Hello :D I have some notes here to explain about Roy's family:

Chris Mustang is canon. Anybody who's read the manga will know her, as Roy Mustang's adoptive mother. Through the grapevine, I've heard that Chris is Roy's father's younger sister, thus why his birth name is also her surname. I've also heard that Roy's parents died when he was very young, though there's no context offered, so that's conjecture, obviously. He has three (adopted) older sisters, no word on whether they're Chris' biological children or orphans she took in as well, so I've taken a few liberties there as well.

This is also something of a companion piece to explain events that will happen in another story of mine.

(I think I'm creating a universe here. o_o Oh dear. The bunnies have got me.)

The world isn't perfect. It turns on a tilted axis, just doing the best it can. And that's what makes it so damn beautiful.

He didn't remember it.

They said that was normal, not to recall something like that. Something about shock, or selective amnesia, whatever that was. He just remembered standing up in the backseat of the car, his mother fussing at him to put his seatbelt on- they were brand new things, she said, they can save your life if-

And the next thing he knew, he was lying on the cobblestones, in the street, sprawled out like he'd been thrown. It hurt when he tried to move, all down his left arm, and when he rolled off of his stomach and onto his side, he found out why. There was a bone sticking out of his arm, just a little bit, and blood all over him. Young though he was, he didn't start crying like a normal five-year-old would. He simply puzzled at it. Perhaps it had something to do with the lump on the back of his head.

Pounding feet were the next thing he heard, a man falling to his knees next to him and saying something, asking if he was all right. He managed to stand, the man's large gloved hand on his arm to steady him, and then he saw the hat he wore- firefighter. Daddy had told him about them, the brave men who ran into burning houses to save people.

But when he looked around, he didn't see any burning houses. There was smoke, but it was coming from... from...

A car. At least, what used to be one. It was all smashed and half-melted, putting off choking, black smoke as it burned.

And then it hit him, with a jolt- Where are my parents? He asked the firefighter, but the man cringed and gave him a pitying look, shaking his head and telling him he needed to see the doctor about that arm. Roy didn't like it when people treated him like a baby, and now was the worst time for someone to do that.

He almost asked again, but that was when his mind, too preceptive for it's five years, pulled it all together- burning car. We were in a car. I don't see mommy and daddy. Which means...

By the time he realized, the firefighter already had him scooped up in his arms, running toward the flashing fire engine when something in the car blew up, spewing flames everywhere. He was screaming, crying and thrashing in those arms, biting and kicking and scratching, trying to get free, and all he saw was fire.

The doctors were nice to him. Too nice. With these sad looks on their faces, soft, soothing words as they pinned him down, still thrashing, and put a mask over his face, and his body went limp. He didn't fall asleep, just went numb all over, and inside, in his mind. Like someone had made it all go fuzzy, and when he could think again, his arm was straight, with a line of stitches marching across the pale skin there. Later, they put a cast on it, and made him put it in a sling when he had calmed from his hysteria, only to go to the other extreme- complete unresponsiveness.

He didn't speak to anybody. Not the doctors, who told him to go easy on it for a few weeks. Not the police officers who put him in a car and took him to the station, telling him that his mom and dad wouldn't be coming home tonight. He glared and made it very clear that he knew they were dead without saying a single word, and they left him alone. One of them draped his black uniform jacket over his shoulders because he was shivering, and left him on the bench while they went back to work.

He didn't know how long he sat there. Cold. Shaking. Tears dripping down his face numbly, unhindered. He watched the people go by, their feet moving into his field of vision, and then out again. It wasn't until two feet in a pair of heels stopped in front of him, and someone knelt down.

He knew her. His father's younger sister, his aunt, though he'd only seen her once or twice before. Daddy said he didn't like what she did for a living, so he wasn't allowed to see her, even though she lived all the way out in Van Wyck, north of East.

"Hi, Roy." She said, her voice that same soft croon as all the others that had spoken to him that night. "You okay, honey?"

He blinked as she ruffled his hair gently, and it was that warm, gentle touch that did it. It finally hit him.

They're dead.

He cried until he fell asleep that night.

The funeral was a solemn affair, as such gatherings were wont to be. It was small and quaint, over with somewhat quickly.

As the bodies of her brother and sister-in-law were lowered into the ground, Chris Mustang looked down at her recently-orphaned nephew. He was dry-eyed now, but for the first few days, nothing would get him to stop crying. He would clutch at his broken arm and sob for hours, not even letting anyone touch him.

She'd never felt so helpless.

"I won't cry, Chris."

"...You know it's okay, if you want to."

Roy shook his head, and turned to face his kneeling aunt. There was a strength in his eyes that startled her, on such a young little face. "I'm not gonna cry. Because they're in a better place now. Where they won't hurt anymore, right?"

Chris was shocked, for a moment, to hear such mature words come out of her five-year-old nephew's mouth. She then reached out and stroked his hair.

"That's right, Roy-boy. And you remember, they'll always be watching over you."