Hey guys! The internet is semi-working (I think it's just my laptop being dumb but I digress) and it's the weekend so here's a new chapter. I'm also going to finally respond to reviews. Thanks so much for reviewing and your comments are really interesting so I'll answer them without giving too much away.

Amaranth Bun: Thanks so much for your really thought out comment! I've worked super hard to not only make this grammatically correct and whatnot, but to keep the first person narrative feeling like Ed. I read it aloud to my sister sometimes or to my brother and they've both said it sounds as much like Ed as it can considering his circumstances and I guess that must be true! See, my mom's a social worker and I have a friend who was abused (physically, emotionally and sexually) when he was a kid so I know abuse as well as I can without actually having been through it. I also do my research on how trauma affects the brain (it's actually quite fascinating. I'm writing a paper for school on brain volume loss as a result of trauma.) so I try to be as accurate as I can. I'm glad it seems genuine because writing abused characters can be difficult. I didn't want their crying scenes to be these beautiful teenage boys sniveling a few times with a couple tears rolling down their sculpted faces - I wanted it to be gross. To be hard and to be loud and to make them feel like they're drowning. As for "mature" relationships, well, you'll get more on Ed's perspective later, but right now there's no room for anything like that because he's got so much to deal with. Al, well, is innocently clueless and has trouble picking up on people's (Read: Mei's feelings toward him) but he'll learn soon enough ;). And yeah; they're both a bit physically stunted and developmentally behind. When you miss out on crucial parts of your childhood, it pushes you back a bit. They're still intelligent but they're behind. Like Ed loves being treated like a kid because from the time he was six until he was thirteen, he missed out on those formative years. Glad you're liking it so far and I'm totally with you on the EdWin thing :-)

TutuHime: Thanks! Glad you think it's well written and yeah, it's really sad. But promise it has a happy ending :)

Yveltal45: Aw, thanks! I've worked super hard on this and I'm glad you think so! Don't worry, I'll update whenever I can! :D

The Flame Alchemist 13: Here's the update! Thanks so much for reading and I'm so happy you think it's good! :)

Tephie Vongola Heartfilia: Well hello! Thanks for the review! I'm sorry something felt off, but I'm glad you enjoyed it over all! Was it the characterization or something else that felt off to you? I'd be happy to explain as much as I can! :) For the most part, yeah. Their story is so deeply personal that for whatever reason (We'll learn more about why Ed chooses to tell the group rather than Hoho or Winry later on) he feels most comfortable telling the group. It could be partially because Dr. Hughes is there but we'll get some info on that later. Yeah - Al's great, isn't he? He doesn't realize just how much Ed relies on him because all he can see is him clinging to Ed. He gives Ed more strength than he realizes and that'll be part of the journey Al goes on throughout the story. Unfortunately, yeah - it is supposed to hurt. I mean, their story hurts in the cannon so it makes sense that their story would hurt here, too. I mean, totally different situations but you get the idea. We might learn bit about what Hughes told Hohenheim later on if one of the boys bring it up but otherwise probably not. Since it's completely from Ed's point of view, if he doesn't think about that conversation, iti'll never come up again. If you're curious, I can always summarize what went down without giving too much away should that conversation come back into play later. And Winry tries her best, but it's a difficult situation and it's hard to look at your friends, realize what they've been through, and know there was nothing you could do to help. Lots of emotions in this one, haha. Again, glad you liked it and hope to hear from you again soon!

Well, that's it for reviews so I'll see you all in chapter five! Enjoy!


On Fridays, Dada takes us to IHOP for breakfast. Dad takes us to IHOP on therapy days, Mondays and Fridays, every week. We go early so Al can handle it 'cause there's not a lot of people in the restaurant that early. We all get pancakes and talk about our week and what we're gonna do over the weekend. Dad asks us what we want to do and we aren't sure. Al says he kinda wants to go to Elicia's party tomorrow but isn't sure about it at the same time. Parties aren't really Al's thing. Dad tells him that we can swing by before the party starts if he decides the party is too much for him to handle and Al seems to like that. Dada asks me what I want to do this weekend and I shrug. Elicia's party might be fun but chilling at Winry's with Al sounds like fun, too. Playing video games and watching Netflix is good enough for me. So, I say that and Al seems to agree. We finish breakfast and Dada mentions how he wants to learn how to make pancakes. Al chuckles, mentioning how you can get instant pancakes in a box that I've been making since third grade. Dad laughs but says he wants to learn to make them from scratch and we back him up 100%. It would be nice to eat at home and eat food Dada makes instead of eating out all the time.

Dad drops us off at school and asks if Al's okay. He had a terrible day at school yesterday and Dada wants to make sure he's okay. Al says he is because he doesn't have gym today. Dad kisses us both and we walk to class together. We meet up with Winry and talk for a minute before parting ways. Morning classes flew by and soon it's lunch. Winry, Al, and I all have lunch together with Ling and our other friends so we sit together and talk about the weekend. Ling's going to a party (he always does) and invites us to come (he always does). We turn him down (we always do) and he's cool with it. He knows parties aren't our scene but always invites us because he likes us. I've been to his house a few times and his parents are never there. That's fine by me because I'm nervous around adults I don't know but I can tell it bothers Ling and Mei. But because their parents are never home, they have people over all the time. Since their parents are rich, they have the best games and even have a pool. Anyway, I ask Winry if she'd be okay with Al and me coming over and of course she says yes. We talk a little about Elicia's birthday party before the bell rings. We go to class and the rest of the day flies by.

Since Friday is a therapy day, right after school Dada picks us up and drives us to the doctor. Wednesday is group day and we have it at the same building that we have therapy in. The bell rings and I meet Al by my locker. He grins weakly and we walk outside together. I've decided that I'm not going to talk until Al does. I take up the whole session a lot and I think Al needs a chance to talk. I can tell there's a lot on his mind and he needs to talk about it. We get in the car and Dad asks how school was. We both say it was fine and Dad runs out of things today. Now that Dada doesn't travel anymore, he's run out of words. He doesn't have stories to tell anymore. Sometimes he'll talk about Mom or tell funny stories from when we were babies but that's it. If we don't have anything to talk about, Dad doesn't have anything to talk about.

"Did anything funny happen in lab, Dada?" I ask. Dad still works at the college in town teaching both organic chemistry and biochemistry. He went back to that full-time when everything fell apart two years ago. Dada shrugs, though he's smiling.

"Did I not tell you boys this?" He laughs.

"No," we both say. We love Dad's stories and wish he would tell them more.

"Well, on Tuesday in organic lab this week we were running a distillation," Dada begins. "This one student had the whole set up perfect except she forgot to clamp her round bottom flask to the distillation unit. So, when the distillation was over she dropped the heat source and the round bottom flask stayed on the condenser for a minute. She turns her back for a second and the round bottom slipped off the condenser, bounces on the table, doesn't shatter, and landed in the sink. Once it was in the sink, it shattered. This poor girl heard her glass shattering and turned around. Her elbow hit her distillation unit and knocked it over. Her unit fell on to her neighbor's and started this domino effect. Soon, everyone on that bench had a distillation unit that had fallen over and there was glass everywhere. It was a bit of a disaster, but goodness, boys, it was funny. The TA and I were laughing and I suppose it was mean but you should have seen this girl's face. She was mortified and it was so funny."

"What about biochem, Dada?" Al asks as Dad pulls into a parking spot.

"There was an incident with a blender that I'll have to tell you about over dinner," Dad replies cheerfully, killing the car.

"We're gonna hold you to that," I tell him. Dad laughs.

"I expect nothing less from you, Ed," he says, getting out of the car. We walk inside and head to Dr. Hughes' office.

Dr. Hughes' whole office specializes in kids and teenagers. They understand how kids work and help them recover from the shit they've been through. When Officer Mustang arrested her two years ago, I was thirteen and Al wasn't twelve yet. Officer Mustang is friends with Dr. Hughes and recommended him to Dada because he thought he could help. I think he has. I definitely feel better than I did when I was thirteen and I know Al's better. We sign in, a few kids playing in the waiting room. They all know us and always want us to play with them. They range in age, but most of them are between eight and twelve. We build blocks and color with them mostly. I'ts actually pretty fun but we won't admit it. We're supposed to be teenagers, not little kids. But we've told Dr. Hughes that sometimes we feel like little kids. He calls that regression. It's when your brain thinks being younger will protect you for some reason. Or something like that. I don't really understand it. He says our minds revert to a safer time to keep us safe. While it makes no sense, I have noticed that sometimes I wish I was little so Dada could pick me up and hold me close. Sometimes I wish I was little so Dada would kiss me when I get hurt. Sometimes I wish Dada could carry me and Al around on his shoulders. Sometimes I'm really clingy and sit in Dada's lap and I do carry stuffed animals around in my backpack. That's probably crazy. I don't know. I can't change how I feel.

We play with the little kids for a while before Dr. Hughes comes out to get us. He smiles at us and we get up. Dada pulls his phone out and starts to read something. He hasn't come back with us since Al was twelve. We were scared at first but soon we were able to do it just the two of us. Dr. Hughes is talking about us having separate sessions and that freaks us out. Al and I do everything together. We're in the same club, we like the same things, we go everywhere together. If we don't, we're vulnerable. We're not safe. Dr. Hughes keeps saying that as we get older, we won't always be together. College is the hot topic right now. In two years, I'll be getting ready to go to college. When I go, Al'll be alone. Winry's my age so her and all my friends will go to college at the same time and he'll be alone. The thought of that makes us panicky and makes me want to wait a year. But Dr. Hughes says I can't put my life on hold for my brother. He says I did that when we were kids and I can't do that anymore. That makes me mad. Usually, Dr. Hughes is super cool but when he starts talking about how dependent Al is or how Al took up too much of my time growing up or how I'm more of a father than a brother and that's not healthy I get mad. All that tells me is that for all his talk, Dr. Hughes doesn't understand. I was all Al had and he was all I had. We needed each other. No one was going to take care of him so I had to. It makes me mad when he talks like that.

We get to his office and sit down. There's always candy on the table between his desk and the chairs. We never reach for it. We don't eat other people's food unless they invite us to. It's wrong otherwise. Dr. Hughes never invites us so we don't eat. He sits down in front of us, his gentle eyes scanning us. He's looking to see if there's any stress on our faces so he can open with that. Neither of us are stressed or anxious at the moment, though, so he knows he can just open it up for us to talk.

"So, anything on your minds that you want to talk about?" He asks. I swallow, words threatening to spill out of my mouth before Al has a chance to speak.

"I-I think I do," Al says softly. "I think I have something to talk about."

"All right, let's hear it," Dr. Hughes encourages.

"Well, I've had the trunk dream a lot recently," Al begins, his voice wavering. "I've never told you what that dream's about because I've been too scared. I... I think I'm ready now." Dr. Hughes nods and reaching for his clipboard. Every time we say something new about what happened, he writes it down. I don't know why, but he does.

"Okay," Dr. Hughes says, my heart stalling. The trunk is something Al hates talking about. It's like my fence or one of the other things I dream about the most. Like the basement or the chain. I don't talk about those things. Dr. Hughes knows they happened, but doesn't know anything about them. But soon, he will. I'm telling my story and Al's telling his. Soon, he'll know everything and that terrifies me.

"I was seven," Al begins, his voice strained, "And Dada had been gone for a week. He was going to be gone for another week before he got home. V-Van... Vanessa was awful that week to us. She had beaten Brother nearly every day because he wouldn't let her hit me. But he was too sore and hurt to take it anymore so I took the beatings for him instead. I remember that every part of me hurt. My hands never stopped shaking that week and I had two accidents at school that week. She beat me so hard after the second one that week that I stayed home from school the rest of the time Daddy was gone.

"While I stayed home from school, she made me do chores. I couldn't do a lot of them because I was too little. I couldn't reach things and was too small to use the bigger appliances. She got mad and yelled at me a lot, screaming that I couldn't do anything right. She said that the reason Dada went away so much was because he hated us and thought we were dumb. That one always stung. I remember not wanting to believe her because Dada was always so nice to us but her nasty words always stuck with me more than anything nice people said. Anyway, I remember I was putting dishes away after they had been washed. It took forever to unload the dishwasher because I was so little. My hands were shaking and I did my best not to drop anything. But I-I... I did. I d-dropped a cup. My heart stopped when it hit the floor and exploded into a bunch of little pieces. I hurried off the counter and started to clean it up. I hoped that if I got it cleaned up before she got back, I wouldn't get hurt. I cut my hand because I was frantically trying to clean up. Blood ran down my hand and I started crying. I wanted Dada. I want Dada." Al stops to wipe his face. The hard part is coming up so I take his hand in mine. He sniffles loudly and continues;

"Brother came in and tried to help me. But we couldn't get it all cleaned up in time. Soon she was hovering over me, screaming at me for breaking the cup.

"'I d-didn't mean to," I told her frantically. 'Honest!'

'You can't do anything right, you worthless brat!' She yelled.

'Leave him alone!' Ed cried. Vanessa rounded on him and Brother lost his voice. She pointed a finger at him and said,

'Stay out of this.' She turned to me and grabbed my hands. I remember that I was more scared than I had ever been. She had burned my hands before for dropping things and I was scared she was going to do that again. I remember wetting my pants a little as I stood there, waiting to find out what she was going to do to me. Finally, she said, 'What good are you if you can't even use your hands?!' She dragged me outside to the driveway and I started crying because I was terrified that she was going to hit me with the car or lock me out of the house.

'I want Daddy!' I cried, 'I want Daddy!'

'Shut up!' She hissed, opening the trunk of her car. She forced my hands to sit where the trunk lid meets the rest of the car and she slammed my hands in it. I screamed in pain and she slapped me across the face.

'Keep it down, stupid,' she warned. She opened the trunk, my fingers already turning red. They were throbbing and all bent out of shape. Brother watched from the doorway, knowing that if he tried to help, he'd only make things worse. She slammed my fingers again before opening the trunk again and leaving it open. I was crying, but did my best to keep quiet because I didn't want her to hit me again. She grabbed me by my neck and lifted me off the ground.

'Wh-What are y-you doing?' Brother asked from the door, his voice shaking.

'Your brother's taking a little time-out,' she told him. She threw me inside the trunk and I looked up at her. I was scared and confused and she snickered at me. 'Hope you learn to use your hands, Ally,' she told me before shutting that door. I... I didn't get out until two days later." Al stops talking, his whole body shaking. He emits a sort of cry before breaking down into tears. I simply rub his back, Dr. Hughes finishing whatever he's writing on the clipboard before looking at us.

"That must have been very hard to talk about," Dr. Hughes says sadly. Al nods and Dr. Hughes says, 'You're not worthless, Alphonse. You're not stupid, Alphonse. You are very capable, Alphonse." Al is wailing like a little baby, unable to believe his words. She really messed us up. She told us those things for so long that we have no other choice but to believe them. Whenever we tell him something like that, he always negates whatever she told us. It can get pretty hairy because she used gross words but that doesn't stop Dr. Hughes. He always makes a point to tell us that we're not whatever she said we are in the hope that someday, we'll believe him.

"Ed," Dr. Hughes addresses after a while, "How does that story make you feel?" I swallow, unable to find my words.

"Well, I," I begin, the bubbles rising in my throat, "I... bad." My hands are sweating and I'm nervous. I don't want to talk about how it makes me feel. I don't want to. This was supposed to be about Al, not me. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to.

"Can you tell me more?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"I... It's my fault," I say softly, my voice barely audible as Al's still sobbing.

"How so?" He prompts. The bubbles make it hard to breathe, let alone talk. But like the last time he asked me to talk, I can't stop the words from flowing out of me.

"I didn't do enough," I say. "I wasn't quick enough to clean the glass up. I was too scared to do anything when she smashed his hands. I was too scared to sneak him food when he was..." I take a strangled breath and it's hard to say what I'm going to say next, "When he was trapped in a trunk for two days." I shake my head and ask, "Can this be about Al now? I wasn't going to talk so he could." Dr. Hughes nods and turns to Al who's not sobbing anymore.

"How did that make you feel?" He asks. Al takes a deep breath and turns to me. There are tears running down his face and I want nothing more than to run and hide.

"It's not your fault," he tells me softly. He turns back to Dr. Hughes without a response from me and says, "It makes me feel awful. Like, I really can't do anything right. Yesterday, I had a panic attack at school. I threw up and almost peed myself in front of my whole class. I mean, I'm fourteen!" Al's voice breaks and I know he's going to start wailing again. "Whenever I talk about it or dream about it, it makes me think that she was right about me. And she was! Brother blames himself for something I did. He thinks it was him!" Al stands suddenly and I'm not sure what he's going to do. He's never done something like this before. I can tell he's both sad and angry at the same time. He's shaking, but it's different than his normal tremor somehow. Al picks up the candy bowl and throws it. It hits the far wall, shattering into a million pieces. My eyes are wide, my heart beating as I wait for Dr. Hughes to slap Al across the face or yell at him or something. Instead, he just sits back and watches as Al hugs himself and sinks to his knees.

"Everything she ever said was true," he sobs, bending over. "I'm so... so worthless! I'll never be anything except that little boy trapped inside a car trunk. Why? Why?! " I'm stunned. Al's never acted like this before. Never. Neither have I. I've gotten mad in therapy, sure, but I've never thrown something. I've never screamed at the top of my lungs like he just did. I'm not sure what to do. Dr. Hughes rises slowly and walks over. My baby brother is still crying loudly, his arms wrapped around his middle.

"I-I w-w-want D-Dada," he wails, Dr. Hughes squatting down in front of him.

"It's okay now, Alphonse," he says gently. His voice reminds me of Dada when we have bad dreams. It's the same voice, almost. Al looks up at him, chocking at Dr. Hughes says, "I know it's hard, but it's okay. It's okay to have bad days. It's okay to cry and throw things sometimes. It's okay."

"I-I'm sorry about y-your bowl," Al cries pathetically. "I'm sorry. I-I'll g-get you a n-new one." Dr. Hughes smiles at him and shakes his head.

"Don't worry about that, Al," he says softly. "I want you to say something for me. Ed, you say it, too." I nod, unsure of what he's going to say. "I want you both to say; 'None of it is my fault'." We quickly exchange glances. We talk with our eyes, saying there's no way we can say that. But we decide with our eyes that we need to. Dr. Hughes means well. We should do what he asks.

"N-None of it is my fault," I say, waiting for Al. Al swallows hard and I can see the puke rise in his throat. He swallows it and shakes his head.

"None... None of it is m-my f-f-fault," he echoes.

"Good job, boys," Dr. Hughes praises. "I'm proud of you." Those little words mean so little to so many people. To Al and me, it's a gold mine. It means we didn't screw up. It means that for once, we did something right. We did something to be proud of. Al's lip quivering and he throws himself on to Dr. Hughes. He starts crying again and Dr. Hughes rubs his back. I feel mad watching it, feeling like it should be me comforting Al. He's my little brother. It's my job to take care of him. Soon, though, the hug ends and Al walks over to me. He wraps his arms around me and everything's the way it should be. I'm holding Al as he cries like I should. I'm doing my job - the only job I know how to do.

"It's okay, Ally," I whisper, "It's okay. I'm here. I'm here." Al's trembling fingers grip my clothes and I pet his hair.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?" Dr. Hughes asks, sitting down. I shake my head, my words getting lost somewhere. "You sure?" It's then I realize that there is something I want to tell him.

"I tried writing," I tell him. Dr. Hughes raises his brow.

"And?" He prompts.

"And I couldn't do it," I admit, suddenly feeling guilty. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he says. "Why do you think you couldn't?"

"It didn't feel real," I explain. "Like it wasn't my story unless I was saying it out loud. It's weird." Dr. Hughes smiles at me.

"It's hard to put our stories into words," he tells me. "It's hard to say the things that trouble us the most and sometimes it's hard to even write them down. And that's okay. It's all a part of the process, Ed. You may not be able to write now because it doesn't feel real to you, but maybe one day it will. Maybe one day you'll feel so comfortable with your story that you'll not only be able to tell it freely and completely to others, but you'll be able to write it down. And maybe you won't. Either way, you'll be a happy person. I know you will. Because having the courage to open and tell your story means you have the courage to move forward."

"It doesn't feel like I have any courage," I admit. "I'm always scared. I'm scared that someone will hurt me or Al. I'm scared that one day Dada will decided that he hates us like she did and either leave or beat us. I'm scared that one day Winry will say she doesn't like us and stop being our friend. I'm scared that she's going to find me. I don't have any courage, Dr. Hughes."

"That's not true, Ed," Dr. Hughes tells me. "You and your brother have more courage in you than most people. It's a very courageous thing to seek help when you need it. You've both swallowed your pride and have decided to seek help. You want to recover. You don't want to run away from it anymore. You're starting to open up about the darkest parts of your past. That takes a tremendous amount of courage." I blink, my hand resting on top of Al's head. I certainly don't feel courageous or brave. I'm just telling my story. But yeah; I do want to get better. I don't want to run from it anymore. So, maybe I am brave. I know Al is but for the first time since everything happened, I feel like maybe I am, too.

"Brother's brave," Al says, like he read my mind. "And when Brother's brave, I am, too."

"We find bravery in others more often than we find it in ourselves," Dr. Hughes says. "And seeing it in those we love can help us find it in ourselves." It was like they knew what I was thinking. The bubbles are there, trying to force down what I want to say. But I force them to pop, force them to disappear so I can say something that I was so scared wasn't true for a long time.

"I'm brave," I say. I stood up to her and took care of Al. That's brave. I told the truth when Al broke down at Winry's when I was in seventh grade. That's brave. I agreed to therapy, even though I wasn't sure about it and was scared. That's brave. I'm facing my past and trying to get better. That's brave. But most of all, I'm telling my story. That's the bravest thing of all. Al pulls away, a smile on his face. I smile, too, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm actually getting better.

"Dr. Hughes," Al says, sitting down in his own seat finally, "I like doing crafts. What if I made you a bowl to replace the one I broke?" Dr. Hughes smiles warmly, that kind of dad smile that makes my heart feel like it's full of warm sugar.

"Sure," he says. "I would love that, buddy." Al smiles broadly, that happy smile he used to have on his face all the time before she came around. I shut my eyes, imagining a future where Al has that smile on his face all the time again. I imagine a time where he doesn't shake and I can talk to adults without being scared. I imagine a time where we can laugh and sleepover and go to parties with friends. I imagine an Ed who says what he's thinking, who doesn't have bubbles in his throat that keep him from saying what he wants to say. I imagine the Elric brothers as we could be; as we should be. And for the first time ever, I actually think we can get there.

Therapy ends and Dada greets us in the waiting room. Al gives him a big hug, his arms lingering for a moment as Dada kisses his hair. I smile, still thinking about the future I imagined. I'm determined now more than ever to get there. Al and I are going to get there together. Al finally lets go, though his hand is holding Dada's. Dad smiles at me and I grin back, Dad laughing at me. We walk to the car, Dad asking how it went. Al says that he did a lot of talking and Dad says those four words we love more than anything; "I'm proud of you". Al practically melts, his face glowing as he thinks about those words. I tell Dada that I got some things off my chest, too, and he says the same words to me. He's proud of me. I can't reply but not because of the bubbles. I can't reply because my mouth is full of warm caramel and if I open my mouth, it'll disappear.

"So," Dada begins as he starts the car, "Where do you boys want to eat dinner?" Dad shakes his head and says, "Sorry. Where do you want me to pick food up from?" Al's face falls and he looks away. I guess he's not ready for a restaurant after his meltdown. Makes sense.

"I'm up for anything," I say.

"Well, I brought home Italian last night so let's do something else," Dad says. I guess he knows Al's not gonna talk so he asks, "What are you in the mood for, Brother?" I shrug.

"Anything," I repeat, knowing that doesn't really help.

"You know what I'm in the mood for?" Al says softly from the backseat. His eyes widen suddenly, like it's taboo for him to speak, and stops. Dada looks at him from the rear view mirror with sad eyes.

"What, baby?" He asks gently. "You can tell me." Al stays still for a moment before looking up at Dad. I can tell he's scared, that familiar tremor raging through his body as he struggles to make words come out of his mouth.

"Corn muffins," Al says. Dad stares at him and Al says, "Like a whole bunch of them."

"We could go to Crackle Barrel," I suggest. "They have corn muffins and a to-go thing."

"That's true," Dada says. He chuckles and says, "Do you remember when Mom and I used to take you there?"

"Yeah," I say, a smile on my face.

"No," Al says softly.

"Well," Dad begins, "You boys used to love the store that's in the front of the restaurant. You'd run around and show us all the novelty toys, even though we've seen them all before. There was such an excitement in your eyes, one we couldn't possibly crush."

"And the rocking chairs," I add. "Remember, Dada?"

"Yeah," he says distantly, his mind on Mom.

"I remember those," Al pipes up sadly. "I'd sit on Mom's lap after dinner and fall asleep to her petting my hair."

"That's right," Dada confirms.

"I miss Mom," Al says, saying what we're all feeling.

"We should go to Crackle Barrel," I blurt. "Like, inside the place. We should sit in those rocking chairs, look at novelty toys, and play checkers like we did when we were little." Dad slides his eyes over to me then looks back at Al who's already pale.

"I don't know, Ed," he says quietly. "Al's anxiety has been pretty bad recently. I don't think he's up to it right now. Crackle Barrel's always crowded, especially around dinner time."

"Oh," I sigh. "Okay."

"Dada, let's go," Al says and I whip my head around to look at him. I can't believe he'd say that. I know he's not up to it. His anxiety has been awful lately.

"What?" I breathe. Al's shaking and clearly not up to it, but he smiles at me.

"Let's go," he repeats. "I miss Mom and going inside will remind me of her."

"You have Chico, right?" Dad asks. Al nods.

"Mmm, yeah," Al replies. "Can I carry him?"

"Of course you can," Dada assures him. "If he makes you feel safe."

"Al, we don't have to," I tell him. "It's okay if you can't." Al smiles at me again.

"I definitely can't," he laughs. "I'm terrified of being around so many people or having a panic attack in a restaurant. But I'm brave today." I blink. Al's changing somehow. I can't put my finger on how, but he is. It's like a piece of him that died a long time ago is coming back. I don't know but it makes my stomach feel funny - like it's doing flips. I want him to get better, but I don't want him to not need me anymore. But I'm proud of him. I tell him I'm proud with my eyes and he smiles even brighter. I'm scared that soon he won't need me anymore, but I push that aside for now. Baby brother's brave so I'm going to be, too. Besides - we're brothers. I think we'll always need each other, even if it's not the way we need each other now.

"Okay, Ally," Dada says. "But if you feel like you need to leave, even if we haven't ordered yet, we'll go, okay?"

"Okay," Al replies.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Dad presses. He doesn't want to push Al into something he's not ready for. Thing is, though, Al's not ready. He even said so. But Al wants to be brave and Dad's gonna let him be that way.

"No," Al admits. He stares at his hands and says, "But I'm tired of being scared all the time."

"Me, too," I add, falling in my seat. Dad smiles - that proud smile that makes me warm all over.

"All right," he says. "To Crackle Barrel." I grin ear to ear, Al laughing softly in the backseat. I like this whole being brave thing. I think I can get used to it if it keeps Al laughing.

We park the car and get out, Chico tucked tightly under Al's arm. He's shaking so I take his hand, Dada leading us inside. There's a thirty-minute wait, pretty quick from what I remember. Crackle Barrel always has a long wait from what I remember. But thirty minutes is nothing when there's a whole story to look at. I forgot how much I loved the smell inside the store. It's sweet and homey - something a candle company would make a scent of. We look at silly postcards, wondering who would actually buy one. There's a couple that have Chicago on them (we're only about two hours from Chicago) but most of them are from here. Our hometown's pretty boring so we think it's funny that there'd be postcards of this place. We move on to the toys, Al still holding my hand. That talking parrot that I always wanted as a kid stares at me and I reach out to touch it. I remember how she promised to buy never did. I shake my head, forcing those nasty memories away. Tonight I just want to have dinner with my dad and brother. I don't want to be sad. I touch the toy, it's soft fabric making me grin weakly.

"Brother!" Al says excitedly, tugging on my arm. I look over and he's pointing to a display of cats that kinda look like Chico. He squirms on his feet the way he did when he was little and squeals, "Look at all the Chicos! I've never seen so many toys before!" It's then I remember just how little Al was when the abuse started. He was four. Most people don't have good memories until after that, so he doesn't remember a lot about our happy days. Mom used to take us to toy stores all the time but he doesn't remember. She never took us anywhere after the abuse started and Dada never had time to take us fun places. So, he doesn't remember seeing so many toys in one place. It's depressing.

"Yeah, Al," I say, ruffling his hair. "It's a whole arm of Chicos." He giggles and his eyes drift to that little ferret-thing that runs around in a hamster ball. He squeals happily an squats down.

"Look!" He cries. It rolls around, Al laughing at it. I squat down, too, watching the toy roll across the wood floor. Al turns to me and says, "I've never seen anything like this before!" Al's so excited that I think he's forgotten that he's scared. He rises and I rise with him, his hand encased in mine. Dad's nearby, looking at quits and Al finds some of those wind-up teeth. He laughs wildly, turning the little crank-thing and watching it bounce around.

"Al," I say, pointing to the parrot, "Look." He follows my finger, his eyes widening when he sees it. I reach for it (I have to stand on my tip-toes to reach it) and hold it in my arms. Al watches curiously as I say, "Hi, Al" and wait. The parrot repeats it and Al gasps.

"That's so cool!" He exclaims, the parrot repeating him.

"I always wanted one," I tell him. Al looks at me and checks the price.

"I can get it for you," he says and I blush instantly.

"Wh-What?" I ask, Al smiling at me.

"I have enough to buy it," Al clarifies. I nearly drop it, unsure of how to react.

"I-I..." I struggle, "I don't need a toy, you know." Al shrugs.

"Yeah, so?" He questions lightly. "You like him, right?" I nod and he says, "Then I'll buy him for you."

"Let's get one in a box," I tell him as he reaches for the one in my arms.

"Oh," he says. He grabs a box, struggling to carry it and Chico at the same time. I notice and say,

"Want me to carry Chico for you?"

"No," he answers instantly. "I can carry him."

"Are you sure?" I press gently. "I don't want you to drop him."

"I won't," Al says, walking toward the front. He freezes, though, the sight of so many people scaring him.

"You don't have to do this," I remind him. He shakes his head and I know he's trying to be brave. He wants to be brave.

"You wanted this growing up," he says. "I want to give this to you." I nod and stand in front of him.

"Focus on me, then," I tell him. "Don't worry about anyone else. It's just me and you." Al nods, his face pale. We walk toward the register, Dad watching us from a far. There's not much of a line so we get served right away.

"Is this all?" The cashier asks. We both don't say anything at first. She stares at us before Al nods. She says the total and All pulls his money out. He puts it on the counter, the lady staring at it. She eventually takes it and counts it, no doubt weirded out by our strange silence. She puts it in the register, hands Al his change, and puts the box in a bag.

"Elric, party of three," says someone over the intercom, "Elric, party of three." I pull on Al's arm and move him away from the counter.

"Thanks," I tell the cashier. We meet with Dada and I instantly know something's wrong with Al. He's shaking harder than usual and he seems panicked. "What's wrong?"

"I d-dropped Chico," he tells me.

"Don't worry," Dada says before I can talk, "We'll find him, baby." Dad turns to me and says, "I'm going to talk to the host about our table. Help Al find Chico, okay?" I nod and start scanning the store as Dad walks away. Al's breathing is ragged and I know I have to hurry. I take his hand and guide him back over to the toys. The army of Chicos stares at us and I see a couple little kids hanging around. It's then I see Chico. There's a little girl who's holding him, obviously confused but amused by how worn Chico is. She probably thinks he belongs with the army of Chicos and I hear Al gasp.

"Chico!" Al cries, hurrying over. I follow him, anxiety clawing at my belly. Al reaches the little girl and says, "Excuse me, but that's mine." The girl smiles and giggles.

"Nuh-uh," she replies. "I found him so he's mine."

"N-No," Al replies. "That's Chico. My mom gave him to me and you have to give him back." The girl sticks her tongue out at us.

"Chico's a dumb name," she taunts, Al's lip quivering and she says, "What kind of teenager brings a stuffed cat to a restaurant?" She begins walking away and Al starts crying. I let go of his hand and stand in front of the girl.

"Give it back," I instruct. "That's my brother's. Give it back."

"It doesn't have his name on it," she says and I smirk.

"Actually, it does," I tell her. "Check the tag." The girl flips Chico around.

"Alphonse Elric," she reads, "(217) 321-0987."

"See?" I say, the girl staring blankly at me, "That's my brother's toy and he needs it back." She continues to stare at me so I reach for Chico. She yelps and hurries away, still clutching Chico. "Hey!" I call. She darts behind a woman who I can only guess is her mother. I glance over to find Dada and I see that he's been seated. Probably to keep our table he had to. We're on our own. I hurry and grab Al's hand and walk over. He's trying his best to wipe his tears but can't. The woman scowls at us and I glare right back.

"Leave my daughter alone," she warns. Al whimpers, his fight to be brave slipping away.

"Please just give Chico back," he says pitifully, his lip trembling.

"Chico?" The woman questions.

"The cat your daughter picked up," I clarify. "It's got his name and our phone number on it so if you could just give it back, that'd be awesome."

"Mom, they're lying!" The girl cries. "I got him in the toy section!"

"Whatever this is it's not funny," the woman tells us.

"It's his cat!" I tell her heatedly. Al can't keep his composure anymore and I know we're out of time.

"Give him back!" Al wails, a few people turning to look at him. I glare at him and Al continues begging; "Please give Chico back! He's mine! Mom gave him to me!"

"What kind of boy are you?" She asks, Al quieting as she stares at him. "You're much too old to cry over a toy."

"Watch it," I warn. No one talks to my baby brother like that. No one. "It's a comfort item. He's got severe anxiety because he's been through some hard stuff. Now give it back so we can eat."

"Like what?" The woman questions, the girl staring at us from behind her mother. I can see Chico's head and I want nothing more than to reach out and rip him from her arms. But that would cause a huge scene and I'd rather avoid that.

"Like abuse," I say, the word searing my tongue. I hate that word but it's the only card I have to play. "Give my brother his cat back. Now." The woman fumbles for a moment before tearing the cat from her daughter's grip. She hands it to me and I give it to Al. He cuddles Chico close, the matted fabric catching his tears.

"I'm sorry," she says, her daughter's lip trembling. "I didn't know."

"Next time check the tag," I tell her rudely. "C'mon, Al." I pick up the bag with the parrot and take Al's free hand. The woman stares at us as we go but I don't care. I saved Chico and saved dinner. I'm feeling pretty good about that.

Al and I find Dada in the dining area. He smiles at us, his eyes resting on Chico as we sit down. Al's semi-calm again which is good 'cause Dad had a story to tell. Something about a blender. I bet his TAs screwed something up again. He's got these two TAs for biochem who also help out with organic lab and freshman biology. I met them when they were both freshmen so I know them okay. There's this girl who's one of the strangest people I've ever met. She's wicked smart, but clumsy and loud and hilarious. The other TA is this guy with a bad mouth but a good heart. Whenever Dada has a story about biochem, it always involves them. We order, Al stroking Chico as Dad takes a drink of his water. I stare at him, Dad glancing down at his phone as we sit in silence.

"Dada," I say. He glances up at me and smiles.

"Sorry, honey," he says, pocketing his phone. "I had to answer an email."

"It's okay," I tell him. "So, what happened with that blender?" Dada chuckles.

"Right," he laughs. Al perks up, his fingers putting that weird put the sticks in the triangle game back in the center of the table and listens. "Yesterady, we were doing lab prep for today's biochem lab. We did an enzyme kinetics lab and got the enzyme we needed from potatoes. I told the TAs to put the potatoes in a blender with a little DI water and walked off to do something else while they blended the potatoes. Next thing I know, I hear the whirl of the blender followed by Kate screaming. There's this awful crunching noise and Charlie's laughing. I walk back in and there's potatoes mush and water all over the lab bench. The blender was actually missing a washer so it was leaking. But that's not the best part. The TAs were holding on to the lid when the glass covering the hole in the lid fell in. They completely broke the blender and the lab was a mess."

"At least they're good sports," I laugh.

"Yeah," Al agrees. "I'd be pretty embarrassed if it was me." Al quiets and I stare at Chico. My eyes widen and I think of something to talk about.

"Dad, you know the animal shelter?" I blurt. Dad's brow furrows but he nods.

"The county shelter?" He questions. I nod and he says, "Isn't that in danger of closing?"

"Well, it was, but Ling and Mei fought to keep it open," I tell him.

"That's wonderful, Ed," he says, taking a sip of water.

"Dada," Al says softly, "Mei invited me to volunteer with her." Dad nearly chokes on his water.

"Really?" He coughs, Al laughing at him.

"Yeah," Al answers. "I... Well, I think I want to."

"Are you serious?" Dad asks and I grin. This was exactly what I wanted. Dad talking with us, his eyes sparkling like they did when we were little. Al nods.

"It might be fun," Al says. "Besides, I've always liked animals."

"That is true," Dad agrees. "Do you think you're up to it?" Al shrugs, his thumb running along the side of the glass.

"I don't know," he answers, his brown eyes resting on the milk in his cup. "But I want to try."

"Because you're brave today," Dad hums proudly. Al shakes his head.

"Because I wanna be brave every day," Al corrects.

"That's wonderful," Dad praises, Al smiling happily. "I'm proud of you, Al."

"I think Al would the best shelter volunteer ever," I say. "The shelter has, like, this cat room where there's jut a butt load of cats running around. You have to feed them and clean their boxes but when you're done you can just play with them. It's like Al's version of Heaven." Al chuckles.

"Plus there's always kittens," Al adds excitedly. "I hear you get to handle them when you're there!"

"And you can walk the dogs," Dada says.

"Ling says there's puppies right now," I say. "Like little fluffy ones. He showed me a picture on his phone."

"I've been thinking," Dada says. "You're going to be sixteen in February, Ed. Do you want to start learning to drive?" I blink. I don't even have my permit. Al nudges me, his eyes asking what I'm going to do.

"Well, I, uh," I stammer. Driving's something I've always been excited to do, but the learning part freaks me out. I've heard kids talk about how their parents get mean when they mess up and I don't know if I can handle it. "I mean, I want to, but I don't have my permit, Dada."

"That's okay," he tells me. "I can pick up a book for you to study if you want to learn and get your permit."

"Will Brother get a cell phone?" Al asks.

"Yes, I should imagine so," Dad says. "I've actually been thinking you both might need one before you start driving. If Al's going to start volunteering, he might need one so he can call me to come and get him."

"I don't want one," Al says instantly. The idea of a cell phone makes him anxious. I don't know why. My guess is he doesn't like the idea of people being able to reach him all the time.

"That's okay, but when you drive, Al, we'll have to talk about getting one. The last thing I want is for you to be stranded because you don't have a phone." Dada tells him. "So, Ed - want to learn to drive?" My mouth is dry so I take a drink of my soda. I don't know. I do but I don't. I close my eyes, my head hesitantly nodding. Yeah, I wanna learn. But I wanna take it slow.

"Wonderful," Dad says, the waiter returning with our food. "I can get you a copy of the driver's book next week."

"'Kay," I reply, pushing food around with my fork. There are corn muffins on the table, Al smiling warmly as he reaches for one.