Don't Ask Me How I Know

Rating: PG-13, or "T", I suppose-- possibly overrated (in more ways than one, ha!... not actually funny)

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Don't know anyone who does. Never claimed to.

Summary: Ed doesn't like being a child. He never has. And he hates it when people remind him he still is. The one life lesson he's ever learned the easy way, and then he has to learn it the hard way, too...

Notes: ...Don't ask me how I know. Seriously. I'm ten years too old to learn this lesson, and yet...

Wow, did this grow way more than it should've... You know how sometimes, you just keep finding new facets that you can't help but explore? (tries to figure out how best to organise all this)

(-)

"Shouldn't you have all this stuff done by now?" Edward asked, looking around at all the half-open boxes. "You've been here for days."

"Unpacking takes time," Roy said calmly, surveying it as well. "One has to find places for everything--"

"This is the same place you USED to live in!"

"Yes. Strange, isn't it?" He glanced around. "I expected it to have changed more. There's a new coat of paint, but otherwise... Even the neighbors; they're not all the same people, and yet they are..."

"What, you expected it all to change just 'cause you left?"

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'you can't go home again'?"

Ed rolled his eyes. "That's just 'cause everyone expects to go back where they grew up and-- they expect to travel in time just 'cause they travel in space. They think they'll go back home and they'll be exactly who they were, and by the time they want to go back home, by definition, they've changed way too much. It's stupid. They won't admit to themselves what they're expecting and so they're always disappointed."

Roy blinked. "So you're saying that just applies to childhood homes and nostalgia."

"Yeah. You nostalgic about this place?"

"No, I can't say that I am..."

"And it hasn't changed. You're not disappointed. QED. Why am I here again?"

"I said that there was some official business, but really I lied."

"So you DID bring me here just to help you unpack!"

Roy smiled. "Yes, you guessed it. Right as you walked in, too. You're getting quite sharp."

"Son of a--!" Ed growled and suddenly stalked over to a box. "The hell crap is this?"

"They're pillows, Fullmetal. You put them on couches for decorative effect."

"Bite me." Ed started tossing them on the couch.

"Hmm." Roy smiled and turned to another box. "I suppose... I hadn't realized what that phrase meant because I don't have a home to go back to anymore. I don't have a place to idolize in nostalgia."

"Yeah, well, be glad. It's just a waste of time. A lot of idiots waste all their time dreaming about the past and they never get anything done."

"Hmm." Roy unwrapped a plate and polished it, glancing at the faint reflection. "Is that why you burned down your house that day?" he asked, watching the faint fuzzy figure of the alchemist go still. "So you wouldn't look back?"

Ed was silent for a long moment, and glanced back down at the box. "If you have somewhere to go back to," he said, very quietly, "you will. I didn't want those memories, it's true. And I didn't want that temptation. If you refuse to realize that you've changed, if you get too desperate to return to where and who you used to be, you can do-- incredible, irreprable damage when time slaps you back down to politely remind you it's marched on."

Roy stopped looking at the reflection and turned around to stare at him, mouth slightly opened.

"..." Ed didn't turn to look at him. "...Don't ask me how I know."

And honestly, Roy didn't have to. He could guess now well enough on his own...

(-)

Edward wrapped up the messy sandwich and dumped it into a bag with his books, and slung the bag over his shoulder. He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Once he was at the big tree, he was far away enough from the house to feel better. He felt good enough to throw himself down under the shadow of the leafy branches and fume, watching the front door of his house warily, waiting for his mother to come out looking for him, demanding to know why he'd run away and starting another argument. He didn't like the way she and Winry's grandma talked about him like he wasn't there. He was sick and tired of it.

Maybe he would run away. Go to the train station and catch a ride on the trains. Winry said they slowed down enough so you could sneak in. He'd catch a train, go to a city, and fend for himself, and then they wouldn't treat him like a child anymore, now would they?

He grabbed a long branch that had fallen onto the ground and snapped off the twigs, because they always took sticks when they went walking very far, part as walking aid, part as defense against any wild animal that might come along. He brought it firmly down; a little more wobbly than the ones his mother had made, but perfectly good.

He strode resolutely down the dirt path, still looking back, formulating the arguments he'd give his mother if she tried to get him to come home. He was sick of being treated like a child. He was sick of being talked about and around and he wasn't coming back to that, ever again.

He thought of what he'd do if a neighbor was outside and waved at him or asked what he was doing-- "Oh, hi! Mom asked me to check the mail in town for her again."

Plausible enough. She checked it every week, sometimes more.

He paused under the shade of another tree, resting for a moment. She checked it every week because she still thought he'd write back. Still thought he was coming back. Ed didn't believe it. Ed knew he was never coming back, because he didn't care about any of them.

He started walking again. And it was a good thing he wasn't coming back, either, Ed thought angrily, because he'd beat him up if he ever dared. Yeah, he'd come back home and expect them all to love him like he'd never gone away, with some perfectly plausible excuse, but Ed would know. Ed would never forgive that jerk for what he'd done to his mother, not even if he'd been in prison in another country tied up and tortured for vital military secrets. No matter what he thought he'd been doing, it wouldn't be worth it. It wouldn't be as important as he and Al and his mom.

He was in the town now, free to glance around the streets-- and he ducked into a shop, like he always wanted to on these trips, to glance around and explore. The shopkeeper wasn't there, but he ran his hands down the shelves of nails and screws and metal joints, entranced. Felt the texture of the lumber leaned against the wall; ran his fingertip carefully along the edge of a sawblade; drew a fingernail down a strip of sandpaper, delighted, intrigued, and wary of some trespass when it left a long white line across the tan. He ducked back out and kept walking.

His mother had never wanted them to come into town alone, he remembered... She'd warned them of vague dangers, of menacing strangers, described in more detail by the other children and especially Winry around campfires late at night.

"And the man in the black coat told her, 'Your mother won't mind if you help me, she'll be happy you were nice to your elders like she told you to be. And I'll give you so much candy you can share it with all your friends, and they'll love you forever.' And she said, 'Okay!' and she took the man's hand and she followed him to his car. And he asked her to get in, and she did, and then he drove her to his big house in the country, and she was never seen again."

"No way!" Jean had been scornful. "You're a liar."

"I am not!" Winry had cried, apalled. "It's true!"

"I asked my mom about what you said last time, and she said it wasn't true," Jean had said, stubbornly folding her hands.

"Well of course she did! Grownups don't want you to know all this! They think we'll get scared and run away or something! I'll bet you anything she got angry and told you never to talk about it again. Didn't she?"

Jean had looked uncomfortable, and hadn't said anything else. And Winry had told another story.

Ed glanced around. There was a man in a black coat on the other side of the street. All he could see were buildings; he couldn't see his house from here.

He suddenly realized that nobody knew he was here. That if he went missing or got killed, no one would know where to look. He was starting to get thirsty in the hot midsummer sun, and he realized he didn't have any water, or any way to get some.

He knew things never happened the way they did in stories, but he was getting a little paranoid nonetheless. He wasn't tired, really, but what if he couldn't make it back home? What if he got too tired and fell down on the side of the road and died?

The train station was just on the other side of the street, just a building to the left. He could make it there and still get back home, it wasn't any farther, really, he could just get to the steps and then go back home. It wasn't very far, and he wasn't even tired. It wouldn't make any difference.

He turned around and walked into the post office.

"Anything for my mother?" he asked Mr. Thompson, who didn't have to ask who his mother was.

"No, not today. I'm sorry."

Ed waved it off. "That's okay. Thanks."

He walked back off and started on his way home, far too conscious that this was the farthest he'd ever been from the house on his own. For some reason, he was even more loath to stop on the way home than he had been on the first trip; for some reason he was afraid that if he stopped, he'd never start again.

He was painfully aware that he'd been doing something very reckless and stupid, that parents warned about because it had gotten people killed, however few. And he couldn't even remember why he'd done it, couldn't remember how it had ever seemed like a good idea. He hadn't been thinking, and that shamed and scared him. 'Cause maybe he wasn't really thinking now, either.

Not thinking was dangerous, not thinking was something he feared. From the day he'd seen his mother crying because his father was too dumb to come home, he'd been resolved to learn as much as possible, to think as much as possible, to grow up as soon as possible, because he never wanted to do that kind of harm to somebody, that harm his mother insisted was an accident. And he wanted to learn how to repair the harm that was already there.

He could see his footprints still in the dirt from just a few minutes before, and he wondered what on earth he'd been thinking.

The large tree near his house came into sight, and he relaxed enough to think of what he'd say when he got home. Insist he hadn't gone anywhere and he'd done nothing, had just been playing around in the yard. Or probably he shouldn't say anything at all, and hope she really hadn't noticed. That was his only hope, that she really hadn't noticed.

He dropped his walking stick, kicking it a little into a deliberately random place, hoping devoutly it would look just like any other stick. He glanced up into the leaves again and tried to understand the angry, careless, carefree feeling that had driven him so frighteningly far from home.

It wouldn't occur to him until much, much later to think about the fear that had brought him so quickly back.

His stomach hurt and his chest hurt from all the deep breathing and his mouth was dry, and there was one more hill to climb.

He opened the door and the house was quiet. He kicked off his shoes and was suddenly afraid that maybe she had gone looking for him, just in the wrong place, and she'd been scared and worried and had noticed, very much. Then he heard the clink of china and the living room and realized that she and Pinako were still having tea, and she must not have noticed at all.

He hurried to the kitchen, feeling relieved and insulted at the same time. He filled up a glass of water and looked around as he drank it. After so long in the sun, it was dim in here, dim and gray like he'd returned to the wrong home. It was eerie as heck, and he realized how much he'd been sweating.

"Thought you weren't coming back," Al said, still angry at him-- but really more hurt.

"I didn't say that," Ed lied.

"Thought you were gonna go to town all by yourself and never come back."

"I chickened out," Ed said.

"Thought you didn't need us. Or like us or anything."

"I was being dumb and I was wrong. I'm back now, aren't I?" Ed took a swallow of water.

A slow smile spread across Al's face. "Bet ya didn't get to the big tree 'fore you chickened out."

"What! I'll have you know I went all the way to Patterson's farm--"

"Yeah, sure, I bet you just went to the big tree and sulked for an hour and came back home."

"..."

"Ha! You DID, didn't you!"

"Maybe," said Ed.

"Ha! I knew it!"

"--riciculous idea-- oh, hi, Ed. Did you go out for a walk?" His mother put a few dishes in the sink.

"Yeah," Ed said, hoping she wouldn't ask how far.

"I'm sorry I'm leaving you two to fend for yourselves like this. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?"

"No," Ed said, "I'm fine."

"All right." She ruffled Ed's hair. "Goodness! You've been playing hard, haven't you? You're not getting out of your bath tonight, young man."

Ed pretended to be disappointed as she walked back in the living room.

"They'll never get-- oh, Edward? He just went outside to play for a while. I think he went for a walk. He just does that sometimes-- he gets a little moody-- I think he gets it from his father. He's a kid, he'll grow out of it, and I'm happy he's a sensitive boy. So many little boys can be callous or bullies, and I don't know if I could deal with that-- but like I was saying, they'd never get the support from the--"

Edward hit his head against the counter, almost tempted to change his mind and go back out. Almost.

"...I was gonna go study some," Al said. "They're getting boring. You should come with me or I'll get ahead of you again."

Ed grinned gratefully. "Yeah, let's go."

(-)

He wished now that he and Al had obeyed that fear this time, had remembered all the warnings in all the stories and backed out of this before it was too late, like he had that day near the train station. Al probably had remembered, but he hadn't backed away. He'd tried, probably, but Ed had convinced them both, and now it was too late. They hadn't remembered the cautionary tales, and now they'd become one. But no point in being sad about it now.

He remembered he was terrified that day of never seeing home again, of being permanently lost and having no one know where to find him. He knows now that's what brought him back that day, that cowardice, that fear.

But this time they have to leave. This time they know what they're doing, and they can't afford to chicken out and come back. It's too late, and they have to go on this path, and they can never return.

He's learned that the hard way. He'd been too afraid to go on that path of living without her, on his own, and so he'd tried to run back home, where everything would be the same, would be all right. You could redeem the mistake of running away for an afternoon; you could forget a brief, silly, unacted-upon impulse like it never happened. But it wouldn't work this time, and he'd been so stupid to think it ever could. It had been too long, it had changed too much. And at some point, you really do have to run away.

He can't quite remember what the hell he was thinking when he started that whole damned quest, and he hopes to the almighty Whatever he's thinking now.

That day, he'd been terrified that he'd find out the truth in the phrase 'You can't go home again'.

Now he knows to his soul it's true, but he's afraid he hasn't learned it well enough, that he'll have that fear again and he'll try to come back to something that's no longer here.

Why Al agrees with this, he doesn't know. He may have the same reasons, he may have different ones. Maybe better ones.

But either way, he's here beside him as their house burns down, and that's all that matters.

"Come on," Ed says, watching the flames start to die. "Let's go."

For whatever reason, he follows.

(-)

"...And why shouldn't I ask, hmm?" Even now, Roy couldn't resist toying with him just a little, even as the underlying respect he had for Edward, very deep down, showed strongly through.

Ed turned to glare at the smirking Colonel. "'Cause I'll drop this plate," he said, holding it to the side threateningly.

"But I never liked that plate..."

"'Cause I'll ask you what happened to your house, and you wouldn't want that, now, would you? Sure, you might escape it tonight, you might elude it the next time, you might elude it for weeks, but someday you'd have to answer me, and you just couldn't deal with that, could you?"

Now Roy was really taken aback, staring into glaring golden eyes that saw a lot more than he'd assumed they had.

"You couldn't ever tell me anything. Or trust me with anything, no, God forbid, 'cause I can go out as a dog of the military but you can never, ever forget that I'm a kid, I'm less than you, I'm just some damn prodigy who knows facts and alchemy and nothing else. I can risk my life, but you can't tell me anything, nooo-- God! Someday I just wish you'd make up your frickin' mind and FINALLY get it in your mind how old I am! I don't even care what number you come up with, if you'd just make it consistent for the first time EVER! GOD!"

Ed dropped the plate on the couch and turned around to dive back into the box. "Or of course you could just forget that this all happened and mock me tomorrow like always," he muttered. "But that's so childish. Why'd I think you could do that?"

Roy turned back around slowly, as Ed tossed more plates onto the couch, and stared down at the faint reflection in the plate, finally realizing, though not for the first time, that Ed took this game deathly seriously, and the boy was almost entirely right. He wondered what he should do about it.

"You're right," he said, quietly, realizing that had to be the place to start.

"...Yeah," Ed said, "I'd noticed."

Roy turned around with a smirk and Ed was smiling back, wryly, and it had hardly fixed anything, but it was a start.

"So where the hell's all this crap go?"

"It's called 'china', and a 'china cabinet', Fullmetal..."

"Don't be a smartass..."

"You of all people should realize it's not something you can control..."

"You could try a little, though, couldn't you?..."

And time flowed on.

(-)