Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, or else I would be swag money rich.
A/N:
Prepare your feels! A good bit of Edwin, give or take, rated T for bad language.
My first Oneshot.
To those who did not look far, Edward Elric was an asshole. An utter, uncaring asshole. He was loud, obnoxious. Stubborn. Some would even have called him a brat. Others may have thought him selfish. Why? It was in the way he spoke: harshly, crudely, blatant and smug. His eyes glinted with mischeif and pride, and he always seemed to be up to no good. Maybe his awful sense of style had to do with it, or maybe some held jealousy or grudges against him. These people all had practically the same idea of who Edward Elric was.
Some only knew the Fullmetal Alchemist. Not Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, and the way he strode into Mustang's office like a hero back from battle. The charismatic air he held around him, the smirks that seemed more like smiles, the gold of his Xerxian eyes and hair, even down to the flashy red jacket that he wore everywhere, it all just fit him right, and it seemed to be him down to the core. All that he was seemed golden and bright. Hero of the People, Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist; but they never truly knew Edward Elric.
Others knew him personally, but not well enough. Edward Elric was an enigma; what put the shadow behind that smile? That dark, haunted look that flashed in his eyes? The closer they looked, the more questions popped up, and the less answers they knew. His automail arm, his brother's body, the hollow sound of the armor, Edward's face when he glanced at his brother during mealtimes; nothing added up, but something was going on, or already had. They just didn't know what.
Then there were the few who did know. The ones he held as close as the wall he had put up, close enough to notice that the wall was there. Close enough to know the mistake that two orphaned, boys made on one rainy day, two boys who simply missed their mother and knew not the price they'd have to pay. The shadows behind the smile are no longer shadows, but a pitch black darkness, full of self blame and guilt, pain and anguish, in both brothers at that. Ed still held his light, but it was never a light of joy, as these people knew now: it was a light of pure determination to fix what was broken, gain what was lost. He was so selfless that the remainder of his childhood was sold to the military. He cared so much that he got hurt over it, beat himself up over it. Sometimes, he was so focused on just trying to make his little brother whole again that he didn't know how to show he cared, or when to show it.
Before any of these came around, there was me: Winry Rockbell. To me, Edward has been a few of these: an asshole, a hero, sometimes a reckless idiot and, in my anger, someone who didn't give a shit about how I felt. What I saw of him, though, was a scared boy, one who was scared to love, scared to care, scared to loose, scared of the unknown. He wanted truth, wanted to understand, but was also scared of what the truth may be. I was there through all of this. I saw him at his lowest and coaxed him to his highest. When I couldn't do much, I worked over making the best automail I could.
Edward Elric, for the most part, seemed like someone who deserved a chance. Someone who I loved, and who loved me back.
But in the end, I now know that he is an asshole. Nothing can change that opinion in my mind.
He himself decided that he was an asshole by dying that day and coming home in a coffin.
I don't know if this is a eulogy, but it's true and realistic to him. I know he'd agree, tell me he's sorry. Maybe if he had the guts, he'd hug me, ask me why I'm crying, but it's because he's an asshole, he's dead, and even with those two facts, I still love him.