The kids' names, their ages and the plot are the only things that are mine.

Their Childhood
(Day 1: Childhood)

Even in the middle of winter, when she knew Briggs would probably be half-closed down with the blizzards and ever-present snow, here at Resembool, it was just comfortably cool. Especially after the unbearable summer. The last time Resembool had seen snow, Winry remembered, was the year after she and Ed got married. Six years, now. Before that was that one time before Trisha's death.

She remembered the snowman Ed had alchemized. He was such a show off. She smiled fondly at the memory of his antics while surveying the fridge for dinner supplies. "Ed," she called. "We need groceries for dinner!"

The boy, Erwin, was at the dining table. He'd managed to sneak one of his father's books out of the study. He stiffened at the sound of his father's name, and looked at his mother with a lost puppy sort of look. Please don't give me away...

Winry sighed and smiled knowingly, but she couldn't reply before Edward groaned from upstairs, meticulous concentration obviously destroyed. "Make a list of stuff we need. I'll run to the market later," he called. The sound that usually accompanied his steps, a soft step followed by a heavy one, didn't make the floorboards upstairs creak. Erwin breathed a sigh of relief.

Winry picked Wendy, their daughter, up from her high chair and headed for her workstation. Wendy giggled when she was tickled on the way to the door.

"I'll make that list and help you hide before your father comes down, okay?" she told her son, keeping her voice low so her overly studious husband wouldn't overhear. He nodded enthusiastically. "Good," Winry replied, "now behave yourself while I'm gone."

Ten minutes later, Winry was whipping up a simple lunch with what remained of the groceries from two days ago, while Ed read through the list he'd been handed. He had one hand patting Wendy while Erwin eyed him nervously. "Why do we need this much milk, again?" he asked, exasperated.

"Meel!" Wendy exclaimed excitedly, her tiny hands paused in the act of licking her father's fingers in order to say the word.

Her first word.

Everyone stared at the one-year-old wide eyed, before Edward turned to his wife.

"D-did she just say…" he started, gulped, and then finished, with his nose crinkled in disgust, "milk?"

"Meel yum!" Wendy said again even more enthusiastically than before. Ed groaned. The rest of them burst into a fit of laughter.

"What the hell is so funny, damnit?" Ed all but screamed, causing the laughter to go up a notch. "Ugh!" he grumbled and stalked off.

Just as the sound of the front door swinging open reached them in the kitchen, Winry called, "Make sure the tomatoes are fresh." She didn't get a reply, though, and she sighed. He was never going to change, was he? Then again, she couldn't really blame him. His princess daughter's first word was the thing he hated the most. "The irony," she said quietly, shaking her head.

Wendy, now without her favorite plaything, licked a spoon and made gargling noises. Mostly, though, she kept saying "Meel" under her breath, as if to memorize the word. One look at her the minute after she was born, and Granny had said she would be exceptionally smart, Winry remembered.

"Mom," Erwin said, his voice laced with curiosity, "What's 'irony'?"

Turning the stove off and putting the food away to cool, Winry turned to her five-year-old son. The book he was hiding while Edward was in the room was now out once again. But, it lay almost forgotten on the table in front of the young Elric, while his face bore an expression of curiosity. It was a face she remembered from a long time ago, when Ed hadn't started studying Hohenheim's notes and materials, and was still an attentive student at school. That, she remembered, had lasted only a few months. Once he found a way to raid the study, he and Al were sloughing through it at full throttle.

"Hmm," she said, a hand on her chin, pretending to think. "What does 'irony' mean? I wonder." Stealthily, she came up beside him and began to tickle. The kitchen was filled with the children's high-pitched laughter.

"M-Mom, stop it!" Erwin said in between, fits of giggles.

"Eye-ron?" Wendy asked, when the tickling stopped. This made Winry stop. Today sure was a big day.

"Irony," Winry started, "is when your father hates milk, but Wendy's first word is 'milk'." Winry explained. Erwin nodded in agreement. He thought for a bit, then pulled the book towards him again. It amazed her how much the kid took after his father.

Before long, though, it had lost his attention. "Mom?" He called once again. "You and Dad and Uncle Al all used to be kids, right?"

Not pausing in the act of cooing Wendy, Winry replied, "Of course, Erwin. Everyone is a kid at some point of their life. Why do you ask?"

Erwin seemed to consider his next words carefully before saying, "What was it like being you guys?" His voice was soft, uncertain, and again, his likeness to his father showed through. As if the blonde hair a more golden shade than hers and the golden eyes weren't indication enough.

In the past few days, she'd caught him glancing at the armor head on Ed's desk again and again, as well as the screws and nuts still embedded in his father's right shoulder. They'd only told him it was childhood accident.

After all, the scarred tissue was definitely due to a lost limb, and whoever heard of automail limbs being replaced by flesh-and-bone ones?

Winry tried to smile the dread of letting him in on the truth away, and said, "How about I show you two some photographs?"

Wendy placed her hands on both sides of Winry's face to draw her attention, and when she had it she nodded vigorously.

The wooden box was just slightly dusty, thank god, because they'd cleaned all the nooks and crannies in house so there would be no mildew. Once she'd retrieved it from the least used corner of her workshop, Winry lightly dusted it off. Inside, was a bundle of all the old pictures Granny had collected over the years wrapped in a protective plastic.

She'd cleared up a large space in the middle of the room where Erwin and Wendy now sat, the older looking around at the various parts of automails strewn across the room, while Wendy simply picked up a small wrench and began to play with it. Winry carried the small box full of photographs over to where her daughter had managed to wedge the wrench into the crack between two floorboards. Putting the tool aside, she pulled Wendy on to her lap and opened the box.

Erwin was awed by the number of photographs. "You guys sure had a lot of fun as kids, huh?" he said.

Winry smiled ruefully at the remark, before pulling the stack out of the clear plastic covering. The topmost picture was sepia, of her parents, Granny and her. They all had smiles on their faces, and Granny looked less like the tiny hunched bag of sarcasm that she was and a bit more like her youthful self. Only a bit. Winry was in her mother's arms, a little older than Wendy was now.

The next picture was of the Elrics, sans Hohenheim, frozen in time with their mirth and unadulterated fun and happiness. Winry remembered Granny saying this was taken right before Trisha's sickness was diagnosed.

Winry had Ed and Al caught by their collars for the next picture. She smiled like a victor and Al just casually waved at the camera while Ed scowled. This was one of her personal favorites.

"That's Grandpa Urey and Grandma Sara," Winry explained. "And that's Grandma Trisha."

Both children stared at the pictures. "Grandma Trisha and Sara were really pretty," Erwin finally said.

Winry now showed them the pictures which were mostly her, Ed and Al. Many of them were of the time when Al was still in his armor. The time when she was so scared for them, when she didn't know what would lead to what, and all she could do was keep her mechanic skills fresh so she could whip Ed an automail as fast as she could.

Those years had been fitful, even for her. She had a home, Granny, Den. She still had family; blood relatives. All Ed and Al had was themselves. Hohenheim had counted on Trisha keeping them out of trouble, but she could only do so much once she fell ill.

Granny had constantly worried about them. "They're Hohenheim's kids. They'll stay out of trouble for only so long." She'd said.

"Hey, Mom," Erwin's voice pulled her out of her momentary flashback. "Who's inside this armor?" he said, pointing to Al's armor in one of the pictures. "It's in this one too," he pulled out another picture, "and this one."

Winry felt dread fill her. What would she tell him? She could say something simple, but he would find out sooner or later.

"T-that's your Uncle Al," She finally said, in a quiet voice. "He… got stuck in it for a while."

Erwin seemed to pick up on how melancholy her voice sounded. His gaze shifted to the pictures he held. "He must've been really sad, huh?" He continued to gaze at them while Wendy resumed saying "meel" again. She'd spotted a picture that had a milk bottle in it somewhere. "Why's dad's right arm automail?" he said after a while.

Winry was once again at a loss for what to tell her son. They'd never thought about this. What would they tell their kids when they asked? Finally, she opted for the simplest explanation she could muster.

"After your Grandma Trisha died your Dad and Uncle Al got into an accident. It took away your Dad's arm and leg, and Al got stuck in that armor. They… uh… had to stay like that for a few years before they managed to fix things."

"Oh," Erwin said, as if it really was that simple. "Is that why Dad has that armor's head in his office?"

"Yeah."

Erwin continued to sift through the photographs, and Winry answered his questions off-handedly, albeit honestly. Watching Erwin live his childhood made her feel as if she were watching Ed live his childhood. A childhood that had been wrenched away by one mistake. All he'd wanted was to see Trisha again, but

He was naïve, and he had to learn the truth the hard way.

Hohenheim's absence hadn't helped. Even though he'd admitted to calling him "Dad" once, just once, right before he pulled Al's body out of the void, the vulnerability of not having someone to look up to had taken a toll on his confidence. When she was pregnant with Erwin, Ed was constantly freaking out about not being able to live up to expectations. He was afraid of turning into Hohenheim, she knew. So far, though, he was doing a pretty good job of being himself. Sometimes, he even reminded her of Hughes.

Wendy pulled on a strand of her hair, and she was forced to pay attention to the bundle of playfulness on her lap. "That's hair, sweetie," she cooed, "can you say 'hair'?"

"Hay-ah?" Wendy questioned, her blue eyes with golden specks in them widened in question.

"That's right! Hair," Winry said again, causing the child to giggle. "Can you say 'mommy'?"

Wendy scrunched up her face in confusion. "M-ma?" she said, poking Winry on the cheeks with her chubby fingers.

"Yes! That's right!"

Her children, so precious to her that she'd give her life to keep them safe, to make sure they would never have to go through the horrors she and Ed had had to go through, they were in front of her right now. Living their life to the fullest, enjoying the childhood they took for granted.

The front door could be heard as it opened, and Ed's voice floated over the smell of grease. "I got the groceries, Win," he called, obviously walking toward the kitchen. "Winry? You in the workshop?"

Wendy babbled something in return, and Ed's footsteps followed the noise.

Perhaps this was it. The perfect time to tell him.

"What?! For real?" Al's voice came scratchy and distant over the phone all the way form Xing. "Brother, Wendy is just 14 months. Are you sure?"

Ed flashed Winry a bright smile where she was teaching Wendy new words. She'd just been talking for two days, but she was making progress. "She said she found out a month ago, Al," he said into the receiver.

"Whoa," Al said. "Just seven years and you guys are already having three kids. Not that I'm surprised, to be honest. I bet if you had your way you'd have seven kids by now." There was a playful but honest edge to his voice which made Ed turn a shade of red he hadn't turned in a long time.

"W-what do you mean by that, Alphonse?! That's… you… I'm not…"

Al laughed heartily on the other side. "I know, I know. I have to say. Winry's more dominant than I thought. But, we digress. Brother," his voice dropped to a whisper, "if it's a boy you have to let me name him."

This had Ed sobered. "Why? What would you name him?"

"Edwin, of course," Al said matter-of-factly. "That's the one perfect combo of your names." In the background, Ed could hear Mae swooning.

He watched his family from the shelf that supported the telephone. Erwin was now asking Winry question after question about why his father was so happy all of a sudden, and when she gave him an answer, even Wendy yelled "Baby!" When Ed had thought he couldn't get any happier, Winry had told him about her newest pregnancy. She was already two months along. He had felt that old fear crawling up inside him again. Could he be a good father?

Ed sighed into the receiver, saying, "I don't know, Al. You'll have to talk to Winry about this."

Al snorted into the line. "Bullshit, Ed. You didn't let me name Erwin that. How dense can you two possibly get?"

"And what if it's a girl?"

"I'll come up with something. Man, I really am missing their childhood, aren't I?"

Childhood, Ed thought, was such a sensitive thing. Winry hadn't deserved to be orphaned. Al hadn't deserved to have his body taken away. But these things had happened. What they deserved wasn't something he had any strength over. His kids, however, were a whole different story. He could protect them and their childhood. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

"You most definitely are, Alphonse Elric."