Edward stood, silent and stoic as the flames licked up the sides of what had once been his home. In his mind, he saw it all: he pictured the glass of the photo frames exploding outward, allowing the fire to destroy the memories his mother had so cherished. He pictured his father's study - all the paper, all the research notes curling up, black and charred. He pictured the room he and Alphonse shared, the bedding turning to ash. The cellar where everything had gone wrong flashed through his mind briefly, and he allowed himself a small moment of regret. He'd been too ambitious, too naive, too reckless. The armour at his side - cold and unmoving - was all his fault.
Edward saw the ghosts that would follow him for years rise out of the smoke, and he couldn't bring himself to care.
A small sniffling noise tore his attention from the destruction and he glanced sideways. Winry was crying. She always was. Crying for them - because who else would? She was all they really had left. And yet they were going to leave her too; break her down, destroy her, forget her. Just like their home.
Edward listened to her cry. What more could he do? He couldn't comfort her. He wouldn't. He wouldn't lie to her and Pinako about how he and Al were going to go and get their bodies back and bye Winry, seeya later, we'll be back in time for dinner!. He wouldn't let himself tell a lie like that.
Slowly he began to make out a small pattern to her crying. In between sobs, he heard whispers of why? why? why? why? why?, and Edward sighed. Why, indeed? Why October 3rd?
Why his birthday?
For Edward, it was a sort of romantic, fanciful notion of a new year and a fresh start. He'd experienced so much already - far more than many adults could say they'd been through, doubtless. He'd aged far more than just a year in the last twelve months, and the burning of his childhood home was a tribute to that. He was throwing everything away, abandoning it all for Alphonse. He'd move mountains in order to get his little brother's body back - anything to atone for the sin that kept him up at night. As long as their home stood, so did the temptation to return. He was older and wiser and he needed to be responsible: nothing would stand in the way of his goal.
The roof caved in and the pyre exploded outwards in a shower of sparks, but still, Edward did not flinch. The image would haunt this day for the rest of his life, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, except for Alphonse.
The only way was forward and if this was his driving force, then so be it.
.
Months later, when Edward receives his pocket watch - the one that brands him as a dog - he makes sure that Alphonse is not around when he carves into the lid before sealing it with alchemy. He almost wanted to scoff. As if he'd ever forget the date. As if he'd ever forget that night.
He flings the watch across the room and doesn't flinch as it breaks; it's nothing a little alchemy won't fix. The lid rolls to a stop near his foot and the roughly-carved letters stare up at him.
don't forget oct.3.11
A/N: Jeez, I've been gone a long time! Sorry. I sorta lost my grip on writing, and then a whole ton of family issues happened. I deleted all my previous stories because I hated them but I'm working on a few on-and-off so hopefully I'll be back in business soon enough.