age of twelve! He's about fourteen now. Isn't that amazing?"
Hohenheim felt the urge to spit out the soup he had just consumed, but instead ended up choking on it. He was no more than a kid! He was no older… he would be the same age as Edward. The very thought that the State would actually take a boy as young as his own son for the job of State Alchemist made him sick. A boy that age should be playing ball or… chasing sheep or something. Not being set up to destroy the country.
"From what I've heard he's got long blond hair that he keeps mostly in a braid. He's always wearing black leather and a red coat. And the scariest part is that his eyes are pure gold."
… Gold?
"Some people say he's a demon or something, but I think he's too good to be a demon. I mean what kind of demon is going to save a bunch of people?"
"What kind indeed," Hohenheim muttered to himself. Gold eyes? How could anyone in this country have gold eyes? Discounting himself, Dwarf in the Flask, Ed, and Al, no one should have gold eyes. That died out with the rest of Xerses.
"Do you know anything else about him? Where he came from, who his parents are, or…" he trailed off, a very obvious thought occurring to him. "What's his name?"
"I'm sorry man, but I've got a bad memory. I can only remember all of this stuff because it was such a big deal. His name was… uh… something like Edmund? Edmund… Ric. Edmund Ric sounds about right. Why does it matter?"
"It doesn't," Hohenheim muttered, pulling the mug of drink the man had set on the table along with the 'stew' to his lips.
He hoped he never had to cross paths with Edmund Ric, or whatever his real name was. The child reminded him far too much of his own sons. Ed and Al… they could never become like this State Alchemist. He wished he could say he wouldn't let it happen but right now all he could do was hope.
They were his sons after all.
He walked all the way up to the house without seeing any sign of his children or wife. It saddened him. After years of searching for the way to become human again, he had finally doing, stopping Dwarf in the Flask while he was at it. Everything was perfect.
"Trisha? Edward? Alphonse?" he called, knocking on the door. It swung open, not even closed all the way. He worried for a moment about intrusion, before reminding himself that it was his house after all.
"Hello? Trisha?"
Where was everyone?
"What are you doing here?"
Hohenheim turned around, trying to find the source of the speech. He turned and saw none other than a fourteen year old Edward, with blood splattered all over his clothes. There was a silver chain hanging out of his pocket.
"Edward…"
"I said, what are you doing here?" Ed repeated, dangerously low and calm.
"I've come home. I can finally be with you and Al. Where's your mother?"
"Dead."
In one moment he felt the world crashing down around his shoulders. She couldn't be. It was impossible. He couldn't accept it. He hadn't been gone that long. Eleven years. That's is a long time, a quiet voice in his head told him.
"Dead?"
"She died when you left. Al died in an accident. I'm the only one left." His words here harsh and bitter, each one hammering into his very soul and existence.
"Ed…"
"You have no right to call me Ed. You lost that right when you left."
"What else am I supposed to call my son?" he asked, flinching when Ed winced at the words 'my son'.
"You can call me by my State tittle. The Fullmetal Alchemist."
"No… Ed… you can't be…"
"I said call me the Fullmetal Alchemist!" he screamed.
Hohenheim fell to his knees, clutching his head in his head. What had he done?
Note: The OOC of both Eds is due to the fact that this are Hohenheim's dreams. He's thinking up extremes in both cases.
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