Right, so I decided to take a break from Chem. homework today, and write something that had been in the back of my mind. Although Ed and Winry have kids in this fic, I'm not sure if either one will be the same as the kid they're having in Pregnancy Log. Although I am quite partial to TJ.

Coen (Ko-in) is the name my sister made up, FYI. Shout out to her. Oh, I guess I need a disclaimer, huh?

I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. But I do own Fullmetal Alchemist Duel Sympathy. It's fun, except Mustang basically sucks, and no matter how hard I try, I can't win hard mode with him. *Addendum: I have now successfully beaten hard mode with Mustang. My life is complete…

Yes, ok. Read and review. Or…I won't update Pregnancy Log! No, just kidding, I will always update. Unless I don't update for a year, then you can assume that I died or something.

But for real, I would love love love reviews for this. No flames, reviews. I live off of them.

Edward trudged down the stairs, a little boy upside down in his arms and a girl in his wake. He walked into the living room and unceremoniously deposited the boy onto the couch. The boy laughed and stuck his tongue out at the man.

Ed turned around while pointing to the sofa. "On the couch, TJ."

"Her name isn't TJ, it's Trisha! Trish, Trish, Trish!" the little bock mocked. "TJ is a boy name!"

"No it's not! And at least my name isn't stupid like yours. What the heck is a 'Coen'?" TJ asked indignantly.

"Hey, your mother and I named him that…" Edward said quietly. Neither child heard.

"Oh, yeah? Well, you can't be 'TJ', 'cause J stands for junior, and you aren't a junior anything. Trisha was Grandma's name. So you're just dumb for telling people to call you TJ," Coen retorted.

"I can tell people to call me whatever I want!" TJ shouted as she plopped down onto the couch next to her younger brother.

Edward sighed, and left the room for two minutes, only to come back pulling a sleepy-looking, pajama-clad Alphonse into the room by the arm.

"Whassamatter?" Al questioned, not fully awake yet.

"Entertain them," Edward stated simply. "They're bothering me."

"I don't see how that's my problem," Alphonse yawned. He sat down in a chair and started to nod off.

"Hey, Al!" Ed whined. "Please!"

"What am I supposed to do?"

TJ decided to make herself known again. "Tell us a story."

"Yeah," Coen agreed, "tell us a story, Uncle Kitty!"

"Yeah, you can tell them a-wait. Uncle Who-the-hel-"

"Brother! Language!"

"Sorry! I meant, Uncle Who?"

"Uncle Kitty!" Coen replied, "Since he loves cats."

"O-ok. Yeah, sure, I'll tell you a kitty- I mean story!" Alphonse quickly corrected himself, ignoring Edward's snickers.

"I'll tell you about how I used a special talent of mine…"

Alphonse stormed down the hallway, books in arm, wearing an uncharacteristic frown. It wasn't fair. Edward was the one who'd made a mess of the bedroom. Alphonse's side of the bedroom. And Edward always said that he would clean up his mess later. But he'd never come back to clean it. All of a sudden, he'd want to take a nap, or go out and play, and the clutter would remain. And when his mother came down the hall and saw the mess, who would have to clean it up?

Alphonse.

Al was in the midst of returning books to their father's study, despite having told his mother that it was Ed's fault.

"Isn't that your side of the room, Alphonse?"

"Yes, but…"

"Well then, I think you need to stop trying to blame things on your older brother and take responsibility."

"But Mom!"

"Al…"

"…Ok."

It wasn't fair! Brother was outside playing, and it was the warmest day of the month. But of course, Al was stuck inside, scrubbing alchemic residue and chalk off of the floor. Older brothers weren't supposed to take advantage of younger brothers. Older brothers were supposed to clean up the younger brother's messes, and play with them, and teach them cool things like how to skip rocks, and climb trees (and alchemy).

But lately, since he'd turned eight, his brother hadn't wanted to spend time with him, and he didn't know why. And, he was even starting to write his alchemy notes in codes, like their dad's notes, which Al couldn't read. Despite how mad he was at his brother, he didn't like being ignored, and he was determined to find out what was wrong.

Edward came back home just as Alphonse finished scrubbing a particularly nasty stain off of the floor.

"Hey, Al," Edward said in passing, not even looking at his younger brother.

"Brother! What did you do today?" Al asked enthusiastically, hoping that Ed would include him again. Unfortunately, Edward wasn't planning on it.

"Nothing important for you to know about."

What was that supposed to mean? Nothing important for you to know about. There was emphasis there. So, Ed was doing something important, but he didn't want Alphonse to know?

"Why won't you tell me, Brother? You never tell me anything anymore," Alphonse pouted.

"That's a lie. I do too tell you things," Ed protested, fiddling with the handle to the sock drawer.

"No, you don't. Not anymore. And you don't do anything with me, and you ignore me, and act mean too. How come you won't tell me what you did today?"

"Because, Al, you wouldn't understand."

Alphonse didn't want his brother to make fun of him, but he felt like crying. Didn't brother like him anymore? He felt the tears at the corners of his eyes, and, try as he might, he couldn't prevent them from falling. Edward heard sniffling, and turned to face Al.

"Geez, don't cry! I was just with James out by Mrs. Pierson's. We were playing in her backyard. And her dumb cat came out and bothered us, so we tied bags around its feet. It was funny, she looked so stupid. Then, we rang her doorbell and ran away."

"Brother…that's mean. And Mom says we're not allowed to play in Mrs. Pierson's yard. She doesn't like kids coming to her house." Al was worried. Why would his brother do something so bad? Sure, sometimes he did things that were against the rules, but never anything that was mean. How could he hurt a poor, defenseless kitty?

"Yeah, well, Mom doesn't know I was there, so everything is ok," Ed stated matter of factly, pulling out a fresh pair of socks from the sock drawer and slipping them on his feet.

"But…you shouldn't lie to Mom. You should probably tell her…" Alphonse stood up and headed towards the door. A pillow came in contact with the back of his head, and he turned to face a very angry Edward.

"I knew it!" Ed shouted. "I knew you would tattle if I told you. That's why I didn't want to tell you! You don't understand because you're still a stupid baby! I bet you've never told a lie in your life!"

Baby? He was not a baby. He was six years old! And he was not a tattle either. Or a liar.

"I'm not telling Mom. Wait…I won't tell Mom about where you were if you'll tell her that you're the one who keeps on making messes on my side of the room." He watched as his brother contemplated the bargain.

"No," Edward decided. "I'm not telling Mom anything, because I told you I'd clean it up. But you always clean it up before I get home, so it's your fault I never clean up, really. And you are not telling Mom what I was doing today, or else."

Well, that really wasn't fair. Mom made him clean because Brother took so long getting back! But he knew that if he told, Brother would probably hit him. Or ignore him more. Or both. But Edward made him so mad. He wasn't a baby, and he had too told a lie before.

And he was about to tell another one.

"Are you sure you won't tell Mom?" Alphonse asked, nonchalantly. He walked towards the bookshelf, picked up several heavy tomes, and flung them haphazardly across his half of the room.

Edward watched his younger brother's actions with narrow eyes. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Are you really sure?" Alphonse opened up a pack of crayons, pulled out the black, and drew several transmutation circles on the floor at the foot of his bed. Then, he took some of Edward's alchemic notes from the desk on the opposite end of the room, and scattered them around the circles.

"Yeah…" Ed replied, wondering what had possessed his brother to do such strange things. "What're you…"

"So, you really aren't gonna tell Mom? Anything?" Al dropped his pillow on the floor and wrinkled the covers of his bed so it looked like it had been jumped on.

"No!"

"Alright." Alphonse sighed. He walked over to the wall next to the door, and turned to face Ed. "Can you do me a favor, then?"

"Hmph. Whatever," Edward groused. He walked over to the wall, closer to Al.

"Ok, I need you to touch the wall with both hands, but make sure your arms stay straight."

Edward complied.

"Great, now I need you to take five steps back. No, no, keep your arms straight!"

"This is the weirdest favor…" Ed mumbled to himself.

"Ok, great." Alphonse situated himself in between his brother's hands and the wall. Now it was time to have some fun.

Al had discovered that he had the useful talent of being able to cry on cue when he was four-and-three-quarters, but he'd never told anyone, not even Ed. So, what he was about to do would be a surprise. Without warning, Al thrust his back into the wall, so that a loud 'thud' could be heard down the hall. Then, the tears fell, and loud sobs followed. He could hear Mom rushing down the hall. Edward was standing in a stupor, not having fully comprehended what had happened, hands still straight in the air.

Trisha came into the room to see her younger son against the wall, seemingly in pain. Ignoring Edward and the mess surrounding her, she rushed to Al's side.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asked, voice full of concern.

Alphonse sniffled. "W-well, Br-Brother made a m-mess, after I already cleaned up the first one, an' I asked him to clean it, but he said no, s-so I said I would t-tell, an' he, he pushed me down."

Trisha turned and frowned at Edward. "Why would you hurt your little brother?"

"I didn't! He's a liar! He made that mess, I saw him! And he made himself cry on purpose!" Edward protested, sending glares at Alphonse.

"Edward, I'm surprised that you would make up stories about your brother just so you wouldn't get into trouble. What, did he push himself down?"

"YES!" Ed nearly yelled. But Al knew that Edward wouldn't be able to convince Mom that he was innocent, so he smiled inside.

"Edward! Don't take that tone with me. You need to apologize to Alphonse. Now."

"No! I didn't do anyth-I mean, I'm sorry, Al!" Edward quickly fixed his sentence after receiving a warning look from his mother.

Trisha turned to face Al again. "Are you feeling better?"

"I guess," he replied quietly. The tears had stopped flowing; he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Alright," his mother continued, "if you want to, you can go out and play, while Edward," she turned to look at her eldest son, "cleans up this room."

"MOM!"

"He'll have cleaning duty for the whole room for the rest of the week." Trisha stated.

"MOM!"

"Month."

"…Fine!" Ed threw his arms into the air in frustration, and with that, Trisha took leave of their room.

Alphonse's face broke into a grin. Edward scowled.

"You lied. You did all of that on purpose, to get me in trouble."

"But Brother, I'm just a 'stupid baby'. And babies don't lie. Remember, I've never lied in my life," Al replied cheekily.

"Hmph. Well, if you aren't a baby anymore, I won't feel so bad when I get revenge on you," Edward growled, already starting to pick the books up off of the floor. "I hope I don't make you cry again, you faker."

"Oh, don't worry, you won't," Alphonse headed out the door. "I'm going to go play." Edward grumbled incoherently.

"I'll be sure to tell James you said 'Hi'," Al chuckled as he walked off, leaving his angry brother behind.

"Hey, wait, that's not how it ended!" Edward exclaimed. "You didn't tell them that I-"

"Calm down, Brother. I'm telling them more tomorrow. I wanted there to be suspense," Alphonse said, eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Yeah, right. You just want them to think you won," Edward grumped, more to himself than to his brother or his children.

"Can you really make yourself cry?" asked Coen, looking simply awe-struck.

"Yep."

"Prove it," demanded TJ, challenging her uncle with her eyes.

"Sure," Alphonse responded, and at once, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"Wow," was the mutual response from TJ and Coen. Edward looked pointedly away.

"Awww, Brother! Don't be so sore. You didn't get in that much trouble."

"Yeah, whatever." Edward headed towards the staircase, and trekked upstairs to his room, but not before getting the last word in.

"Just wait until tomorrow, Uncle Kitty."

Well, shoot. The beginning and end came out too differently from the middle. (Did that sentence make sense?) Alright, tell me what you thought of that. Good, bad, ok? I plan on having two more chapters. Even if only one person reads this. Although I hope more than one person will. Because I will be sad otherwise.

AND TELL ME OF ANY TYPOS!