Foreword:
All right! My first anime fanfic! It's about time. XP This story is dedicated to my dear friend Griselda Banks, without whom I would never have forayed into the world of fanfiction. I know the idea is far from original, but what can I say? I was inspired. ^-^ Incidentally, this is the second fanfic I've written that is centered around a specific kind of pie. o_0 I wonder if that means something. XP Basically this is an epilogue of sorts for FMA that takes place just after Ed and Al return to Resembool near the end of the story. There may be a couple places where it doesn't quite line up with the canon. Some of these are deliberate, some are not, and some are due to slight differences between the manga and the Brotherhood anime. I think I'm more-or-less following the manga version, though. Enjoy! :D
Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart,
— 1 Peter 1:22
« ... »
The first day back home in Resembool after Father's defeat was a day of new beginnings. For Ed, the loss of his alchemy was as difficult to get used to as the loss of his limbs had been five years ago. And for Alphonse, the sudden change proved even more jarring. He hadn't been in a body of flesh and blood for such a long time, not to mention how weak his body was when he finally did get it back. The poor kid could barely stand on his own legs, which meant that Edward Elric had traded his prestigious position as a State Alchemist to play the role of a crutch to his little brother.
He had never felt so honored.
The Rockbell home came into view from half a mile away, a lone sign of civilization framed by a picturesque view of the sunny countryside. Nothing but roads, trees, and rolling green meadows as far as the eye could see. Edward took in a deep breath of rich unspoiled air and whispered fondly under his breath, "We're home."
He heard a trip and a faint yelp and turned just in time to catch Alphonse before he fell on his face.
"Watch out!"
Al grasped his brother's right arm to steady himself, and Ed almost shuddered at his touch. If it felt this strange for him just to have the feeling back in one limb, he could only imagine how weird it was for Al, having sensation returned to his whole body. The surprised gasp he uttered as his fingernails dug into Ed's skin gave his brother some idea.
"You have to watch your step, Al," Ed muttered with concern. "Your feet are a lot smaller now than what you've gotten used to."
"Yeah," Al said, breathing a bit quick. "I know."
"Are you sure you don't want me to carry you?"
"Of course I'm sure!" Al snapped. "I'm not an invalid, you know."
Ed almost wasn't even consciously aware of what he said next, but somehow he managed to turn the conversation into an argument that lasted until they were about to step on the veranda.
Den was sleeping by the front door like nothing had changed these chaotic few years, and when he heard the brothers' approach he perked his ears and lifted his head. He looked confused at the sight of Al, but once the boy smiled and greeted him in his soft, unchanged voice, Den immediately got up and rushed to meet him, barking with joy, tail wagging happily behind him. With all the noise he was making, it couldn't be long before...
Edward tried to ignore the pounding in his chest when she appeared in the doorway, her crystal blue eyes sparkling in dumbstruck awe. He did his best to smile despite the nerves pinching in his arm as he lifted it up high to wave. A grunt of pain caught in his throat, but it didn't get past Al.
"You shouldn't do that, Big Brother. Your arm is as weak as my whole body."
"It's all right," Ed muttered through grit teeth, grinning as he waved. "I want her to see it."
Winry's eyes filled with tears and her face crumpled into a truly pathetic expression. She barreled forward, arms extended to pummel the Elric brothers with the mother of all welcome-home hugs, and Ed felt a wave of warm accomplishment sweep over his soul as he braced for impact. He had been able to keep his promise, after all.
« « « « « ж » » » » »
Ed opened his eyes to a boring view of the ceiling in a dark room. After about two hours of lying in bed pretending to be asleep, he decided it was finally late enough. He turned over as slowly as he could and peered through the darkness at his brother's bed. Alphonse was sleeping soundly, mouth hanging open as his chest rose and fell with a soft, distinct rhythm. Ed couldn't describe how good it felt to see his little brother actually breathing again.
With a determined smile he carefully got out of bed. It took some effort to tiptoe with an automail leg. He never had to do it before because he'd never wanted to keep anything from his brother, and during the time he'd had his metal limbs Al had never slept anyway. Somehow, though, he managed his way to the door and slipped out into the hall. Then he stopped and listened. When all was quiet after a few moments he let loose a muted sigh of relief and headed downstairs toward the kitchen.
There was just one more thing he had to do before he would feel like he had completely redeemed himself.
« ... »
Ed searched a few cabinets and shelves for a cookbook before he noticed a small box on the countertop beside the stove marked 'recipes.' He opened it and leafed through the paper slips inside until he found the one he was looking for. With a smile he plucked the recipe from the box and started to read.
"Okay, let's see here... 'Seven handfuls of flour, two or three heaping spoonfuls of butter, a pinch of salt..."
He made a face and stared for a long time at the so-called recipe, trying to make sense of it, then whispered at the top of his lungs, "What is this?"
The refrigerator flew open with a flurry of teen impatience, and out flew the butter and milk into the sloppy stranglehold of Ed's right arm. He kicked the door shut behind him and made a beeline for the counter, where he dumped his cargo before checking the recipe and storming over to the cupboards. He flung one open, and to his horror, inside was a battlefield of boxes and containers in every shape, full of liquids and powders in every color—not a single one of them labeled.
"What the—?"
He couldn't tell whether the blood was draining from his face or rushing to his head.
He blasted open cupboard after cupboard, each time meeting with the same infuriating sight. His eye twitched as he just stared in utter disbelief. "She did this on purpose," he muttered under his breath. "That bitter old hag... She's trying to torment me."
After a long, infuriating period of time, an uncertain assortment of ingredients finally came together on the counter beside a large bowl. Ed heaved a deep sigh, releasing his frustration and clearing his mind as he prepared for the task before him.
He opened up the flour and awkwardly reached inside, pulling out a handful and dropping it into the bowl. He repeated this six more times, feeling more ridiculous with each number he counted off.
When that was done he looked back at the recipe. Next was the butter—two or three heaping spoonfuls of it. With a roll of his eyes he reached over and pulled open the silverware drawer. He was greeted by the sight of two or three different sizes of spoons.
"Of course..." he grumbled under his breath. After standing there for a few seconds he huffed impatiently, grabbed a middling-sized spoon, scooped it full of butter, and upturned it over the bowl. The butter clung to the spoon like it was afraid of the flour. Ed frowned and tapped the spoon on the bowl's edge. Nothing doing. Still repressing the urge to scream, Ed reached into the silverware drawer, grabbed another spoon, and angrily scraped out the inside of its smaller cousin. At last the stubborn yellow blob dropped into the bowl.
The poor spoon bent double in Ed's furious grip, then fell to the ground. A stream of milk splashed right over the butter, and the surviving spoon was immediately put to work stirring up the contents of the bowl.
He tossed in some salt, sugar, and cinnamon, then dumped the odd ball of dough out on to the counter. Four drawers later Ed found the rolling pin and came after the dough with a vengeance, but it wasn't going down without a fight. It stuck to the rolling pin like chimera drool, stretching around it as it rolled upward. Ed frowned and tried rolling it the other way to shake it loose, but the same thing happened, and before he knew it the rolling pin had been all but devoured by his block of clay-like dough.
Edward grit his teeth together till it hurt and squeezed his fists till his knuckles turned white. He'd finally reached his boiling point, and it was a miracle he'd lasted this long. He grabbed the knife on the counter as well as an apple, smashed the apple into the dough blob, and stabbed through the whole mess.
For a few seconds Edward just stood there huffing with his fist gripped tightly around the knife handle. Finally he stepped aside and let out a long defeated breath.
"I don't believe this," he muttered to himself. "What else can go wrong?"
Just then he leaned against the counter and knocked the pie plate to the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces.