---
Transylvania, 1921
---
---
"Because I don't want you to suffer anymore, Ed."
"Alfons…I…"
"W-Well, you've been through enough, right? It must be hard for you…and you deserve better than what you get. I think Al would agree with me."
"I…"
"C-Come on, Ed…we need to go back."
---
'Go back' was right. Go back, go into his room, lie down, and sleep. Sleep all this away. Sleep that awkward conversation that they had shared and all the questions that seemed to surface in Edward's mind.
Was Alfons real?
Was this world real?
Was what Alfons was telling him the truth?
Alfons had dreams about Al…that much was for certain. He knew him. He knew Al. He knew things that nobody else could know. He took the insanity that was the story of Edward Elric and simplified it, believed it, talking to him like a human being and not as something else. Not as the invalid that most would have referred to him as.
It didn't make any sense.
Edward had turned Alfons away. Mistreated him. Told him he was fake. He pushed him away and treated him like garbage more times than he could count, and yet Alfons still smiled at him. He had the nerve to look at Edward like that, hands on the table, expression serious…
"Because I don't want you to suffer anymore, Ed."
This was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. What the hell—Alfons had no right to be good to him, and yet here he was.
He even gave him all the pillows and blankets, rather huddling close on his side.
Wasn't that cold?
Edward himself was feeling hot under that blanket, but there was no way he was going to poke out. Not when his prosthetics were so obvious under his nightclothes—or rather, lack of them.
Alfons rolled over again, letting out a soft sigh and nuzzling the pillow. Well. What little pillow he had, anyway. How many pillows did Ed have, anyway?
One, two…three…oh, there's four, by his feet, and there was the one between his knees, but that was to keep his back straight. Then there was the one that was under his head, and…
Oh.
Alfons wasn't kidding when he called him a pillow-hog, was he?
Pillow-hog and blanket-hog…enough so to leave his bedmate freezing next to him in a huddled heap.
Nice, Ed.
Nice.
What a way to screw him over; first Envy, then a figment of his imagination, then a two-bit copy of his younger brother…and now leave him freezing with hardly any pillow to lay on.
Alfons…are you really dreaming of Al right now? Is he really okay? Fuck, I'm not sure if I can believe you when you say that you see him…it's all too damn convenient…but it all fits together. There's no other way to describe it.
It didn't mean that it made it less complicated.
Alfons's chest rose and fell gently with each breath; in through the nose, out through the mouth…Lips slackened, showing the tiniest hint of well-kept teeth, and a pink tongue almost ready to pop out of his mouth and hang out, like panting dog. Cheeks were flushed, even with his lack of heat (for the love of fuck, he was shivering!), and his fists were right next to his face, close enough for him to stick his thumb out and start sucking on it…
What the fuck—I'm staring at him.
Damn it—he was shivering again. Alfons's body let out one hard rack of a shudder, and the man curled into himself tighter, as if to let out the cold that was most certainly attacking him on all sides and angles.
Not like he wasn't already curled into himself to begin with.
He really looks cold.
But…blanket. Prosthetics. Hiding them from any unwitting moron that might have walked in the door to see them.
But…
Alfons was freezing.
Oh, fucking hell.
"Alfons, get up."
He wasn't moving.
Damn it.
Edward found himself sitting up, picking up a few of the pillows from the right side of his pillow fort and moving them towards Alfons, who didn't seem to even budge, save from curling tighter into himself and almost whimpering.
Was he really that cold?
Or maybe he was having a particularly bad dre—
The sick feeling in the pit of Ed's stomach at even the thought of that thought made him cease from that direction entirely, even with the nagging voice trying to urge him back to the spiked pit of catch-22 depression. Him getting into a phase of angst-filled guilt did nothing to help his own dreams, after all.
Besides.
That really did look cold.
…
…He was feeling guilty just looking at the guy. Had he really been shivering like that every night since they started sharing a room?
"mmmm…"
Alfons licked his lips once. Twice.
"Alfons, come on. Don't make me hit you with 'em."
His response was nothing more than another grunt, and Alfons curled into himself tighter. His body was trembling, but it might as well have been downright convulsing, with the amount of attention Edward was paying to every single minute twitch.
…
Fucking hell.
Edward squirmed out from his fort, cursing the cold air that seemed to barrage on his prosthetics just from him moving, and if he was a weaker sort, would have dove back under the covers and stayed there, just like he did every night until the warm rays of morning sun kissed his face. Stayed down there and ignored the shivering man next to him.
But it didn't look like that was going to be an option at this point.
Damn it, it didn't look like Alfons was going to wake up…
Slowly, he took a pillow with one hand, and put his hand under Alfons's head with the other (the flesh one—always the flesh one—the prosthetic always got hair stuck in it—not like the automail)….
Alfons whimpered.
"Wi…"
'Wi'?
Edward blinked.
Talking in his sleep?
"Win…ry."
….!!!!
'Winry'?
Edward's stomach clenched. His palms started to sweat, his heart beat fast…He hardly remembered that his hand was on the back of Alfons's head, as they both started to clench involuntarily…
Though it was debated if Alfons could even feel that.
"Winry…"
Louder this time…
He had to move. Or at least, he should have moved…just turned away, and gone back to sleep. Pretended he didn't notice, and pretended that he didn't have that sick feeling now penetrating his stomach and coursing through his veins.
But…
Alfons's face was contorted slightly…eyes scrunched and mouth turned downwards, halfway between crying and pain, though Edward himself wasn't sure of which. His neck muscles were twitching, cheeks doing the same…
His eyes were squinting, over and over…
"Winry, you…"
What was he—? Were these Alfons's words, or were they Al's? Alfons was talking in his sleep, but if he dreamed of Al, then…
"…Liar."
Wha—
"Winry, you liar."
---
Resembool, 1924
---
"Winry, you liar."
Those were the first words that came out of his lips when he awoke, the wetness of his past tears still clinging to his cheeks.
His head was still hurting, even though he wasn't quite sure when it started, and how he knew that it had been in pain for longer than just a few minutes, or even a few seconds. Pounding—from the back of his head to the front, making a nest in his frontal lobe and whacking at his skull with a sledgehammer…or maybe he was just being whacked with one from the outside, too. Who knew? His stomach was in knots and his mouth was quivering…hands twitching on the top of the blankets.
---
"Yeah. When I was a kid, Alphonse Elric was in a large suit of armor—he couldn't feel anything, and when I dreamt, I couldn't feel anything either. It was in a sort of numb cocoon…things were…sensed, rather than felt. And his field of vision was well…different. It was like standing outside of someone's body, but still being inside—I'm not really good with words, so it's hard to explain exactly how to say it without calling it between something. Like you're in the body, but you can see outside the steel, though you yourself can see from the steel. The vantage point was also in the chest, not the head, because that was where his center was…the blood seal…"
---
Blood seal…? Was that what that mark was? Right above his right breast, tattooed onto the skin…a circle, with something like an alchemic star inside. A transmutation circle, but for what, he had never been able to figure out.
He hadn't really noticed it until the very first time he was able to dress himself, really…a bit of a shock, what with his past knowledge of his body smacking him in the face and telling him straight-up that he never had that on him. One moment he was taking off his shirt, and…
There it was.
But what was it?
A birthmark?
A scar?
Something else that he was overlooking?
Al looked down towards the bed with a soft sigh.
According to the information he had just received, and everything else that was going through his mind, and happening around him…
That mark did have something to do with what had happened before. That time when he was armor, and when he and his brother were traveling together.
---
"Winry? What's this mark on my chest mean?"
He should have realized that the smile she was giving him was forced, fake. But all he could do was bask in the warmth of it, and listen to the lilt of her voice:
"What are you talking about, Al? You've always had that."
---
He was so stupid. He should have looked into it more. Maybe snuck into the basement and grabbed Brother's old journals—the ones that Auntie had locked away in that chest with his old coat. There were some crowbars in the supply shed; sure, he'd have gotten yelled at for breaking the chest open, but he'd have at least had some clue as to figure out what in the world it was. He may have even learned this information sooner, instead of relying on 'him', Alfons, to tell him unwittingly, while trying to convince his idiot for a brother that there was more to where he was than just a hell or a nightmare conjured up out of his own crazy imagination.
Imagination.
Al wished that this was just his imagination.
These dreams, this information, his brother gone, Winry lying, Alfons's existence…Al nearly had a heart attack when he first saw Alfons without a shirt, looking down at himself with a sort of morbid shock and fascination…
What an imagination he had, though it was becoming increasingly evident that this wasn't imagination at all, but something else…the reality of which grasped him by the stomach with both hands, squeezing and squeezing while completely unwilling to let go.
Brother…would you want me to know this? Or would you have treated me the same way…? Would you have wanted me not to know, too?
His brother would have wanted him to know the truth. He had to have. To keep something like this from someone…
But if I was armor…and I'm now human…what happened to Brother? He's…where he is. But why is he there? How'd I get human again? Alfons mentioned something about a man named 'Scar', about a city called Lior…Kimbley…I became a bomb…
None of it made sense.
If he became a bomb, and then that red light enveloped him…what happened after that? One moment he was in this…Lior place, and then…the last thing Alfons and himself remember was him waking up in that strange auditorium…with Rose.
There had to have been a transition…
Transition from when, to when?
---
"So you dreamed about Al…and the last dream you had before you started dreaming about him in a flesh body was during Lior."
---
His brother made it sound like he was skeptical, or that something important had happened after that. Or even both.
What had happened?
---
"But Alchemy doesn't exist on this side! It's not even probable for your consciousness to go beyond the gate into Al's body. And for you to start dreaming about him right when Al got stuck into the armor…That…just…the souls of the dead on this side are what power Alchemy on the other, so for you to go beyond the gate into Al's body while dreaming doesn't make any sense. The only way a soul can transcend the Gate is if they die, and even then they're only used as energy for a transmutation."
---
Beyond the gate, and into the body of another. There was a Gate back then, wasn't there? He couldn't remember—his head was throbbing too much and his stomach was ready to come out of his mouth in thick, wet retches on the floor.
But if that was true, then…
So many questions.
With one answer, came the start of too many questions…
---
"That I'm what, Edward?"
"That you could be the Al of this world."
---
Was Alfons himself? No. He was his own sentient being. They looked the same, but everything about them was wrong. Alfons took more than Al ever would, and there were too many glaring differences…hair, eyes…
---
"This world isn't a reflection of your world...your world isn't a reflection of mine…but rather, they're both reflections of the Gate itself. The worlds are just two possibilities, what could have been. Two possibilities that materialized in the image of the Gate, which in a sense, support each other. Parallel worlds, if you want to call it that."
---
Parallel worlds…
But if that was the case, how did his brother…?
It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.
It hurt to think, it hurt to breathe, his head hurt, his body hurt, his heart hurt…
It hurt to think of how his brother got there. It hurt to think about how he became human again from that armor. It hurt to think about Alfons, and their connection. It hurt to think about Winry, and how much she actually knew of all this, and why she didn't bother telling him.
Why Auntie hadn't told him.
Why Teacher hadn't told him.
Why nobody else had thought to even give him an inkling of a clue as to what happened to him…why his body was so weak, why he was having so much trouble walking, why he couldn't speak, why he could hardly write without his hand twitching, and why he was the jarbled mess that he was right now. Even if it was hard to take, even if it was impossible for him to deal with, wouldn't it have been better if he knew, instead of never knowing at all?
They had lied to him.
All of them had.
That was why they kept giving him those looks. That was why they were all so particularly nice to him…that was why they treated him the way they did.
Because of the fact that he was armor…probably from when he had tried to transmute his mother.
He couldn't…he couldn't stand it.
If he saw another one of those pitying looks, he knew he would snap.
Especially after all this…
Al's fists were still clenched as he crawled out of bed, not even bothering to make the thing as he stumbled, wobbling, out of the room.
---
Resembool, 1924
---
Al stumbled down the stairs more than usual as he descended, earning a surprised gasp from Winry as she sat down at the breakfast table, as per usual. He could hear her footsteps thud up the stairs quickly towards him, and he didn't even bother moving as she took him by the arm, leading him down. The flush was still on his cheeks, and he could still feel his heart flutter from the warm-hot touch to his skin, but his mind was swirling so fast it was hard for him to enjoy that contact, even for the two and a half minutes that it lasted.
"…honestly, Al, if you needed help getting down, you should have told me! I would have helped you, you know that!"
Al said nothing, simply letting Winry guide him to his seat, even helping him in as he almost missed the thing twice.
Stupid body. Was this really what it was like to get used to a body again after not having one for so long? It…
Al wasn't sure exactly how to describe it.
"I don't want to bother you, Winry…" Al managed to say, even when Winry took her own seat near him. "You and Auntie already do so much for me."
That pained look on her face…
Guilt?
Al felt his stomach twist, despite himself.
He had to tell her.
He had to tell her, but…
That look.
It already made everything harder to bear…
---
Resembool, 1924
---
Name: Winry Rockbell
Age: 16
Nationality: Amestrian
Occupation: Automail Mechanic
---
It had been less than a year from the day that Ed disappeared, and Al returned. Over four months, actually, though Winry wouldn't tell anyone that she was keeping count. Granny had already told her that it was hopeless to look out the window, to wait and pine for someone who was definitely not going to come home.
"He had already made his choice," she would say, not even flicking a gaze up in her direction. "Now get away from that window or you're going to become a part of it."
But still her eyes would glance out the open window when they least expected them to, almost praying for that certain figure to go over the hill, sauntering towards the door mumbling something about broken automail and a stupid colonel. He'd fling the door open, growl, and her wrench would make hard contact with his head, and everything would be back to normal.
Normal.
It hadn't even been one bit of normal since he had left. Alphonse had come back, flesh and blood…but it was all wrong. His body was too small, his eyes were too large, too innocent. They were just like the Al that she had grown past all those years ago—the Al before he had decided to do something as crazy as try to bring back his mother. The Al when he was still innocent, before he had seen those horrible things with his brother.
The Al when he still cried over watching caterpillars die, took care of kittens behind everyone's backs, and was the first to be over when Den was sick. He hovered over that dog more than he hovered over people…
But he was supposed to be taller than her. He had been taller than her before…taller than her and Edward. He would often say that he would soon grow so tall that he'd be able to jump into the atmosphere and pull stars down for her—well. When he was younger, anyway. Once he got started with Alchemy he lost some of that childish imagination, though not as much as Edward did. Al always had the will to dream, and to look at things even if they weren't scientific.
But Edward. Edward was tough, Edward was strong. Even if nobody knew what to do, he'd think of something quickly, solving the problem sometimes with just sheer dumb luck.
When they couldn't find their way down the normal trodden path, Edward would just come and make a new one for them. For her and Al both.
What would he do, if he was her?
Would he be doing the same thing that she was now?
Al had lost all of his memories of those days—just moving in his new body was impossible, and it took months just for him to start walking normally without help, though even now he still had a wobble to his step and the tiniest quiver to his voice. He had tried training once, like he had most likely done with Edward and Miss Izumi, but he just ended up falling on his face on the ground. He tried several times to stand…trying again and again, but failing each time as his legs buckled under him. Near the end, he ended up crying with frustration, ready to start wailing when he realized that his legs had stopped working under his own weight.
Winry and Granny had banned him from training after that. At least not until he got used to his body enough to pick himself back up…
It was painful to watch.
It was painful to watch him. He would wobble down the stairs, day after day, and he would fight off her attempts to help him, even though she desperately wanted to. He would simply smile, shake his head and go down the stairs, sitting down like nothing was wrong.
But everything was wrong.
This situation…the way everything was going.
Alphonse was supposed to be human again, and the right age, damn it. And Edward was supposed to be there too, and then they would laugh just like they used to. Or at least, that was what she had hoped for. But reality was always more depressing than fantasy and she knew that. She had wanted Alphonse to suddenly peek out of his armor and say "Fooled ya!" more times than she could have counted back then. Just so she could hit him hard on the head and he'd feel it. So he'd cry. So she'd see his smile when he smiled at her, even though it was always evident in his voice, even when he did.
What would have happened, though…if she had gone and stopped them? If back then, she—
There was nothing you could have done about it. They wouldn't let you in—they didn't trust you enough to even get you inside their secret crazy plan…probably because they knew you'd try to stop them. Because they knew that you'd tell them it was crazy…
Again, when there was no path for them, Edward made a path, just like that. For better or for worse, he always knew what to do.
He would have always done what was best for Al…
And that was what she was doing, right?
---
"Al! Don't keep doing this! You'll get hurt! You don't have to push yourself so hard!"
"I do though, Winry. If I don't walk now, how am I ever going to find Brother and bring him back home?"
"Al, don't be ridiculous! Ed's—"
"Going to come back home to us one day, Winry. Trust me. He'll come home. If not now, if not a few years from now, he'll come home. I know it."
---
She hated to be a pessimist, but she knew Ed wasn't coming back. With the way he disappeared, with the way Al had come back…it would take a near-damn miracle in order for him to come back in once piece. Even an Edward Elric miracle couldn't get him out of this with only broken automail and a lopsided grin.
But everytime Al said it with such finality, it almost made her believe in it too.
And whenever he looked at her with that searching smile, trying to tell her that his brother was okay (she could somehow believe that, in the 'lack-of-common-sense-world-of-dumb-luck' that Edward Elric seemed to make himself quite at home in on a daily basis), her heart almost became undone. She would want to hold him and cry—cry and cry and cry…
---
"I can't cry!" she wailed, hugging her knees tighter, trying to avoid the worry in his eyes…
"Winry?"
His voice was gentle, even when he was a child, he somehow knew how to calm her—
If she was older and wiser, she would have known better than to look up into those eyes of his, which were looking at her with such warmth. How could he do it? Just a little boy, and he always knew how to look at her, or even how to smile, to make her tears dry—
"What?" Winry found herself snapping, trying to ignore the blush on her cheeks, or the irritation in her gut at how such a simple look could calm her down, much more than her Mom or Dad could ever do it…
"I'd cry too."
---
And when he'd ask about what happened to him, she had to work harder to prevent herself from sobbing.
"What is this mark on my body?"
"Who's that armor in the picture?"
"Why are you so happy to see me eat something?"
"Why don't you think that Brother will ever come back?"
Questions, questions…so many questions…
He most likely already had a good idea that something was off with her, too. He had asked her questions enough, and had probably seen her eyes. She couldn't help it—whenever his innocent voice would rise to that questioning pitch she knew so well, asking those difficult questions that nobody else around them was even willing to try to answer…
Was she doing the right thing?
She kept asking herself this, everytime he would look at her.
If she kept him from this, then he would grow up happy—or so that was what she wanted to think.
But…
---
"Winry…you know it's bad to lie, right?" Al asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
Winry sighed, huffing a bit as she turned away. "Al, I'm not lying to Gramma! I'm just…"
Al stuck out his lip stubbornly, crossing his arms. "You're lying. Lying isn't right."
---
…
She had to tell him.
She couldn't keep looking into that searching face anymore, her heart would twist and her stomach would turn—
"Al! What are you doing?! Honestly, Al, if you needed help getting down, you should have told me! I would have helped you, you know that!"
--She had to say something. Anything.
He was sitting down at the table now, accepting her help with an almost defeated look…one that only made her heart crumble and her eyes start to widen.
"Al…"
"Yes…?" He asked. But why was his voice so…hollow?
"Are you all right?"
As he looked up at her, she thought she saw his eyes brighten somewhat.
---
Resembool, 1924
---
"I'm…all right." Al had to cringe mentally at the lie he was already sending to her. But what was the use? She had already lied to him. Why did he feel the need to lie to her back, as if in some strange way it would make her feel better?
That worried look she was giving him wasn't helping.
"You don't look all right, Al."
He sighed.
"Sorry…"
"Why are you apologizing?"
Al sighed again.
"Sorry…"
"Al, why are you apologizing? What did you do wrong?"
What did he do wrong? The only word he could think of was 'sorry', and that wasn't even the word he wanted to say to her.
Why was he apologizing?
For being lied to?
For being kept from the truth, no matter how much he asked, pleaded, and begged for it to be given to him? No matter how much he tried to find anything out, there would be snags, roadblocks…he could never find his way through anything and yet somehow that was his fault?
Wasn't that something she was supposed to apologize for?
…somehow, Alphonse didn't think that that was the true meaning of his words.
But what else could…
Winry's eyes lowered towards the table, long hair obscuring her face even with the sunlight shining on it, making her skin and hair almost glow. Al couldn't see her expression, though somehow he wished he could…
"I…"
He stopped.
Winry let out a soft breath—her hair wisped forward, but still no sign of any real facial feature that his eyes could really focus on.
"Al…actually…to be honest…I should be the one apologizing to you."
---
Resembool, 1923
---
"Winry…?"
Winry didn't know whether or not to feel relieved at Alphonse's dazed, curious pronunciation of her name, and she ignored the sudden shiver that threatened to go down her spine at the sound.
She ignored the feelings welling up in her chest, and she swallowed hard.
"Al…I haven't exactly been honest with you, and I'm sorry. I should have been…but…"
She could do this. So long as she kept her gaze away from him and down towards the floor, she could do it.
"There's a lot that we haven't told you. I honestly don't know everything about what happened myself, but I feel that I should have told you about what had happened from the start, but I didn't. And I'm sorry."
"…"
"If you want, we can talk outside, or wherever you're comfortable."
"…"
"It's"
"Winry. It's okay."
The sound of a chair pulling out caught her attention, and Winry Rockbell's face snapped up, only to see Alphonse Elric on his feet, hands tense at his sides…
His smile was the smile of a boy who wasn't really smiling at all.
"Al…?"
"I already know."
Already knew? But how?
"Al…how did you…"
"It doesn't matter anymore, Winry." That edge. She had heard it once—it was in a hospital, his brother sitting in the hospital bed and a suit of armor, hulking over him…worst birthday ever for Ed, she was sure… "If you really wanted to tell me, you would have sooner."
Wait, no. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Al's smile didn't look like a smile as it was, but it was now fading right in front of her face…fading hard and fast and turning into something else…something in the guise of a smile but…
"That's not true. I really did want to tell you…I just…"
"Wanted 'what was best for me', right?"
Ouch. Just the sound of his voice seemed to cut…she was wondering if she could feel the blood trailing down her skin.
But something didn't feel right. Was this Al? The steely eyes, the fist she now saw clenched at his side, shaking…
"Al…you've gone through so much…isn't it important that you live normally…at least for a while? You're young yet…you don't have to figure everything out right now…"
She could feel the tears start to prickle her eyes. Prickle hard and want to fall down, but they were hovering on the edge, not quite there enough to fall down…but…
This wasn't fair.
He wasn't being fair to her, damn it…
"…young? I'm supposed to be one year younger than you, Winry. I'm not still 'young'."
"But"
"My body doesn't have anything to do with this," Al snapped. "You didn't want to tell me because you didn't know how. You don't think my brother will come back because you think something happened to him…I know something happened to him when I made the transfer from armor to a human body. I see him when I sleep, Winry. He's somewhere else. He's not here, and he's with someone who's just like me. Looks like me, has the same name, but we're nothing alike at all. I know that my brother's out there somewhere, and that there's more to me than I'm being told, and yet everyone at home, who I should trust…they all tell me lies."
"Lies?"
Is that all you think of me?
Winry took a step forward. Her stomach was in knots; swishing back and forth in her gut with enough force to knock her flat. There was something familiar bubbling in her chest, something she remembered and recognized, but couldn't really pinpoint, going up her chest, up her throat…almost burning in her mouth—
Now what was that?
"Al, what are you talking about? Listen to yourself!"
Ah, yes.
Anger.
Good old fashioned anger.
It didn't seem to knock Al aback, though; in fact, it seemed to make him take a step forward.
He said nothing, however.
"Lies? You think that's all we do? Al, like it or not, we didn't tell you because we didn't know how you'd react to the news if we'd said something! I admit it wasn't right to lie to you, but at the time we didn't know what else to do!"
"You could've—"
"Are you sure you would have agreed to that?! Your brother's missing, you're in a younger body, you're still getting used to said body, and we're trying our best to make sure you adapt to it, and you accuse us of not being trustworthy?!"
"But I heard"
"Heard?! Al, you're seeing your brother in a dream, and you believe that those are real! I know you miss your brother, but listen to yourself! Maybe"
"But he told me, Winry! Alfons told Brother about the armor! Brother thinks this world he's in is just a dream—a nightmare—if we figure out how to go to the other side, we can help him"
"There's nobody to help, Al! If Ed's still here, he's probably running around somewhere trying to find you…IN. THIS. WORLD. Not in some magical realm conjured up by your imagination!"
"It's not my imagination, Winry! I saw him! I saw both of them! Alfons looks just like me, but isn't me! He's me on the other side of the Gate, and I can see the world from his dreams! He's trying to help Brother go to the other side…"
"Al…that's…"
"Maybe this really is all true, but you're just not telling me. Maybe all you're doing is lying to me again…"
Again?
Winry held her breath. Tried to count to ten. Tried to think…tried to calm down the feelings bubbling in her gut. The hurt, the frustration, the irritation…She swallowed hard, and tried to even out her voice as she spoke again:
"You think we're untrustworthy. You think we were keeping things from you. You think that we're doing so much to hurt you, but Al, who are the ones taking care of you? Who are the ones keeping a roof over your head, and keeping you fed? If we didn't care, we wouldn't be doing this, and you know it."
Calmness would work. Calmness and reason always worked for Al. Not necessarily for Ed, but for Al it had always been the right answer…the right way to do things…
But…
Al was now turned fully towards her, fists clenched, eyes lowered…His silver eyes weren't just steely now, but flaring…blazing…looking at him now, it was like he had inherited much more from his older brother than even she was willing to admit. She ignored the flutter in her chest and focused on the angry feelings, swirling again and again in her stomach, rising to her throat and down to her stomach again. Up and down, up and down…
So much for calmness and reason working to calm Al down.
"I NEVER ASKED YOU TO!" The younger boy yelled. "It's not like I wanted you to take care of me! You look at me with such pity, telling me that you want to take care of me and you want to make sure that I'm all right…you say that you want to do things for me, but are you really?! Winry, you…you just want to see Brother again, don't you? It isn't about me…it was never about me…"
If it wasn't for the sadness in Al's eyes, the bit of despair that sat there behind the fury…
If it wasn't for that, Winry would have done more than just slap him.