Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own Fullmetal Alchemist. Story cover credit to roymaes.

I really like seeing Ed and Al when they were younger (if you couldn't tell from "Pieced Together"). This is an idea that wouldn't let go and wouldn't let me write it either. Well, more chapters soon. Sorry for the long delay. I had a full-time job, and then I started college. Forgive me and read on.

I am a sinner.

Denying this is nothing short of hypocrisy. I made a near irreversible mistake, and my brother and I have been paying for it ever since. My automail limbs and my brother's body of steel bares our sins to the world. To many we are seen as monsters – less than human because of our deformities – because we reached out blindly for motherly affection. I'm in the military now, and my younger brother starves on empty promises filled with desperate hope and fleeting faith.

But we were not always this way.

Though it is hard to recall, there was a time when we were innocent.

You know the feeling of forgetting? A word or a memory is tantalizingly close to conscious remembrance, but it teases you by remaining just out of reach.

This is how I remember Hohenheim.

Two pairs of wide golden eyes stared in numb shock. This was bad. They were going to be in so much trouble.

"Bwodder?" Al's lip trembled. "Is Daddy gonna be mad?"

I most clearly recall his broad shoulders, his back always to us, and a grim expression pulling his lips tight whenever he did turn around.

"It's not that bad…" Ed tried to reassure his anxious brother. Anxiety always pulled tears from Al's four year old body, and there was nothing worse for Ed than seeing his mom, Winry, or Al crying.

Al sniffed and a tear slipped down his pudgy cheek. Uh-oh.

With memories like this, it is sometimes hard to imagine that he ever cared for us at all.

"No, really, Al," Ed bit his lip and lied through his teeth. "If we mop it up and cover the rest with his books, Dad won't notice." His hands quivered in nervousness. "He won't notice…right?" he finished in a small voice.

But he did.

In dissent, Al sat down and clutched his stuffed sheep to his chest. His face bowed down till his nose was buried in the rough wool of the toy, and though Ed couldn't see it, he knew there were tears wetting the sheep's head.

A prick of a bad feeling started in his stomach. Mom would call it guilt; he called it unpleasant. It was his suggestion to scrub the floors for their mom while she and dad were out. Mom strived to keep their little two-story tidy and presentable, but after becoming a laundress to help bring in money she was always too tired to keep up with the menial chores. It wasn't until she had cried over the sink full of dishes that Ed decided he needed to do something to help – five years old or not.

Armed with buckets of soapy water and sponges, he and Al tackled the upstairs floors, scrubbing only a short while before childish tendencies crept in and the walls were soaked from the aftermath of their epic indoor water fight.

If that was the only mess they had made, they had nothing to worry about. But things had gone one step too far – literally. Stepping back, Ed had tripped over one of their pails and the water had splashed from the bucket all over the hall, Ed, and the floor of Hohenheim's study.

"We can fix it," Ed consoled hollowly as his eyes swept over the partially erased transmutation circles mapping the floor.

Beside him, Al only sniffed louder and whimpered distressfully.

Ed felt that prick of unpleasantness move from his stomach to his heart. "Come on, Al. If we hurry we'll have it cleaned up before they get back." He crouched low so Al could see the façade of confidence in his face. "You get some towels; I'll move Dad's books."

Trusting his big brother, Al nodded into his sheep and moved away to find any reachable absorbent cloth he could drag over. Ed eyed the room; trepidation had him hesitating at the doorframe. If it were any other room in the house, he would never feel the same way, but Hohenheim's study was strictly off limits. He had only entered once or twice in his life without being faced with that perpetual frown.

With a preparatory breath, Ed gathered his courage and stepped through the threshold. Oddly enough, nothing felt different on this side of the doorway: his heart was still thumping loudly and the floor was just as wet here as it was in the hall.

He glanced over at the little clock sitting on Hohenheim's desk. "Daddy and I are just going to take a walk outside, okay? When the big hand is on the twelve – that's when we'll be back." Fifteen minutes. They had fifteen minutes to help their mom without her knowing and instead they had destroyed Hohenheim's research notes.

Ed stared at the clock; the big hand was on the eleven. His eyes widened and in a rush of panic he seized the nearest stack of books and carried them away from the water spill.

Al entered the room, toting a few hand towels, a blanket, and that ridiculously grimy stuffed sheep he always carried about when Mom's skirts weren't in reach for him to secure himself. "Here, Bwodder," he held them out like a peace offering, withholding only the sheep.

"Thanks, Al," Ed grabbed the bundle and dropped it in the middle of the puddle. Only then did he realize something very important.

"AL!" Ed screeched. "That's Dad's blanket!" He clutched his head and moaned. "He's gunna be so mad."

That was it; Ed's fracture of confidence was all it took to drive Alphonse to full sobs. He was always such a sweet child, and the thought of being the cause of someone else's anger drove him to misery. He didn't even want to imagine what punishment Hohenheim would enforce for, first, ruining his transmutation circles, second, entering the forbidden room, and finally mopping up the mess with his own blanket.

Ed froze where he stood. A heat rushed through his body followed by a sickening coldness that settled somewhere just beneath the skin. He thought Mom called it shame. Shame and guilt.

Afraid of making things worse, Ed slowly crouched next to his sobbing baby brother. Gently, he laid a hand on Al's shoulder, and when Al didn't resist the touch, he wrapped a supporting arm around his shoulders. If it had been anyone else, Ed would have been gagging at the mushy display of tenderness; but this was Al. Ed was the older brother; he had to comfort Alphonse and let him know they weren't doomed to die a tragic and sudden death in a few short minutes, even if they were.

"Hey, Al…It's okay." Ed tried to find something to calm Al. In a flash of brilliance, a permanent fact smacked his senses. "Even if Dad gets angry, Mom won't let him punish us." They would always have their mom to run to.

The prospect of escaping their seemingly certain fate helped stem the tears. Ed breathed a sigh of relief and approval. "Now let's dry the floor before Da–"

Hohenheim stepped into the room.

Uh-oh.

Ed stood – an unconscious defensive gesture – and Al rose slightly behind him, arms still choking the poor sheep's neck. He swiped the tears from his cheeks like he had observed Ed often doing when a particularly painful scrape brought unbidden moisture to his eyes. Ed felt a bud of pride blossom in his chest. He liked the thought that he was someone Al looked up to. It made him feel stronger and more confident – until he looked at Hohenheim's face.

For a moment, Hohenheim stared aghast at the sight in front of him, then slowly his eyes narrowed and settled on two intent do-gooders with a tendency toward destruction.

That perpetual frown slid back into place and then deepened.

Ed felt Al grab onto the back of his shirt. His fist twisted it into a knot at Ed's lower back, and the collar rode up Ed's chest till it rubbed uncomfortably against the front of his neck. Again, if it had been anyone else…but Al was using him as stability; Ed refused to just brush off his brother in a crisis like this.

Speaking of which…

"What are you two doing in here? You know you aren't allowed in here. This is no place for children. Look what you've done. The floor is all wet, and now I have to start all over again." He inhaled deeply then continued, "Do you know how long it took to draw these circles out? You–"

He halted roughly. Al was crying again, this time into the back of Ed's shirt as he was using his brother as a human barrier to block the wrath of his father. Ed stood firmly, determined not to show how shaken he felt. They had only been trying to help! And although they made a mistake, they were trying to fix it by cleaning up their mess. They didn't deserve this diatribe; and more to the point, he was Al's big brother, and he'd lose his right arm before he let his father yell and make Al cry.

Ed opened his mouth to let his father know what was what, but Hohenheim seemed to have lost himself in a trance of self-berating.

Mollified, Hohenheim crouched in front of Ed and sighed heavily over Al's muted sobs.

"We're sowwy, Daddy," Al sobbed, his tears marring his speech.

In a low voice Hohenheim repented, "I know… I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You are more important than this. Transmutation circles can be redrawn, but you two…" He looked at them as if trying to capture this moment in his mind. He puffed a sigh once more and his head drooped. Golden eyebrows furrowed in momentary confusion. Mildly baffled, he questioned, "Is that a blanket?"

Al squeaked like a kitten in a thunderstorm and huddled closer to Ed, squeezing the life – so to speak – out of his stuffed sheep.

Hohenheim's lips twitched upward infinitesimally. Instead of commenting he suggested, "I'll help you clean up."

Al peeked over Ed's shoulder. In a tiny voice he asked, "You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not," Hohenheim gave a short, accepting smile as his eyes cast about the damage. "Although I am curious to know what happened in the first place."

"We were helping Mom," Ed cut in smoothly, defensively.

Hohenheim started in confusion, "But she's–" Then he understood. "Oh." A true smile lit his face unnaturally. "That's a great idea."

Ed blinked. What?

"She's busy with the laundry side-business, and I'm always in here working. The housework has been falling behind. I hadn't even noticed…"

"We thought it'd make her happy," Ed concluded, still startled by their father's sudden interest. His young heart jumped on a naïve wish. "Do you wanna help?"

Hohenheim started, but after a moment he nodded. "To make her happy."

… … … …

Trisha opened the front door. After her talk in the garden with Hohenheim about how he needed to be more open to their boys, she had gotten right back to work washing and hanging laundry for the neighbors. A laundress didn't bring in much money, but she would take anything she could get.

Her arms ached and her head throbbed with the starting of a headache. Now that the laundry was complete she could think about what she still had left to do: dishes, dinner, mop the floors, help Ed and Al pick up their toys, spend time with them, enjoy Hohenheim's company and encourage him to laugh and smile more when with his children.

Wait.

Trisha did a double take as she passed the kitchen. Was she hallucinating from exhaustion? Because she could have sworn that she saw Hohenheim standing at the sink, water up to his elbows as he did the dishes with this carefully balanced smile on his lips.

She blinked.

And were those her boys laughing and joking as they rinsed and dried the dishes?

The little men of the house caught sight of her. Hohenheim too looked over. They stood dumbly with pieces of carefree bliss glued to their faces. Trisha smiled. Her family, whole and at peace, filled her with radiant joy. And they smiled too because for once in their devastatingly short lives, they were all together and they were happy.

If only a moment could last forever.

-Dante