Hey.

It's been a very long time since I've updated a story or posted anything on here. Just as an update, Two Worlds, One Family is on permanent hiatus because I don't have the inspiration for that one anymore. I'm really sorry and maybe someday I'll be able to write that one again. Who knows. But I've started something new, something I'm really proud of, so here it is. This fic has hard themes and the boys aren't always going to reflect who they are because of what they've been through. But if you think you can handle what I'm going to throw at you, go for it. I'll warn you again that there's hard stuff in this story, so if mentions of child abuse make you uncomfortable you should stop now. I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but if those things make you uncomfortable, it's better to skip this one. But if you're up for it, I hope you enjoy it! Anyway, I'll stop rambling and let you read.

Dad's been forcing me and Al to attend a group for teenagers for a couple months now. It's stupid, I think, but it's important to him. The last several years have been hard on everyone and Dad thinks that giving me and Al an "outlet" other than therapy is the best way to help us. I don't see it, though. Nobody ever talks at the meetings we're forced to go to. We just sit in a circle and stare at each other. The group's for teens who have been through hard stuff. You know; abuse, domestic violence, terrorist attacks. That sort of thing. When the group started the guy in charge made us introduce ourselves and say what we were attending for if we were comfortable enough to. When he got to Al and me, Al just cried (and puked. He doesn't like to talk about it.) so I introduced us. I left out what we were there for, though. I don't like to talk about it, 'specially since it just ended two years ago. I think telling people's the worst part. They treat you different once they know. Even Winry does that. She doesn't say certain things around us and treats us like we're fragile. We're not. We can take care of ourselves. We've just seen some shit. But everyone's seem some, I guess. Just not the same shit.

Dad drops us off at the group and Al's shaking. He gets nervous around groups of people now. When he was really little, he was a social butterfly. Mom always talked about how much Al liked people and how it might get him into trouble someday. Boy, was she wrong. He hates people now. Actually, that's not true. He's scared of people now. He's scared that they'll hurt him or tell him how he's a waste of space. I regret that. I didn't do enough to protect him then and he's suffering for it now. I have problems, too, but not like he does. He always had it worse in terms of the emotional stuff. I always got the brunt of the physical stuff. Always did. Mostly 'cause I wouldn't let her lay a finger on him if I could help it. We walk inside and Al instinctively reaches for his backpack. Inside is his comfort item, something that makes him feel safe. He doesn't pull it out most of the time now, just touches his backpack to make sure it's there. I haven't actually seen him carry Chico around for a couple months. Our therapist suggested it since it reminds him of Mom. I think it helps. Don't misunderstand, though. My brother's not some big baby. He's strong - stronger than anyone I know. Hell, he's stronger than me in a lot of ways. But he's seen shit. I've seen shit. So we've got problems because of it. That's why Dada's making us go to this dumb ass group for dumb ass teens. He thinks it will solve what the therapist can't. I don't think it will but if it makes him feel better, I'll do it. Maybe it'll solve what his "dealing with guilt" class couldn't.

There's a circle of chairs in the middle of the office as always. There's also a table of snacks, one that we always ignore. We're never hungry when we get here. There's a few kids here already and they wave at us timidly. Al waves back and I pull on his arm. I guide him to our usual seats and the guy in charge meets us. The guy in charge is actually our therapist which is nice. At first, I was scared that he'd out why we're here but he never did. Instead he lets us sit in blissful silence until the hour's up. He's trying something new this week, he says. He says he's opening up the floor for people to tell stories. It can be about anything but he's hoping that the more we talk, the more we'll open up about what happened to us. It won't. I know for a fact Al won't say anything and I know I won't, either. When I was a kid, I used to love telling stories. I had a big imagination and could go on and on, about anything really. I don't think I could do that anymore. Whenever I try to tell a story, the words get caught in my throat like bubbles trapped under ice. I can't speak, I can't breathe; I can't do anything but swallow my words. It's because of her that I do that. She hated my stories. She said they were stupid and never let me tell 'em. Now I can't hardly talk at all. I think that's what Dada feels the guiltiest about.

The group finally all shows up and we start. Our therapist, Dr. Hughes, starts talking about how stories define humans from animals. People share stories and it makes them human. I think that's shit but whatever. It sounds nice at least. I do like to read so I guess I get where he's coming from. Beside me Al fumbles with his shirt. I can tell he's nervous so I pat his arm. Once Dr. Hughes is done talking he "opens the floor". This is when the awkward silence that defines our group begins. He wants us to talk about what's bothering us, what we've been through, or tell our stories. No one ever does. Instead we stare at each other, all knowing that we've seen shit. We've all seen the worst of humanity and we all know it. Why talk about it? Eventually, Dr. Hughes will tell a story about his daughter to lighten things up and then kids'll talk about school or church or sports, but they never talk about what he wants them to. As the silence goes on he turns to me and Al. Al turns white and I groan.

"Ed, Al?" He addresses softly. He knows loud voices can trigger us sometimes; sends us into unimaginable panic and even though it's dumb we think she's back. "Do you want us to tell us something?"

"Why bother?" I ask. "We all know that we've seen shit. Why do we gotta talk about it?" Dr. Hughes does that annoying "dad chuckle" and shakes his head.

"Because knowing that it happens isn't why we tell stories," he tells me. "Why do we tell stories, Ed?" I turn my face away, unwilling to talk.

"Um," my brother squeaks, "To allow unheard voices to be heard and share the deepest part of ourselves." Everyone turns to look at him. Al hasn't spoken, not once, in group. He threw up the first day when Dr. Hughes told us to introduce ourselves and that's it. They know him as the "puke kid". Dr. Hughes smiles and nods.

"That's true, Al, thank you," he says.

"We still have nightmares," I begin suddenly, the bubbles in my throat rapidly popping. For some reason, Al having the courage to speak has given me some. I feel like talking for the first time in a long time. For the first time since she came into my life, I feel like I can tell stories again. "We still have panic attacks, we still sleep with our dad when we're scared, still carry stuffed animals around, still cry at night, and we even wet the bed. But that's not why we tell stories. When we tell people what happened, they pity us. They look at us like we're China dolls that need to be protected. Everyone who knows what happened walks on egg shells around us because they don't want to hurt us anymore. But that's not why we tell stories. We tell stories so we're heard. We tell stories so that we feel like we matter. And we tell stories so people know that life goes on." I pause and the whole room is staring at me. Al looks at me and asks what I'm doing with his eyes.

"Well, Ed?" Dr. Hughes prompts. "Do you have a story to tell?" I nod.

"Yeah," I say, those bubbles still popping. "I got a story. I got a story about two little kids from Illinois, a story about their dad who never stops working, their mom who loved them with everything she was, and the monster that ruined it all."

"Brother," Al whispers urgently, "Don't."

"It's okay, Al," I tell him. "It'll feel good to tell it, I think. Trust me." Al puts his backpack on his legs and takes Chico out. I wait for him to nod before I continue, "It all started after Al was born.

"My family is your typical apple pie American family. Mom was born and raised here in this hick Illinois town and moved to Champaign-Urbana as a teenager and went to the U of I like a good kid should. That's where she met Dad. Dad's from Chicago and was in his senior year studying biochemistry when she started there. They instantly hit it off and before anyone could even register that they were friends, they were engaged and got married while my dad was working on his doctorate. Mom's name was Trisha Elric and Dad's Victor von Hohenheim. We have Mom's last name, though, because Dada decided to take hers and hyphen it with his. So, his name is Victor von Hohenheim-Elric and I know that's a mouth full. After they got married and while Dad was still working on his doctorate, they moved back here where they wanted to raise a family. Apparently the country air is good for raising kids. I don't know. Anyway, Dad started teaching biochem at the local college while Mom taught kindergarten at the elementary school. Dada got really well known and started doing research on the side. When his first paper was published, Mom was pregnant with me.

"After she had me, Dada started traveling a lot. That didn't prevent her from getting pregnant again six months after she had me. Al was born early a few months after my first birthday. I'm a winter baby and he's a spring baby. February and May. The unstoppable Elric brothers. Mom always wanted more kids but after she had Al, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She had her uterus removed six months after Al was born and was devastated. Still, she carried on and loved us like we were her whole world. For me and Al, Mom was our whole world. She was always there for us. Dada was gone a lot so Mom was our solid rock. I mean, we saw a lot of our friend Winry and her grandma, but Mom was always there.

"For a couple years it seemed like Mom's treatment had worked. Because she was doing so well, Dad started doing research full time and teaching part time. He traveled more and whenever he'd come home we'd get presents from wherever he went. Around Al's second birthday, Mom's cancer came back. She was in and out of treatment for almost two years and even seemed to be getting over the hump and heading toward remission. But a couple months after my fifth birthday, everything got worse. She got sick, the sickest I've ever seen a person get. She wasted away in the blink of the eye and looked like a corpse. The cancer proved to be stronger than she was. Within a month the cancer had made her into someone we didn't recognize as the cancer ravaged her body. She lost all her body fat and lost all color in her skin. She couldn't get up anymore and slept all the time. She went into a coma a month before Al's fourth birthday and that was it. Mom didn't get to see anymore birthdays, not even the one happening less than a month from then. Everyone was devastated when she died. I remember that Dada cried and cried. I had never seen Dad cry before Mom died and I wouldn't again until a couple years ago when everything came to light. Al's never cried harder in his life, I don't think. See, Al blames himself for her death. Since she got the cancer after he was born, he thinks it's his fault.

"After Mom died and after Al's birthday, it was just the three of us for a while. It was usually Mom who did all the parenting stuff so Dad was really out of practice. He's never been good at the whole parenting thing. Like, he loves us - I know he does - but he was never around. When he was around, he was real quiet. It's like he didn't know how to talk to kids. He liked to tell us stories and sometimes he'd tickle us 'til our tummies hurt but that was about it. Granny Pinako says that Dad's just reserved, whatever that means. They've known each other since Granny's kids were kids so I guess she'd know. I'm not sure if I resent Dad or not. I mean, he wasn't really there for us when Mom died because he was so depressed and worked all the time and he's emotionally stunted. Back then, it was really just Al and me even though Dad was around. And it was hard. And it's his fault that we met her to begin with. So, I have a lot of mixed feelings about Dad.

"After Mom died, Brother and I were having trouble sleeping. You know; nightmares, sleep walking, bed wetting, and night terrors. That sort of thing. Dad's not a mean man or anything so it wasn't like we were punished but he didn't really know how to handle it. We basically had to take care of ourselves for a few months. Before I started kindergarten, I'd make Al sandwiches in the mornings for breakfast. I had preschool from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon for about a month after Mom died. I needed a lunch on those days and Dada would always forget to make my lunch. Al did his best to make me lunch so I wouldn't go hungry. He'd spend the day with Granny while me and Winry were at school so he always got fed. He'd make me a jam sandwich and then just throw in whatever he could find. We didn't have a lot of sack lunch food, though. No carrot sticks, we were always out of grapes, no juice boxes, and definitely no Zebra Cakes. But Al did his best so that's what mattered. It was around then that she started hanging around.

"I guess Dada thought we needed a mom. I guess he thought he couldn't handle being a single parent and wanted to recruit someone to join our very disorganized team. I remember Dad sitting us both down to talk about it. He asked if we'd be okay with him dating and promised that he wasn't trying to replace Mom. I remember being really confused and that Al cried. Dada then turned it into that sports analogy. He told us that we were a team and that we'd always be one. He said that no matter what happened between him and someone else, Mom would always be part of our team and we'd always be part of his. He just thought we needed a new member; someone to help balance our disjointed family out. When he put it that way, well it made sense to us. Dad did need help cleaning the house and really couldn't cook at all. It made sense that he felt like we needed someone who could help him out with that stuff. It didn't seem so scary. So, we told him we were okay with him dating. But I remember telling him that I would probably never call that new lady "mom" because Mom is Mom. He said he understood and didn't expect me to call anyone he dated "mom" unless I was absolutely comfortable with it.

"So, that brings us to the real story," I say, pausing to look at everyone's faces. The group is staring at me, some leaning forward in their seats. It looks like they're eager to hear the rest, though there's no way I could finish the story in the thirty minutes I have left. This is a story that would take weeks to properly tell and I don't know if Dr. Hughes will give that to me. Still, I'm going to set it up for them so that maybe next week it'll be easier for me and Al to talk about it. At the thought of Al, I look over at him. His hands are desperately clutching Chico, his whole body shaking. Sometimes we still get scared that if we tell someone the truth, tell them what happened, she'll hurt us somehow. I know he's scared and honestly, so am I. I lived with that threat hanging over my head since I was six and was just freed from that two years ago. It's hard for that sort of thing to go away.

"Ed?" Dr. Hughes says, encouraging me to keep going. I bite my lip.

"Al," I say gently, "If you don't want me to, I'll stop." Surprisingly, he shakes his head.

"No," he replies with a shaking voice. "I want you to tell it. Maybe if you do, someday I can talk about it, too. Maybe someday it won't chase me anymore." I grin weakly and turn to Dr. Hughes.

"Mind if I take up the rest of the hour?" I ask and I'm kinda cheeky. Dr. Hughes smiles and shakes his head.

"Not at all," he says. He gestures to the group and says, "I think they're all invested in what you have to say." I nod.

"Okay, then," I sigh, "Let me introduce her to you all.

"Dada met her at a conference in the south - Florida, I think. She was tall, blonde, and pretty. She was also super good at chemistry, something that I think turns Dad on. She does have a name, but it burns my tongue to say it. But I have to say it, though, so you guys understand who she is. Her name's Vanessa. When Dad got back from the conference, she was all he could talk about. Vanessa this, Vanessa that. It was annoying but I remember feeling happy because Dad was happy again. He had stopped telling stories after Mom died but when he met Vanessa, he started telling them again. He tickled us, gives us kisses, and even remembered to pack my lunches. Dad wasn't depressed anymore. And when we met her, we could see why. She was nice, really nice - the kind of nice Mom was. Vanessa liked to give us hugs whenever she came over, she played with us, and cooked dinner for us. She even helped Dada keep the house clean when she was over. She told lots of jokes and I remember thinking that I'd be okay if Dad married her. She seemed like a good fit; someone who fit in with our team.

"Back then, Vanessa lived in St. Louis which is, like, four hours from here. She'd come up on weekends and stay 'til Monday morning. Dada liked her so much that when we'd have dinner with Granny and Winry, she'd come, too. If I hadn't had been five at the time, I might have seen the way Granny looked at her. I might have understood why Granny was rude to her and fought with Dada about how she was spending too much time with us too soon. I might have known that Granny knew that she was off somehow. But I didn't. So, in January when they got engaged, I was excited. So was Al. We talked about how our family was growing. We even thought that we'd get new brothers and sisters. We were beyond excited.

"Vanessa moved in with us in February. At first, things were great. Wedding planning was fun and she let us pick flowers and other things. She liked to sleep in the living room sometimes so we could have "camp outs". She took us for ice cream every weekend and even took us to fun places in St. Louis that we had never seen before. Al's favorite was the zoo. He's always liked animals and talked about them all the time. I liked the City Museum the best and we both liked the Science Center. Al and I have always been super interested in science since Dad's a biochemist. After we'd take our trips to St. Louis, I would tell stories. Even if they were made up, I'd talk for hours. I loved to tell stories. Guess I get it from Dad. Things were going so great and I didn't think life could get any better. It was then that things began changing.

"Whenever Dad'd go away, Granny would watch us at her place. We'd have sleepovers with Wirny and it was always so fun. After Vanessa moved in, that stopped happening. We would still have sleepovers at Winry's but Vanessa would watch us when Dad went away. It was late February, maybe early March, the first time Dada took a trip after Mom died. He was going to Germany for work. Al always cried when Dad would leave and Dad would always hug us tight before getting on his plane. I remember that once Al had calmed down, he was excited to spend the week with Vanessa. She seemed excited, too. We got home and that night was great. We watched a movie, ate dinner, and got put to bed right on time. But That Night, things got bad. In one night, our whole world changed forever.

"Al and I share a room. We always have. There are enough rooms in our house for us to have our own, but we never have. Before That Night, we were actually thinking about having separate rooms. But after that, we never thought about it again. We needed each other so we knew we had to keep sharing a room. That night, Al woke up around midnight. He was crying so I woke up, too. Keep in mind that he's only four and I'm barely six when this happened. I got out of my bed to check on him and he told me he wet the bed. He was really upset because he had been staying dry a lot recently. I remember thinking that Vanessa would give him lots of kisses to make it all better. We walked down to hers and Dad's room and opened the door. She was asleep still and Al timidly walked over to her bed.

"'Nessie,' he whispered. Vanessa stirred and woke up, her tired eyes staring at us.

'What is it?' She asked sleepily. Al started crying again so I knew I'd have to say what happened. As she stared at us, though, I remember that my hands started sweating. I was nervous and my heart was pounding. For some reason, I was scared. I didn't want to say what happened. I shook my head and her brow lowered dangerously over her eyes. 'What happened?' She demanded.

'Uh,' I began softly, 'Al wet the bed.' Time seemed to stop as she stared at us. Al quit crying for a moment as the seconds crawled by. Vanessa stood up slowly and placed her hand on Al's head. My heart beat wildly as I waited, terrified that she would hurt Al.

'Is that so?' She questioned quietly. Al nodded and I held my breath. She lifted her hand and for a split second, the danger had passed. But then time caught up with us and her hand opened. She smacked Al so hard he fell backward and I gasped loudly.

'Hey!' I cried, turning to her. 'That wasn' nice!' Vanessa rounded on me, a fire burning in her blue eyes and her glare made me feel only an inch tall.

'You know what isn't nice?!' She roared as Al sat up. 'Two little brats waking me up in the middle of the night because one of them pissed in the bed! Why don't you clean it up?! If you're old enough to come and wake me up you're old enough to clean it up!' I remember being confused. She knew that Al and me sometimes wet the bed. She knew that while it was getting better, we hadn't grown out of it yet. She knew we had nightmares and got scared at night. She knew that we sometimes slept with Dada when we were scared. I remember not understanding why she got so mad.

'But, Nessie,' I protested, my voice quivering as she loomed over me, 'We don' know how.' She stuck her bottom lip out at me and even though I was only six, I knew she was making fun of me.

'We don't know how,' she mocked as Al fearfully grabbed my hand. 'You poor, poor babies. You don't know how to clean up your own disgusting mess. So the person who needs sleep the most because they have to work to feed you ungrateful little brats has to clean it up. That sounds fair!' I glanced over at Al and his face was already red where she had hit him. He was crying again, silent tears rolling down his face. I could tell he was scared; scareder than he'd ever been. I knew because I was, too. In a matter of minutes Vanessa went from nice new team member to monster and we were both scared. We didn't know what she was going to do to us.

'I'm sorry, Nessie,' Al said miserably. 'I didn' mean to.' Vanessa glared at him and I knew then we were in trouble.

'Outside, Alphonse,' she commanded. Al didn't budge, his legs unable to move because he was terrified of what would happen if he did. She stepped forward and I instinctively stood in front of my little brother. I remember thinking in that moment that it was us against her now. I wasn't going to let her hurt him if I could help it. I also remember thinking just how big and scary she was. I also remember how bad my legs were shaking and how a little pee escaped as I bravely stood between her and Al. Vanessa pushed me over and I sat up just in time to watch her grab Al by the hair. She dragged him out of the room and I quickly stood up. I hurried after them, Vanessa opening the door to the backyard. Al was struggling, apologizing over and over as she dragged him outside. I watched from the sliding glass door as Vanessa turned on the hose and sprayed my brother with it. There was snow on the ground and the only thing Al had on his feet were his socks that were already damp because he wet the bed. I didn't know what I could do to help, but I knew I had to do something. I hurried outside and grabbed her arm.

'Stop it!' I cried, dangling from her arm. 'Stop, Nessie! It was a accident! He didn' mean it! Please, stop!' I held on for a moment before she grabbed my hair. She threw me down, water from the hose wetting my clothes as she held the hose near me. I could feel my knee bleeding and instinctively started crying.

'Aw,' she mocked. 'Does Eddy have an owie?' I nodded, though I knew she was making fun of me. Al was shivering behind me, his clothes completely soaked.

'I wan' Dada,' I cried pathetically, ashamed that not only could I not keep Al safe, I had to go and pee myself because I was scared. I thought she was gonna spray me with the hose but she didn't. Instead she turned it off and walked to the sliding glass door.

'Stay out here,' she instructed. 'If you're going to pee inside a bed like a dog, you're going to sleep outside like a dog.' I looked at her, my brain unable to process what she said. Vanessa walked inside and shut the door, Al and me scrambling up. We hurried over to the door, thinking that surely she couldn't be that mean. Someone that Dad loves wouldn't really leave us to sleep outside when we're both wet and it's still winter. I went to open the door but it was locked.

'Vanessa?' I called, hoping she was standing nearby. 'Vanessa!' I pounded on the door, but she never came back. I tried opening it for a while but gave up after a while. Al sat on the steps of the porch, shivering violently.

'C'mon, Ally,' I said. He looked up at me with bleary eyes and I said, 'There's a dog house. That'll keep us kinda warm.' Al nodded and took my hand. We walked over and crawled inside. As soon as we were in the dog house, Al started crying loudly. I wrapped my damp little body around his in a futile attempt to both calm him down and keep him warm. We cried ourselves to sleep that night and nothing was ever the same."

I stop talking and look around the room. The half hour's up but the kids aren't moving. They aren't fidgeting, fighting to get out, like usual. Instead they're all waiting; waiting for me to finished my story. Dr. Hughes stands up and dismisses us, but tells me and Al he wants to talk after. A couple kids come up to me and tell me how "brave" it was that I opened up. I don't think I was brave. I think that I just felt like telling a story - my story. I've been trying to run from it for so long. Ever since she got caught doing it to us two years ago, my life both fell apart and got better at the same time. Nothing's been the same since then and I've been trying to run from it. I don't want to be seen as an abused kid. I don't want to be pitied because Dada never caught on and the school system failed us like they fail so many other kids. I just want to tell my story. I want to tell people about how weak I was, how I was unable to protect my little brother who needed me to be brave for him. I want people to know that I was scared to tell my Dad over the phone after That Night what happened because she was scary. I want people to know how ashamed I am of my past. But I also want them to know there's hope. I go to high school like everyone else. I have friends, I'm in clubs, I do well in school. Even though I'm only a sophomore I'm thinking about college and I know what I want to be when I grow up. I might still carry a blanket around in my backpack and I might still wet the bed. I might still cry a lot and I might still have nightmares. Some nights I curl up next to Al or Dada because I'm so scared I think I'll die if I don't. But I'm better than I was two years ago. I'm better than I was nine years ago. And most of all, I'm still getting better. I want people to know. I want to tell stories again.

"Ed," Dr. Hughes says, walking over. Al's hand is concealed in mine, his whole frame shaking. "You've never talked about the night the abuse started. You've only called it 'That Night'. It was really brave of you to talk about it." I shrug and he turns to Al. "And Al, it's brave of you to have to relive what happened through your brother talking about it. You're both so brave." Al smiles weakly.

"Dr. Hughes," I say, "I don't think it's brave."

"Really?" He asks.

"No," I reply. "I just want to tell stories again."

"I'm glad," Dr. Hughes tells me. "Your father mentioned when you started therapy with me that you always used to tell stories when you were younger. I'm glad you're finally able to tell them again."

"Me, too," Al adds softly, his hand squeezing mine. "I've missed Brother's stories." I grin briefly. Telling stories is a piece of me that I haven't seen in a long time. For a while, I didn't think that I'd ever see that side of me again. But somehow, Al being brave and saying why he thinks we tell stories reminded me that I love it. I love to tell stories. So, yeah; I guess it is brave for me to talk about it.

"I was thinking," Dr. Hughes begins, "Maybe you could try writing your story for people to read."

"How come?" I ask.

"Well, since you and Al opened the floor, I think other people are going to start talking," he explains. "I think the other kids are going to start telling their stories. There won't be time for everyone every week, but it might help you to write it down. If you're comfortable with that, you can pass it around for the kids to read so they know where your story goes. Or we can just tell little bits of it. Whatever makes you most comfortable, Ed."

"I've never tried writing," I say.

"Um, Dr. Hughes?" Al asks, "Maybe one week I could tell part of the story. His story is mine, too. I should be able to tell it."

"You're right," Dr. Hughes agrees. "You're always welcome to the floor, Al. You know that." Al nods.

"I could try writing for next week," I decide. "I want to tell my whole story but I don't want to take the floor time away from the other kids. But I don't want them taking it and showing it to other people."

"If you do decide to use writing as a way to tell your story, I can send out an e-mail and invite people to come early," Dr. Hughes suggests. "Then you can read what you wrote to them so they won't spread your story around. They know that everything said here is confidential."

"And it should stay that way," I say, blushing. "I didn't mean to tell them about how me and Al sleep together sometimes or about how I wet the bed."

"I know you didn't," Dr. Hughes says gently. "But they've all been there or they are there. I don't think they're they type to spread this around. But still, it's nice to know that this is between us."

"Boys."

Dad's voice fills the room and me and Al both look over at the same time. He smiles warmly and Al stops holding my hand. He hurries over and hugs Dada tight, Dad petting his hair.

"Hey, Dada," I greet. Al ends the embrace and holds Dad's hand. Chico's in the other hand and I know Dad. He gets worried whenever he sees that cat or my blanket anywhere but in our backpacks or on our bed. They walk back over and I know Dad's gonna give me his weekly "how was group" talk. He always wants me and Al to tell him that it's really helping. That he's helping us make progress so we can be "Mom's boys" again. The thing is, though, I don't think we can ever be those boys again. She killed those boys That Night and I don't think Dada will ever see them again.

"How was group?" He asks right on queue.

"Fine," I say. "I actually talked about That Night." Dad's eyes widen before his brow furrows.

"That Night?" He echoes. I nod and he says, "But you've never talked about That Night. You told me and that's it. You've never even told Dr. Hughes. Why'd you talk about it?" I shrug.

"I don't know," I admit. "I guess 'cause Al reminded me why we tell stories to begin with. So, I decided to tell mine. Stories have a beginning and That Night is our story's beginning." Dad gives me that proud smile and I grin back.

"I'm proud, Ed," he says. "I know how hard that must have been for you."

"Dada," Al begins, "Ed's gonna try to write the story, too. And sometime, I'll tell part of it in group."

"That's wonderful," Dad says.

"Your boys really are improving," Dr. Hughes tells Dad who nods deeply. "I know it doesn't always seem like it, but they are."

"Boys," Dad addresses, his eyes resting on Chico. I know what he's thinking. How can they be getting better when Al is carrying Chico around with him? But he doesn't know how Chico works. Chico makes Al feel brave. It makes him feel safe. It's not bad. But Dad doesn't get it so I know he's trying to get rid of us so he can talk worriedly to Dr. Hughes about us. He doesn't really believe we're getting better. But we are. He just can't always see it. "Winry's in the car. Pinako asked me to pick her up from the garage so I did. Why don't you go talk to her?"

"Yeah, okay," I say softly. I grab Al's hand and gently pull him away from Dad.

"Dada," Al says, almost whines. He knows what's happening. He knows Dada is going to find ways we're failing; find the ways we're moving backward. He pulls his hand away and says, "Dad, I'm sorry. I only had Chico 'cause Ed was talking about That Night. I can put him away, really. I don't need him, Dada, promise." Dad gives him that look - the look he gives when he doesn't believe you but is going to tell you he does.

"I know, honey," he says. I cringe at the pet name and I take Al's trembling hand in mine again. He usually only calls us pet names when he's trying to soften us up because he's about to say something harsh. "If you need him, it's fine." Lie. That's a lie. We both know it is. Dad wants us getting better in an exponential curve. He wants us to just keep getting better and better so he can live with himself. But that's not how it works. It's a scatter plot. Some days we're normal kids and the next we're blubbery messes. Some days Al needs Chico and some days he doesn't. Some days are better than others and some days are straight shit. That's how this whole recovery thing works. Dada doesn't understand. I know he's trying but I also know he would like to sleep at night again.

"C'mon, Al," I say, "Let's go see Winry." Al stays still for a moment before nodding. I pull him away from Dada and Dr. Hughes, Al stuffing Chico into his backpack.

"You know," I say as we walk through the hallway, "It's really okay to need Chico. I still need my blanket some days. Sometimes you just need Mom." Al nods.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs. His eyes are tired and I can tell that today wore him out. Group days don't usually but today was hard. Today I told everyone about That Night, the night she reduced us to dogs. That's hard to hear about and it's hard to talk about. That's why we never do it. "It's just... I don't know. I just want Dad to be proud. I feel like we're never good enough. Maybe we aren't."

"That's her talking, Al," I say instantly, even though I don't always believe that myself. "We are good enough, I think. Dad just doesn't understand how this whole recovery thing works. He just wants us to feel better and wants it sooner than it's actually possible."

"She's still in my head, Brother," Al whispers to me, his voice shaking. "I know it's been two years and that I'll never see her again but, she's there. I see her all the time in my dreams, I hear her in my head. Maybe I'm never gonna get better."

"She's in my head, too," I reply quietly. I open the door and say, "But we're better than we were two years ago. Hell, we're better than we were a year ago."

"If you say so," Al says. We walk to Dada's silver hatchback and Winry gets out to greet us. She waves, her blue eyes scanning us for signs of distress no doubt. She always does that. She thinks we're fragile; that we can't handle anything anymore. It's like we're made of glass to her. Winry thinks that if she's too rough, we'll shatter. That's not true, though. We may have seen shit, but who hasn't. She used to be our friend but I don't know what she is now. Friends don't treat their friends like they're made of glass.

"Hey, guys," she greets. "So, Granny invited you guys over for dinner if you're interested."

"You know I'm always up for Granny's cooking," I say. Al doesn't let go of my hand and I see Winry's eyes drift there. They always do. She worries that Al's going to have a nervous breakdown any second. There's a good reason for that, but I know Al doesn't like it. He just wants to be her friend and for the past two years she really hasn't been. I know she's trying but no one ever sees it from our point of view. It was our world that was wrecked the day everything came to light, not theirs. It was our world that came crashing down and it was us that were left to pick up the pieces. Why everyone thinks it was them is beyond me.

"Hey, Winry? Are you still up for watching that movie on demand tonight?" Al asks. Winry smiles and nods.

"Sure am!" She chirps. "I've got it rented and everything. I've heard lots of good things about this one."

"Hope you bought enough food to feed us," I tease. "You know I'm a walking garbage disposal." Winry laughs.

"Don't worry," she says. "I stocked up on Doritos and ice cream yesterday in preparation. Oh! I forgot! I got the new Assassin's Creed so if you guys wanted to sleep over we could all play after the movie."

"I dunno, Winry," Al says nervously, his hand twisting the fabric of his shirt. Winry does the sympathetic head tilt we both hate and smiles at him.

"C'mon, Ally," she says, using his pet name to butter him up. "It's been so long since you've stayed the night."

"Yeah, but," he protests, "Assassin's Creed gives me nightmares sometimes. I don't want to keep you and Granny up."

"You know we don't care about that stuff," she reminds him. "It's not like we'll get mad if you do have nightmares." It's not just the nightmares Al's worried about. He's been having a bad week sleeping-wise. Some weeks are better than others and this week's been bad. On top of having horrible nightmares, he hasn't been able to keep the bed dry hardly at all this week. He doesn't want to wet the bed at Winry's house, not when he's fourteen. I'm actually kinda scared I might do that, too. I know Winry won't get mad but she'll pity us even more than she does already. Her childhood friends can't keep their beds dry when they're fifteen and fourteen. She'd be embarrassed to call us her friends and treat us even more like we're made of glass. It's definitely a bad idea. But I wanna sleep over at the same time. I wanna hang out with Winry and play video games like a normal kid. I don't wanna be scared all the time.

"We'll ask Dada, okay, Win?" I say. Al looks at me and asks with his eyes if I mean it. I reply that I do because asking Dad might talk some sense into me about sleeping over. He might remind me that I don't do well sleeping outside of my house and that I should really just wait until I'm better. Well, more improved than I am now. I don't think I'll ever be better, not all the way.

"You ready to go, kids?" Dad calls, walking out of the building with Dr. Hughes.

"Yeah," I call back. They walk over and Dr. Hughes shoves a picture at us. He's officially off-duty so the daughter-worshiping can officially begin.

"Look at this one!" He cries happily. "She's almost three! Can you believe it?" We all shake our heads.

"She's getting so big," Al comments. We've been going to see Dr. Hughes since his daughter, Elicia, was a baby. She's a sweet kid and all, it's just that Dr. Hughes worships the ground Elicia walks on.

"Three already?" Winry asks. "I can't believe it. When's the party?"

"This weekend," Dr. Hughes answers, shoving Elicia back into his wallet. "You kids are welcome to stop by if you want. I know Gracia and Elicia would be thrilled to bits to see you."

"Is Officer Mustang going?" Al asks, a note of panic in his voice.

"Roy?" Dr. Hughes questions. "I'm not sure, Al. He hasn't told me yet."

"We can't go if Mustang's going," I say quickly. Officer Mustang isn't a mean man or all that annoying. It's just that he's the officer that arrested her. Seeing him is almost like seeing her and I know neither of us can handle it.

"Don't worry," Dr. Hughes tells me. "I'll know by our session on Friday so I'll tell you if he's going."

"Okay," I say, "Thanks."

"No problem," he replies. "I know it's nothing against him." I nod and Dada gestures toward the car with his head. Time to go I guess. We say good-bye to Dr. Hughes and pile in the car. I call shot gun so Al and Winry sit in the back. Dad starts the car, the building getting smaller as we pull away. For a while everyone's quiet until I remember that I was going to ask Dada about the sleepover. Hopefully he'll convince the part of me that wants to go that it's a bad idea.

"Say, Dada," I begin casually. Dad slides his eyes over to me and I say, "Winry's got the new Assassin's Creed. Think we could spend the night and play it with her?" Dad grimaces and part of me sinks and rises at the same time.

"I don't know, Ed," he says. "Those sort of games give your brother nightmares." Al looks away guiltily and for some reason I feel like now I have to fight for going. Maybe it's 'cause Al feels guilty about having bad dreams over a video game and feels like he's preventing me from having fun. I don't know. But those bubbles have returned; the bubbles that close my throat up so tight that I couldn't speak even if I wanted to. "And besides," Dad goes on, "It's a school night. Al's not sleeping well this week so I think it's best if we wait for a different time." Winry glances downward at the seat and for some reason those bubbles that prevented me from speaking begin popping again.

"That's what you always say," I tell him quickly. "Dada, Al never sleeps well, you know that. What's the difference if he sleeps poorly at Granny's instead of our house?"

"I think you know the difference, Edward," Dad says, obviously trying to end the conversation. The first name has been thrown in as a warning. Stop talking about this. Don't insist. But those bubbles are popping and words keep spilling out of me like someone pouring water into an already full cup.

"You can't prevent us from having sleepovers forever," I argue. "Someday we'll just do it without asking or something. Kids have sleepovers with their friends. It happens. We never got to do that so you shouldn't take it away from us now." Al looks up and he says something to me with his eyes. It's thank you. Even though he's worried about sleeping over, I could tell from the get-go that he wanted to. Violent video games do give him nightmares but he's good at them. He likes playing them. So do I. We're Winry's friends, even though it doesn't feel like it most of the time. She wants us to spend time with her, those bubbles insist as they keep popping inside me. Fight for your right to be a kid, they tell me as Dad looks at me.

"Edward," he begins, "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"What if as soon as Al starts showing signs of distress, we stop," I suggest. "And we don't have anything to drink passed, like, nine. And we bring Chico and my blanket. Sound fair?" Dada grips the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched. To him, it does sound fair. And that's the problem. He knows it's wrong to tell us no; to deny us a basic right of childhood. And yet he's struggling. Because he also knows it's wrong to subject us to the unbearable amount of shame and embarrassment our sleeping issues bring.

"Please, Dada," Al adds, his big brown eyes staring right at Dad through the rear view mirror. Dad sighs deeply, a hand massaging his temples.

"Well," he sighs, "I guess since it's Pinako and Winry there's no harm in it." I cheer loudly, turning back in my seat to give Al a fist bump. He grins, tapping his fist into mine.

"Now we have to go home," I say eagerly. "Got to pick up my stuff!"

"Thank you so much, Uncle Vic," Winry chirps. He smiles weakly and nods.

"I can't keep them away forever," Dada says. "They are growing up and should be free to make their own decisions. I can't deny them that."

"Thanks, Dad," I say, a stupid grin plastered on my face. I know I'll feel differently tonight when I wake up screaming or drenched in my own bodily fluids, but right now none of that matters. Al and I get to spend the night and that's all that really matters to me.

I fall back in my seat, thinking about how a couple of weeks ago, I would have never fought for the sleepover. I would have taken Dada's no and left it alone. But I fought for it. I clawed for it. Somehow, those bubbles in my throat that trap my words are disappearing. They've been around since I was six and I'm finally being set free. I don't have as many bubbles anymore. I just have words; words that spill out of me like a waterfall. Words that are gnawing to get out, to be heard by everyone. I glance back at Al who isn't shaking. He's smiling, his eyes twinkling like they used to when he was little. He's talking about Assassin's Creed and is wondering how the new game fits into the series. Now I realize why my bubbles are popping. It's because of him. It wasn't me who was brave first today. It was him. When Dr. Hughes asked why people tell stories, I turned away. I tried to run from his question like I run from everything. I tried to bury my face and those bubbles prevented me from talking. But then Al speaks. Al, the boy whose voice has been lost for much longer than mine, speaks out in a crowd of kids we don't know. He shared why we tell stories, why it's important that our voices are heard. That was all Al. He was brave. He was brave before I could be and that's why these bubbles that keep my voice buried deep inside my chest are popping. Al is brave and when he's brave, I am, too.

Hey, guys, I'm currently combing through this story, chapter by chapter revising things, fixing typos and whatnot. Happy reading!