Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist.
Characters: Hohenheim, Dante, Envy.
Rating: PG-13.
Genre: Gen.
Notes: Mm, Moulin Rouge and FMA don't mix well. Or maybe they do. Who knows. Inspired by "One day I'll fly away" by Nicole Kidman, from said movie. Set pre-series, because there's not enough pre-series fic.
When Dreaming Ends.
He still remembers that day, the moist heat wave that struck the small border town, forcing his lover into labor. He can clearly envision the deafening cries of the baby and the chants of the midwife, rambling about protection from devils and such nonsense. He can remember with dream-like clarity the stench of blood and dirt in the small room, the taste of herbs in his mouth, the sweat gathering in his palms, the heaviness of his coat and the disgruntled meowing of a litter of newborn kittens in a corner.
They left the town the very next day, escaping the men that hunted them, wanting his knowledge for the King and his wife for the gallows, and he stopped for a moment, wondering what kind of life that little sliver of himself would lead, born a Sin of a disgraced Alchemist who wanted to know the whole Truth, and a brilliant tavern strumpet who knew more about politics and deceit than the men at the royal court. His eyes fixed on the road ahead, always ahead and never behind, he always said, and tried to ignore the snaring lullaby his lover sang to the night and her child.
He had dreamt about a heir, a young mind born into the right environment that would eventually bend into his own ideals and who would, one day, follow his footsteps and complete his research. He had wanted a heir, which was probably why he agreed to take the girl with him, that slip of a know-it-all who had managed to talk him in and out of jail before the day was over. He had wanted an heir, but he had no idea what to do with him, now that he had it.
The boy grew, though, used to their hasty retreats and common escapes, frustrated by their nomadic fight for survival and the constant uprooting from one life into another. He began to collect the names they wore, one for each town, one for each lie they lived in, and silently hated those who were left behind, to be never seen again. Such a terrible creature hiding behind a sharp intellect, such a natural talent to destroy, but little to none to create. His mother doted on him and his father adored him, yet nothing they did could prevent the dream from shattering whenever a new threat arose, a new tyrant to flee. A little more of the boy broke and bled each time the sinuous curves of the road spread before them, inviting them to reach the horizon and the unknown, sheltering from the storm. A little more of him gone, unseen by his parents, shadowed by the arguments and the fights, and a little more poison to back up his glare next time.
He had always been such a logical man and this had been such a logical occurence: all that resentment, all that hatred, pulling and pushing and twisting, until the tension was so high it had to snap. And snap it did, he thinks mournfully, watching the smoldering remains of this life, somewhat less of a lie than the rest and still so very fake. His lover - Is she his lover still? Was she ever a lover? - is clawing at his clothes, too angry to be saddened, and it strikes him as humorous, so he laughs. It's a hollow laugh, one that's drunk in enlightment and that assures her everything will be alright.
She doesn't believe him, maybe she never believed him, but they kiss anyway, and as the fumes and toxics in the lab finish combusting themselves and erasing the last trails of his son and his life, he knows what to do.
Time has come, time to leave everything behind for good, time for dreams to end and Sin to begin.