"The fuck you want, bastard?" Ed growled as he approached Roy at the seedy little Risembool bar. It was a miracle he managed to get in, seeing as how he wasn't twenty-one yet and even if he was, he wouldn't be believed given his unfortunate stature.
"To talk," Roy said. "You know, person-to-person, now that we're not feuding. And definitely not as YouTubers."
"I can't believe they let me in here; I'm not even twenty-one yet," Ed remarked, sitting on a bar stool beside Roy's.
"Add that to the fact that you're...," Roy said, but trailed off when he saw Ed's pointed glare. "...youthful looking," he finished lamely. "Anyway, you'll be twenty-one this year, right?"
"Yeah, October 11th," Ed confirmed.
"Which is only, what? Three months from now? You're basically twenty-one already."
"Hm. So what're you having, bastard?" Ed demanded.
"Call me uncreative, but I'll usually just have a whiskey. And you?" Roy replied.
"I dunno. I shouldn't push my luck...oh, what the hell. I'll have a whiskey, too."
Roy turned to the bartender. "Two whiskeys, please. They're on me," Roy said.
"I need to see IDs. Especially for the runt," the bartender grunted, gesturing toward Ed.
Ed growled, his face growing red and hot. "WHO YOU CALLIN' SHORTER THAN-"
Roy abruptly slapped a hand over Ed's mouth firmly. "Sorry. My friend here hates having his size referred to. I have both of our IDs. Ed loses things super easily sometimes."
Ed scowled but kept quiet.
Roy took out two IDs and handed them to the bartender.
"Roy Mustang, age 29. Edward Elric, 21. Hm. Ok. The shrimp's older than he appears, huh?"
Roy sighed as he struggled to reign in a pissed-off Edward Elric. If the bartender kept up with the "short" remarks, it'd be a long night.
"Hey, I'm only teasin' ya," the bartender chuckled. "Two whiskeys comin' right up."
"It'd be cool if you stopped making an ass of yourself every time someone alludes to your height, Ed," Roy said, frowning slightly.
"Yeah, well, it'd be cool if everyone would stop callin' me an ultra-hyper midget," Ed snapped.
"No one's saying that, kid. Jesus." Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I mean, but you are short. You know that, right? You're twenty-one and you're not even five feet. That's tiny. "
"Fuck. You," Ed growled as he clenched his fists. "I didn't come here to be insulted by the likes of you, Mustang. Why are you in Risembool, anyway?"
"I was just in the neighborhood," Roy lied. They grabbed their drinks that the bartender passed over.
Ed snorted and rolled his eyes. "No, really. Why are you here?"
"Saw you bitch on Twitter about your dad. Figured you needed company," Roy explained.
"That's nice of you," Ed muttered begrudgingly.
"So...would you like to talk about it?" Roy asked hesitantly, taking a swig of his whiskey.
Ed took a drink of his, wincing at the taste. "Fuck, this shit sucks. No, I don't want to fuckin' talk about it. Not right now, at least. Let me get good and drunk first."
"It's an acquired taste," Roy said, nodding toward the whiskey. "And this is a seedy little small town bar. It's not exactly Cognac."
"So it seems," Ed agreed. He drank some more, in spite of himself. "So Van Hohenheim, my father-Mother never took his name when they married-left us sixteen years go…"
12 August 2000
"Brother...Brother," a voice in the dark whispers to Ed, stirring him from his sleep.
"Al...whaddaya want?" five-year-old Ed whispers harshly, voice thick with sleepiness.
"I needa go pee," four-year-old whispers in return.
Ed sits up. "Really? Right now, Al? I'm sleepy…"
Al sits up as well. "I really hafta go, Ed," Al whines quietly.
Ed sighs. He had been having a good dream, too. "Okay. C'mon, Al."
They climb out of their extra-large shared bed and sneak out their room, quiet so as to not wake their parents.
When they leave the bathroom a little while later, they hear noises at the door.
"Please, come back," a feminine voice says. Their mom, Trisha Elric.
"I will," a male voice simply says. Van Hohenheim. Their father.
The boys quietly tiptoe in the hallway to get a better look. The front door was open, and Van Hohenheim is in the threshold. Trisha is next to the door. She smiles sadly, a few tears streaming down her face.
"Don't you want to say goodbye to the boys first, before you leave?" Trisha asks.
"I shouldn't," Van Hohenheim says stoically.
Just then, Al coughs. The parents turn to their sons.
"Ed, Al, what are you doing up?" Trisha asks, rushing to their side.
"Al hadda go potty," Ed says.
Trisha smiles. "And you took him? What a wonderful big brother!"
"Where's Daddy goin'?" Al asks, looking slightly upset.
Trisha's smile slips a bit. "He's got some business to attend to. He'll be back," she reassures them.
"When?" Ed demands. He doesn't like that his father was leaving them. It makes him mad.
Trisha frowns. "Someday. I don't know when, but he will be back. I promise."
December 2001
Christmas is nearing, and Van Hohenheim hasn't returned yet. Ed is six and Al is five.
"Where's he gone, Mama?" Ed asks grumpily. "When's he gonna get back? He's been gone forever…"
"Now now, Ed. Be patient. He'll be back when he's done with what he's doing," Trisha reassures her eldest son.
"What's he doin'?" Ed demands, petulant.
"Something important, I assure you. Your father wouldn't leave us if he didn't have to. Now, let's focus on something more cheerful, like Christmas perhaps."
Summer 2005-Ed, ten; Al, nine
They have gotten used to their father's leaving, though Ed is still angry and refuses to speak of his father. He's long past asking when Van Hohenheim would be back, where he is, or what he's doing. It no longer matters. At this point, Ed feels abandoned. Al, for his part, blames himself.
"I'm a bad child, aren't I? That's why Dad left…," Al says one day, to his mother's shock.
"No, Alphonse. God no. He left because he had to. None of you are at fault for what happened."
But there's resentment, sadness, and guilt among the Elric family when Van Hohenheim is mentioned.
Summer 2010-Ed, fifteen; Al, fourteen
It is a weirdly great day. The sun is shining; the weather is a mixture of both warm but with a nice breeze. Trisha and her two teen sons are going on a holiday. Van Hohenheim hasn't been back, but he's the furthest thing on their minds today.
"Are you excited, Ed? Al? For Disney World?" Trisha asks, beaming.
Ed mumbles something. Al nods excitedly. They are going to Disney World in Orlando, Florida, having recently won an all-expenses paid trip.
"Well, we're all packed and loaded up. Let's go!"
The Elric family get in Trisha's minivan.
The trip is long and rain pours down, making it hard for Trisha to see the road. On top of that, alongside the Elrics is driving an obviously inebriated driver. It's a perfect storm, a recipe for disaster.
One minute everyone is content; Al is chattering happily with his mother and Ed is trying (and failing) to fall asleep. The next…
CRASH!
Everything goes black…
The next thing Ed is aware of is the sharp pain in his body. And blood. So, so much blood.
Vaguely, he can make out Al's unconscious body lying on the bloody pavement, next to their mother's.
That's when he loses consciousness.
When he comes to, he notices he's in a brightly lit room.
"Where-where am I?" he asks weakly, hoping someone could tell him.
"Hello, Edward. I'm Doctor Marcoh," a male voice says. Ed looks toward the voice and notices an older-looking doctor. He's in a hospital, he realizes.
"Why am I here? Where's Mom? Where's Al?" he asks, panicking a bit.
Dr. Marcoh smiles sympathetically. "You've been in a bad accident, Edward. You've lost an arm and a leg."
Ed realizes he can't feel his right arm and left leg.
"Your brother Alphonse, well, he's in intensive care unit with your mother," Marcoh explains, frowning sadly. "Luckily, he seems to be improving every day."
"Every day?" Ed asks. "How long have we been in here?"
"Three weeks," Marcoh says. "Unfortunately, your mother isn't doing as well as Alphonse. We're trying to save her, but…" His voice trails off.
Ed's heart sinks. "What happened that day?"
"It was raining pretty hard, as you remember, and this drunk driver swerved out of control and hit your van. The driver was killed instantly. Your mother and brother were knocked unconscious. You seemed to be conscious for a moment. Your right arm and left leg were torn off in the crash."
"Are Mom and Al conscious now?" Ed asks.
"Your brother is. Trisha, however, is still comatose," Marcoh explains.
"Can I see him?" Ed requests.
Marcoh sighs. "Okay. Fine." He calls for the nurse, and a young, pretty blonde nurse-her name tag says "Clara"-comes in with a wheelchair.
Nurse Clara gently lifts Ed out of his hospital bed and sits him in the hospital bed, wheeling him out of the room and into the ICU.
Al looks beat up, bruises and cuts littering his face and body.
"Ed!" Al says hoarsely. "You're alive!"
Ed smiles weakly. "Yeah, Al. I'm alive. Missing some limbs, though," he says, indicating his missing arm and leg.
Al frowns. "I'm sorry, brother."
"Why? It's not your fault. Besides, you're in ICU. You're clearly worse off."
Al smiles, then frowns again. "Is Mom awake yet?" he asks. "Last time I asked, Dr. Marcoh told me she was comatose."
"He told me that, too, when I woke up just a while ago," Ed answers. "I hope she makes it out okay."
"Me too."
They sit in silence for a bit before Nurse Clara comes and tells them they need rest.
"You will be held here for at least a week," Marcoh says. "We need to make sure you're okay, and of course, find you prosthetics."
Ed nods, then says, "Wait, doctor. I know someone who can give me prosthetics."
Marcoh looks surprised. "You do?" he asks, dumbfounded.
"Yeah. The Rockbells, family friends of ours, makes prosthetics, and they'll be happy to give me some for a fairly low price. Though, I'm sure they know by now about the accident and are on their way."
"Alright. Give me the number and I'll call them."
Ed obeys.
Ed is right. Within twelve hours, Winry Rockbell is at Central Hospital and up to Ed's room.
She throws her arms around Ed's neck a bit tightly, making Ed wince. "Ow! Easy there, Win," he snaps.
Winry pulls away, blushing slightly. "Sorry, Ed. I was so worried, though. I thought you'd die!" she exclaims, her eyes slightly watery.
"I thought I'd die, too," Ed mutters. "Al's doin' alright, came out of his coma. Mom's still unconscious, though."
"I'm sorry, Ed. About your limbs, too. But don't worry! You'll love these prosthetics. They feel like real arms and legs. So realistic, you'll forget they're artificial."
Ed smiles as his childhood friend blathers on and on, enthusiastic about her family's prosthetics. At least something is normal.
The next day Ed undergoes surgery to put on the prosthetics. After, he's sore, but happy he's got his limbs. He can't walk yet, though. He needs to undergo a few weeks of physical therapy. He's brought to visit Al again. Winry is in the room with them.
"Hey, brother," Al says. "Aw, man, look at those prosthetics!"
Winry beams. "I know, right? They'll be so lightweight once Ed finishes physical therapy."
They all talk, about Trisha, about school, about Pinako, about everything and nothing.
The day Ed begins physical therapy Al is moved to a normal room, right next door to Ed's, his condition having improved. Trisha's condition is also improving, though she has yet to awaken.
They go and see her. Ed holds a hand. Al holds the other. Her face is busted up and hardly recognizable. Her hair is matted with dried blood. But she's still beautiful. Because she's their mother.
"Mom, please wake up," Ed says, his voice shaking slightly. "Please…"
"Brother's right, Mom. We need you. Dad hasn't returned to see us in the hospital. We don't know where he is. We really need you."
Ed's free hand clenches up at the mention of Van Hohenheim. So the bastard couldn't even be fucked to show up when his kids are injured and dismembered and his wife is in a coma, wavering between life and death? He really was a piece of work, wasn't he? But he swallows his anger. Now's not the time to rage against an estranged father. The time belongs to the comatose mother.
"Mom, p-please," Ed pleads, his voice cracking. Warm tears trickle down his face.
She doesn't stir, but neither does her heartbeat stop.
A week later, Ed makes progress with his PT. But his mother stagnates.
But a mere five days later, she awakens, to her children's delight.
"Mom, how do you feel?" Ed asks, his voice thick with relief.
"I'll be fine," Trisha answers weakly. "You boys, how are you?"
They catch her up to speed.
"The Rockbells, they make some quality artificial limbs, don't they?" Trisha chuckles. "The Rockbells are so reliable."
But something seems off about Trisha; she seems as if she's preparing to say goodbye. But why?
Two days later, they find out.
"I love you boys so much. And your father, oh god, I love him. Tell him next time you see him I'm sorry."
Ed's eyes widen, alarm. "Mom, what're you talkin' about?"
"I'm sorry, Ed, Al. The accident...it really took it out of me. I'm sorry. I love you."
When she closes her eyes, she doesn't wake up again. Her heartbeat stops.
Three days later
The boys leave the hospital briefly for Trisha's funeral. It's small but nice, filled with close friends and family, including Winry and Pinako Rockbell.
Winry hugs Al and Ed. "I'm sorry, you guys. I know how it feels." Six years ago, Winry's parents were killed by a mentally ill patient.
The boys can only nod, trying to hold back tears. By the time memorial speeches are given, the boys are crying full out.
This is the last time Ed cries in front of people.
Later, Ed notes with bitterness that Van Hohenheim hasn't shown up for Trisha's funeral. At this point, Ed despises his father.
Present day 2016
Ed was now good and drunk by then, having finished his story. "That bastard, Hohenheim, he couldn't be fucked to show up to her fuckin' funeral. Fuckin' a, man. All her talk about how they loved each other, and he didn't care enough to be there after she died," he ranted.
Roy was fairly tipsy himself, though as he could hold his liquor better than Ed, he was more lucid. "I'm sorry, Ed," was his only response. He didn't know what to say after all that.
"Yeah. And then he just comes back after nowhere, waltzing back into our lives once more, expecting me to welcome him with open arms. Fuck that shit. How much do ya wanna bet he just leaves when he gets what he wants?"
Roy kept silent, deciding to let Ed rant about his estranged father.
"Whatever. I don't want to talk about him anymore."
That's when Roy found a drunk Edward Elric on his lap, tugging on his hair and kissing him on the mouth. No, kissing wasn't the right word. More like devouring . Clumsy, drunk but greedy and confident hands roam Roy's body.
Roy pushed Ed away reluctantly. "Ed, no, this isn't right. You were just talking about your deadbeat dad and now you're sucking my face? You're drunk; this isn't right," Roy said, blushing deeply.
But Ed was having none of it. "Shut the hell up, bastard," he growled, attacking Roy's face once more.
Roy hated that he wanted this, that he loved having his ex-rival grope and make out with him. He felt himself get hard in his pants.
He pulled away for air. "Let's go somewhere," he suggested. Ed seemed pleased with the idea.
Roy called for a cab, knowing the both of them were too drunk to drive anywhere. The cab took them to a small, cheap motel, while Ed groped Roy in the backseat.
Roy barely managed to keep Ed off him long enough to walk into the hotel and check them into a room for the night. Once when they were in that hotel room, Ed was back to groping Roy, this time, clumsily trying to remove his clothes. Roy returned the favor. When they were in their underwear, Roy led Ed to the bed and pushed him down, kissing his neck, and groping his body. Ed snuck a hand down Roy's boxers, wrapping a warm hand around his hard-on, making the older man moan and buckle.
"Fuck, Ed," Roy groaned. This was everything he dreamed of. Ed's warm body underneath him, his hand stroking Roy's cock, kissing Roy.
But he when he fantasized about this, Ed was always sober. Not drunk and pissed at his father. Guilt stabbed at him, and his hard-on deflated.
"What's wrong?" Ed slurred, trying to stroke Roy's now flaccid dick. Roy removed Ed's hand and got off of him.
"This isn't right, Edward. You're trashed. I would be taking advantage of you. I can't do this," Roy rambled.
Ed sat up and glared. "Y-you fuckin' bastard. Don't cockblock me!"
"Look, if you still want me when you're in the right state of mind, I'll be there. But you're not; not right now. I'm not taking advantage of you."
Ed sulked, laying down not looking at Roy. Thirty minutes later, though, he was passed out.
Roy fell asleep on the floor.