Hey, guys! Happy Monday! It's a new week so here's a new chapter to celebrate! I wanted to thank you all again for all your support. Every follow, favorite, and review means so much to me! You guys rock so much! I also wanted to let ya'll know that I'm on various social media sites. It's all the same username, but sometimes the hyphen is absent. My tumblr is kyotocaitlyn and if you go to my blog, all my other social media usernames are there on the right hand side. You have to click a little grey round button to find them, though. I wanted to let you guys know that so if you want a different way to contact me, you have it! Plus, my Spotify (Caitlyn Renay Warren) has a playlist devoted to Fullmetal Alchemist and I listen to it when I write this story. So if you wanted to know some of my inspiration for the story, there it is! Anyway, I'll quit rambling. Enjoy and see you Friday!
It's nine in the morning and Al's getting discharged from the hospital. He's pretty psyched to go home. We all are. We've been in the hospital for, like, ever. I'm just glad Al's finally awake. I really missed him the last week. Yesterday after school Winry, Ling, and Mei all came by to visit Al. He was happy to see them, though I'm not sure what they were told. I know that Winry was told Al got sick but I don't know what anyone told Ling and Mei. They didn't seem nervous or anything, so I doubt anyone told them anything weird or scary. I mean, it's not like Al attempted suicide or anything. It just sort of looks like he did. Dad probably just told them what he told Winry; that Al got sick. Vague, but no one will ask any questions. Probably. I figure that Al will tell Winry the truth eventually or maybe Granny will, but who knows. I know I won't tell her. She's already freaked out and worried about him. If I told her that it was an accidental overdose that sent Al to the hospital, it would only make her worry about us more and I want to avoid that if I can. Besides, I think Al should be the one to tell people what happened, not me. Anyways, the discharge stuff is finally done, so Dad and I help Al out to the car. He can walk, but his legs are still pretty weak. We get to the car and Al lies down in the back. We haven't eaten yet, so Dada asks if we're up for some breakfast. Al says he's not hungry, so we just decide to hit the drive thru. We stop at the first McDonald's we see and get their crappy breakfast. We drive home, Al sleeping soundly in the backseat.
Al really started to feel better as the weekend went on. By Sunday night, he was almost feeling like himself again and said he was ready to go back to school. I'm happy he's going to school today 'cause school's lonely without him. Not that I was at school that much last week, either, though. Even though I was physically present sometimes, my mind was really someplace else. Now I can finally give school my full attention. Well, the fullest attention I can give it at this point. It's Monday morning, so it's pancake day. I can tell Al's nervous about going back to school, but pancake day is a good day to return on. It's safe and familiar and it'll make him feel better about the whole thing. I know it makes me feel better, anyway. I put on my backpack and walk down the stairs. Al's waiting for me, a weak smile on his face. I smile back and we talk with our eyes. He's scared and starting to think he's not ready to go back to school. I tell him he's ready but he can wait if he wants to. It's entirely up to him. Dada and I aren't gonna push him to do something he's not ready for.
We drive to our IHOP and Al has Chico on his lap. Dad doesn't say anything about it as we wait for our pancakes to arrive. Usually, Dad comments about Chico or Lamby in public but lately he's loosened up. Al's anxiety has been crazy lately. Dad doesn't want to make Al feel like he's in trouble for carrying Chico around, nor does he want Al to feel like he's disappointed in him. I know Dada's super proud of Al. Al's been making good progress lately. He can't control what his anxiety does. If he could, he would. Believe me. We get our pancakes and Al actually eats his. Last time he couldn't 'cause he thought they tasted weird. When we're done, Dad pays and he drives us to school. Winry meets us at the steps and hugs Al really tight. She was really worried about him and is thrilled to see him up and at school again. We walk to class together and I stare at Winry almost the whole time. It's like my eyes are drawn to her face whenever I see her now. It's 'cause she's pretty. I still can't decide if she's been pretty the whole time and I'm only just now noticing or if she just got that way. Puberty, you know? Either way, I know she's pretty. I'll probably ask Al if he thinks Winry's pretty, too. He may not have an answer though or he may not notice that Winry's pretty the same way I do. Al's clueless about that stuff.
The final bell rings and I wait for Al by my locker. He walks up to me, Chico tucked under his arm. I ask him what's wrong and he tells me that school's too loud and crowded. His anxiety's on the fritz and his head hurts. I take his hand and guide him outside. Once we're outside, I give him his medicine so he can start to feel better. Dad's running late, so we sit outside and Winry ends up joining us. She sits down and I notice how her skirt falls on her legs. I blush and look up at the sky instead. Why was I looking there? She probably doesn't want me of all people to look there. I mean, we've been friends since we were in diapers. Hell, we bathed together when we were little! She doesn't want me looking at her that way, right? Right? I shake my head, Al and Winry talking. I guess Granny's running late, too.
"Where's Granny?" I blurt, interrupting their conversation. Winry shrugs.
"She's coming," she replies. "Difficult customer at the shop."
"Oh," I say.
"Where's Dada?" Al asks. "He's really late. If he doesn't get here soon, we'll be late for therapy."
"He didn't mention working late," I say.
"Wanna call him?" Winry asks, handing me her phone. I nod and take it.
"Yeah, sure," I reply, standing up. I ruffle Al's hair as I find his number and wait. And wait. And wait.
"Hello."
"Dada -"
"You've reached the voicemail of Victor von Hohenheim-Elric." I groan, realizing I got his voicemail. "I'm not available to take your call right now. Leave me a message and I'll -" I hang up, cutting Dad's voicemail off.
"What happened?" Al asks. "Did the call drop?"
"Nah," I reply. "Voicemail."
"Oh," Al breathes. "Try his office phone."
"Yeah, okay," I agree, dialing. I wait, impatiently tapping my foot on the concrete steps.
"Hello, you've reached the office of Dr. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. I am out of the office and unable to take your call." I groan again and hang up.
"Damn voicemail," I grumble.
"Today's not lab day, right?" Winry asks.
"Right," I confirm, handing her phone back to her and sitting back down. "Tuesdays and Thursdays are lab days."
"Where is he?" Al asks nervously, gripping Chico so tight his knuckles are white.
"Don't worry, Al," I say. "Dada's okay. He's probably just tied up."
"Granny can take you guys to the doctor," Winry offers. "But we probably can't bring you home."
"That's fine," I say. "Granny can call Dad and tell him where we are." I can see Granny's car and I stand up. "Well, Al," I sigh, offering him my hand. He takes it and I pull him to his feet before saying, "Dada better get us something super good for dinner since we're gonna be late to therapy." Al grins weakly and nods.
"Yeah," he agrees. "Like, Olive Garden or something."
"C'mon," I tease, "You can do better than the garden."
"Uh, Shogun?" Al tries, laughing lightly. "Or Buffalo Wild Wings? Oh! Red Lobster! That's fancy."
"There we go," I say with a chuckle, getting in the backseat of Granny's car. Al slides in after me and Winry gets in the front.
"Can you take them to the doctor, Gran?" Winry asks as Granny drives away from school.
"Eh, sure," she replies. "It's Dr. Hughes, right boys?"
"Yeah," I say. "Dada's late and won't answer his phone."
"I'll text him to tell him where you are so he doesn't panic," Granny tells me.
"Thanks, Granny," Al and I say in unison. Winry turns around in her seat, a smirk on her face.
"What's with the look?" I question.
"Are you going to the shelter tomorrow?" Winry asks.
"Uh, yeah," Al replies. "I mean, if my head's not threatening to explode."
"You gonna pick up another cat?" She teases. Al shakes his head, chuckling.
"I'm not gonna make any promises," he answers.
"Captain's a good cat," I say. "He just doesn't like you, Winry." Winry sticks her tongue out at me.
"He just needs to warm up to her, Brother," Al tells me. He turns to Winry and says, "He'll like you soon, promise. I know it hurt your feelings that he avoided you."
"Oh, Al," Winry sighs. "He didn't hurt my feelings. Ed told me that Picard was abused by an owner. I know he's a nice cat."
"He is," Al says eagerly. I've noticed that Al really likes to talk about Picard. It's like the cat is his kid or something. All I know is that cat's giving him a new reason to move forward, so Picard's great in my book. "He likes to sit next to you when you read and he always uses his box and doesn't mooch food. He likes to be pet and held and only meows when he's had enough. He hardly bites or scratches. He only does that when he's scared."
"Sounds like you really like this cat, Al," Granny comments.
"Well, yeah," Al answers. "I understand him." Yeah. Al understands the cat. But the craziest thing is - Picard seems to understand Al, too. He knows when Al's in distress and knows to come get me or Dad. He sits on Al's lap when he's anxious and stays there until he calms down. It's strange 'cause they've only known each other a couple weeks but looking at them you'd think Al's had this cat for years. But he hasn't. It's weird.
"Well, I'm glad that you guys adopted," Winry says. "Ling and Mei did all that hard work to keep the shelter open so people can adopt."
"I hope it actually stays open," I mumble.
"Why would you say that?" Winry asks.
"It's just nobody's adopting animals right now," I explain. "Like, the way Mei put it is when they do adoption at PetCo on Saturday, they bring, like, twenty or thirty animals and only five or ten get adopted. Then on Monday morning there's a box of kittens on their door step. There's so few adoptions during the week, so no matter what they do they're always full."
"It's not good for the animals," Al adds softly. "A full shelter leads to a lot of disease and injuries. If something doesn't change, they could close in a couple of years."
"Aren't Ling and Mei's parents involved?" Winry asks. "If they are, why don't they just buy the shelter a new building or something?"
"Wouldn't that be nice," I scoff. "I don't think their parents care about it at all. Their mom's not a nice person, at all, and seems to hate the shelter. I don't know about their dad. But it really seems like they only helped keep it open to keep Ling and Mei happy or to shut them up. Not sure which one. I don't know."
"In theory, their parents could always donate a bigger building or something," Al continues, "but the way their mom was talking the other day I don't see that happening any time soon."
"Oh, geeze," Winry groans. "If the shelter ends up closed in the end what was the point?"
"I bet Ling and Mei will be asking that question if the shelter does go under," Al says.
"Hey, Al," I begin, "maybe you could raise awareness for the shelter."
"What do you mean?" Al asks.
"Well, you know a lot about the problems the shelter has," I explain. "Maybe the next time science club meets, you could tell them how bad the situation at the shelter really is." Al blushes instantly.
"Oh, I don't know," Al replies, his voice cracking. "I'm not good at talking in front of people. Or in a group of people. Or to people. I'm barely a person, Ed."
"Yeah, but you could help," I insist. Al fumbles with his shirt, his eyes drifting toward the window.
"Maybe you could do it," Al mumbles.
"No," I tell him. He looks at me and I say, "The shelter's your thing, Al. Yeah, I go with you now but eventually, I won't have to. I think that if anyone can get people to care about the shelter, it's you." He blinks, clearly not sure about what I said.
"It's true," Winry agrees, "you care so much about it. People would see how much you care and eventually, that'll inspire them to care, too."
"I don't know," Al says nervously. "What if I can't get people to care? Or what if I do and the shelter still closes?"
"Then you'll know you gave it your best shot," I tell him. "Al, sometimes succeeding isn't what's important. Sometimes the trying part is."
"Yeah," Winry agrees. "Ally, we'll help you in any way we can but the shelter's your baby. You and Ling and Mei can save it together."
"Guys, I can't," he protests weakly. "I want to, but I can't. I can't talk in front of people. I can only barf in front of people. I can't save anything when I'm throwing up."
"You think too little of yourself," Winry sighs sadly, turning to face the windshield. "You have what it takes, Al." Al looks at his lap, his lips twitching. I can't tell if he wants to say something or if he wants to cry. Maybe it's both. I've been trying to help Al be more independent lately. To take risks. To do things on his own. But every time I try, it feels like Al shoots me down. Maybe he's not ready to be independent. Maybe he's scared. But I'm not gonna let him turn his back on something he wants to do - something he thinks is important.
"I'll help you," I tell him. He looks over at me and I say, "But you gotta take the lead. You tell me what you need and I'll do my best to do it."
"You mean it?" Al asks.
Hell, yeah," I reply. "It's important to you, right?" Al nods, so I say, "Then it's important to me, too, Al. We're a team." I ball a fist and hold it out for him. Al grins and taps it with his own.
"Yeah," he says, "a team." Al and me, we're a team. We always have been, ever since we were super little. And it's that comfort that we're a team that keeps me going some days. I know it's the same for Al, too. We love being part of a team. We have someone who always has our back all the time. We have someone looking out for us. It's nice. There's no one else I would want watching my back than Al. "Brother?" His voice sounds strained and my brow furrows.
"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly.
"I love you." Tears start running down his face and he tries desperately to rub them off. I watch him, unsure of why he's breaking down now. Winry turns toward the backseat, her eyes widening when she realizes Al's crying. Her mouth opens and I give her the kill gesture. She glares at me and I try to tell her with my eyes that I'll take care of it. Winry doesn't really speak my eye language, but she's pretty perceptive. Winry crosses her arms, fuming, but keeps her mouth shut.
"I love you, too," I finally say. Al trembles violently, unable to stop the tears from falling. I rub his back and say, "C'mon, don't cry. What's wrong?"
"I don't know," he answers, "but I can't stop crying now." I nod. That happens sometimes. Sometimes when we cry, even if it's for no reason, we can't stop. It happens to everyone. I'm not sure why sometimes the tears keep coming even though you want them to stop. My only guess is that maybe there's a reason you're crying and your head doesn't know why. But your heart - oh, your heart knows. Your heart and your mind know a lot of the same things, but they also know different things. So, your heart knows when you need to cry, even if your mind isn't so sure. And Al's been through a lot lately. He's just got a lot of tears.
"It's okay," I say softly. "I love you, too, Al. I love you."
"You boys okay?" Granny asks. I nod.
"Yeah," I answer. "Al just can't get the tears to stop." Granny nods and Winry stays silent. The ride is quiet the rest of the way to the building. Unlike Al's tears that don't seem to run out, everyone in the car runs out of words.
Granny drops us off at the front and assures me that she texted Dada. He'll pick us up when we're done. Al and I walk in, Al still drying his face. He's not really crying anymore, just kinda pathetically sniveling instead. We check in and I apologize for being late. The secretary says it's okay; Dr. Hughes is running late today, too. Elicia's sick, so he spent the morning scrambling with Gracia until Gracia cleared her schedule so she could stay home. So, all his afternoon appointments are pushed back while a lot of the morning appointments got canceled. Glad I'm not a morning appointment. I need my schedule to stay consistent or I freak out. So, therapy has to happen at about the same time every Monday and Friday. Al and I sit down, some of the other kids migrating over to us. There's this one seven-year-old boy who really likes us. He mostly sits on one of our laps while the other kids fight for our attention. He likes Al the best 'cause Al's good at just being still. I need to move, so I end up on the floor with the kids more than Al does. That little kid walks over and crawls right into Al's lap. Al smiles weakly and pats his head. The other kids all beg for me to play with them, so I do. I get on the floor and play with them, their parents watching them from the other side of the room.
"Ed, Al?" Dr. Hughes calls from the hallway. "You here, boys?"
"Yeah," I call back, standing up. The kids all whine loudly and slump off to their parents to bug them. Al lifts the quiet little boy off his lap and waves at him.
"See you next week, Carter," Al says. Carter waves shyly at him before hurrying off to his mom. Al takes my hand and we walk over to Dr. Hughes. We greet him briefly before walking back to his office together. It's been a while since we've had therapy together. A couple weeks probably doesn't seem like a long time to most people, but to me and Al it's almost a life time. We sit down and Dr. Hughes grabs his clip board before sitting, too.
"So," he begins, "how was your weekend?"
"Fine," I say. "Al got to go home, so we spent the weekend together."
"What did you do?"
"Well," I begin, "nothing special. Al was sick until Sunday, so we mostly watched Netflix and did puzzles. You know, stuff Al wanted to do."
"Sounds relaxing," Dr. Hughes comments. "How was school today?"
"Boring," I answer and I wonder why Al hasn't answered yet. Dr. Hughes must be wondering that, too, 'cause looks at Al and asks,
"How about you, Al?" Al flinches like he wasn't expecting to be addressed and shrugs.
"It was fine, I guess," he replies, his voice really high pitched. "I don't know."
"It was your first day back in a while, right?" Dr. Hughes asks.
"Uh, yeah," Al says nervously. "I haven't been to school since..." Al trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence. The day he got beaten up in a hallway is something that's been giving him nightmares. I hope he'll talk about it. I think he needs to.
"Anything you kids want to talk about?" Dr. Hughes asks us. I wait; wait for Al to speak up. Wait for Al to talk about things that are bothering him. But as the seconds tick by, he never opens his mouth. He squirms in his seat like he has to pee, but never says anything. I sigh and shake my head.
"You sure?" Dr. Hughes presses. I nod, Al still dancing in his seat. "Well, how about we talk about what happened a couple Wednesdays ago? I'm sure that must have been very scary for both of you."
"Yeah," I begin. "I thought he was dead." Al whimpers and I can tell he doesn't want to talk about this. But I do. So, now I'm debating on whether or not I'm gonna keep going. Dr. Hughes, though, seems to catch on to Al's distress.
"Hey, you okay, buddy?" He's using his gentle voice; the voice that I know makes Al feel safe. Al shakes his head.
"No," he whimpers. "I want to go home."
"Do you feel okay?" I ask. Al shakes his head again, rubbing at his eyes desperately.
"I want Dada," he whines. "I don't feel good. I wanna go home."
"Dada's not here, Al," I remind him gently. "We have to stay here until therapy's over."
"Al," Dr. Hughes says softly, "You sure there's nothing you want to talk about?" He shudders and lowers his head.
"I didn' mean to," he whimpers. "I didn't."
"No one blames you," Dr. Hughes tells him. "But what happened was scary for everyone. Your father and brother thought they lost you."
"We almost did," I interject. "If I had gotten there a second later, you could have stopped breathing or thrown up and choked on it or something."
"I'm sorry," Al says miserably, not looking at either of us. "I wouldn't do anything like that on purpose. I wouldn't put Dada and Brother through that on purpose. My head hurt so bad and I just wanted to sleep."
"But you almost died! " I explode. Suddenly, I'm angry. I'm furious. And I don't know why. "You should have gotten me or Dada to help you but you didn't! And you almost died! I almost lost you! How could you do that to me?!" Al blinks at me and I stand up. I grumble under my breathe and start pacing.
"Brother," Al says softly. "It was an accident."
"Shut up! " I snap. "You didn't even think! You just... ugh! You were selfish, that's what it is! You didn't want to ask us for help to protect your pride! You were selfish and you almost died 'cause of it! Damn it, Al!" My chest's heaving as Al and Dr. Hughes stare at me. Al's lip quivers and he lowers his head.
"Do you blame me?" He asks quietly.
"Hell, yeah, I blame you!" I yell. "You attempted suicide after you promised you wouldn't! You lied to me!"
"I didn't lie!" Al cries, tears rolling down his face. "It was an accident! My mind was cloudy and I didn't even think about asking for help! You know that!"
"Do I? " I question harshly. "Little convenient that it's an accident, Al!" Al stares at me, hurt washing over his face.
"I..." He struggles, "I-I didn't lie. I'm not a liar. I didn't lie. I didn't." Dr. Hughes turns to me, his gentle eyes starting to calm me down.
"Ed, I want you to take some deep breaths with me," he instructs. I obey, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth with him. I slowly calm down and guilt crashes over me like a tidal wave. I make it a point not to yell at Al. She yelled at him constantly for seven years. He can't take it anymore. I know he can't. And I broke a personal rule. I yelled at him, accused him of being a liar, and blamed him for what happened. I know it was an accident. I trust him. So, why'd I say all that?
"Al," I say, licking my lips, "Al, I'm sorry." Al whimpers, hiding his face in Chico as I struggle to apologize. "I know you didn't mean to. I was just so scared and I guess it turned into me being mad at you."
"Ed, do you blame yourself?" Dr. Hughes asks. I nod.
"Yeah," I say. "I do. 'Cause I should have heard him get up that night so I could have stopped him."
"Edward, you can't blame yourself for not waking up with him every time he gets up," Dr. Hughes points out. "What matters is that you found him when he needed you and kept him safe. And he's alive because of it." I blink. I guess that's true. Al's not dead. He's sitting right in front of me and I exploded at him. I made him cry. All 'cause I was mad at myself for... Well, for not being omnipresent, I guess. I nod at Dr. Hughes and walk over to Al.
"Ally," I say gently. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know you didn't mean to do it. I know it was an accident and I don't blame you. I shouldn't have said what I said." Al doesn't move. He continues to hide behind Chico and I reach out for him. I pull his head into my chest and cradle him there, trying desperately to communicate just how sorry I am. I feel awful. I shouldn't have said what I said. It wasn't Al's fault. It wasn't my fault, either. It was nobody's fault. It was an accident.
"It's okay," I whisper to him, "I won't yell again, I promise." Finally, Al adjusts Chico and wraps his arm around me. He holds on to me tight and I pet his hair. We hug for a while before he pulls away and wipes his face.
"You okay?" I ask. Al nods.
"I'm okay," he tells me.
"Ed, do you feel better now that's off your chest?" Dr. Hughes asks. I nod.
"Yeah," I say. "I guess I had more feelings about it that I knew about."
"Brother has a lot of feelings," Al comments.
"I suppose that's true," Dr. Hughes chuckles. "Got anything you want to talk about, Al?" Al shrugs.
"Eh," he says with a shrug. "I guess. That Friday I got hurt was awful and I wasn't in a good state of mind last time I was here to really talk about it."
"Okay," Dr. Hughes says. "Then talk. I'll listen."
"I just... Well, I... Do I have a target on my back?" Al asks. "It feels like people know that they can get away with things - that I won't do anything to them when they bully me. I don't know. Is there something wrong with me? Why do they pick on me? I know I'm small so am I annoying or something?"
"You're not annoying, Al," Dr. Hughes assures him. "And there's nothing wrong with you."
"Then why?" Al asks miserably. "Why do they mess with me?"
"There are many reasons that people bully other people," Dr. Hughes begins. "A lot of the time, it's because they are having trouble at home or something like that and take it out on others. They also tend to pick on people they know won't stand up for themselves." Al's brow furrows before his eyes widen like he's realized the answer to all life's problems or something.
"I'm a doormat," Al breathes. "I... I let people walk all over me 'cause I won't say anything."
"You're not a doormat," Dr. Hughes tells him, "but you do have the tendency to stay quiet instead of standing up for yourself. Those kids know that as long as they're careful, they won't get caught because you won't tell anyone. Al, how long have those kids bullied you?" Al shrugs.
"I don't know," he admits. "They've been messing with me since the beginning of the school year. It's always someone, though. I just never realized why. I'm a coward."
"That's not true," I blurt. Al looks at me and I say, "You're braver than me in a lot of ways, Al. It's those kids who are cowards. They only pick on you 'cause they know they won't get caught. It's their fault, not yours."
"Ed's right," Dr. Hughes agrees. "You're brave, Al - braver than you give yourself credit for."
"But, Dr. Hughes, I don't stand up for myself 'cause I'm always scared. How do I learn how to do that even when I'm scared? I usually let Brother take care of me, so I don't know how."
"Well, Al, it's all about making little changes that have a big impact," Dr. Hughes begins. "If you want to stand up for yourself, you have to train yourself to speak when you've been wronged. You have to speak out and not wait for someone to speak for you. You have the comfort of knowing that when you're incapable of doing so, your brother will. It's not about doing everything on your own. It's about doing some things by yourself and knowing when to rely on others. Ed's your advocate when you can't be, so try not to push him away when you're experimenting with being more independent."
"I'd never do that," Al says, "not after what we've been through." I grin.
"I'd never do that," I tell him. "I'm gonna help you learn to stand up for yourself. We'll do it as a team." Al nods, a smile spreading across his face. He extends a fist toward me and I tap mine against it.
"Best team there is," Al says, a smile on his face. I smile back, feeling a lot better than I did earlier today.
The rest of the session went well. Al and I got a lot off our chests that had been building up for a while. Now that I know Al's been bullied all year, I feel like maybe I can do something about it. I know that he needs to stand up for himself but he's still my baby brother. I have to do what I can to protect him. We walk out of the waiting room and Dada's not here. Dr. Hughes calls what I'm guessing his his last patient for the day into his office and we sit down. Dad's just late. That's all. We sit here, the kids all fighting for our attention. We play with them for a while before some of them leave to go home or get called back to see their therapist. I sigh and check my watch; it's almost five and there's no sign of Dad. I can tell Al's getting anxious when Carter appears from behind a wall. He smiles shyly at us before walking over to Al. He crawls into Al's lap, his mother watching. She walks over, a smile on her face.
"Carter, sweetie, we need to go now," she says gently. Carter doesn't budge, so his mother turns to me. "Where's your father, Ed?" I shrug.
"Beats me," I reply. "He didn't pick us up from school and I haven't seen him since this morning."
"Do you boys need a ride home?" She asks. I shake my head as Al shows Carter various toys on the ground.
"No," I answer. "We don't want to worry Dada. He's coming to get us. He's just late."
"If you're sure," she says. "Carter, c'mon. You'll see Al next week." Carter nods and gets off Al's lap. He takes his mother's hand before waving at Al. Al waves back, a smile on his face.
"Bye, Carter," he says. Carter grins and his mother escorts him out. More and more people are beginning to leave and I know the office is gonna close soon. Al glances over at me and asks, "Brother? Where's Dada?"
"Maybe a disaster happened at school today," I say, trying not to worry him. "Maybe a fume hood blew up." Al chuckles weakly.
"Yeah, maybe," he says. "Or maybe Dada forgot about us."
"Nah, he didn't," I say, standing up. I stretch and say, "Dad probably just ran into some issues at work. Nothing to worry about, Al." Al stands, too.
"Can we go see if Dad's outside?" Al asks. I can tell he's getting anxious about it, so I nod.
"Sure," I reply. I take his hand and we walk outside. The sun's beginning to set and it's chilly. Al shivers, pulling his arms closer around his middle.
"C'mon, Dada," he whispers. "I wanna go home."
"I'm starving," I complain loudly. People are filing out of the office and my heart begins to beat kinda funny. What if Dada really did forget about us? What would happen? Neither of us has a cell phone. We can't call him or Granny to come get us and the office will be locked soon. I glanced backward and sigh.
"We should call Dad," I say. Al nods and we walk back inside. I walk up to the secretary and ask, "Can I use your phone?" She nods and I dial Dad's office phone first. Like this afternoon, though, I get his voicemail. I leave a message and hang up. I try his cell phone only to get the voicemail again. So, I leave another message and hand the receiver back to the secretary.
"Why won't he answer?" Al asks worriedly. I shrug, glancing around at the empty waiting room.
"I don't know," I reply. Al goes pale and I take his hand again. "Don't worry," I tell him, "Dada will come." Al nods and we go outside again. There's a bench, so we sit on it, waiting. A few minutes pass, the sun getting lower and lower as we wait for Dada to come get us.
"Boys?" I look up and see Dr. Hughes standing nearby.
"Hey," I greet.
"What are you still doing here?" He asks, puzzled.
"Dad hasn't come to get us yet," I explain.
"Really?" Dr. Hughes questions. "Hold on, he usually stays during therapy. Why didn't he today?"
"It's 'cause he didn't bring us," I tell him. "Granny dropped us off today 'cause Dada never showed up to pick us up from school."
"Do you need a ride home?" Dr. Hughes asks.
"Yeah, but what about Dad?" I ask. "We don't want to leave and not have a way to tell him where we are."
"You can use my phone," Dr. Hughes offers. "you can call him on the way home so he knows that you're both safe and at home." I nod.
"Okay," I say, standing. "C'mon, Al. Let's go home." Al nods.
We should call Granny, too," Al says. "Dada might have asked her to pick up after she's done at the garage."
"Good plan," I tell him. "Don't want to worry Granny, either." Dr. Hughes walks us to his car and once we're inside he hands me his phone from the front seat. I don't want to sit in the front when Al's so freaked out. He's handling it really well, but I can tell he's super anxious. I dial Dada's number and get his voicemail for the third time today. I leave him a message explaining that Dr. Hughes drove us home and hang up. I then dial the garage's number and wait.
"Rockbell Automotive, how can I help you?"
"Hey, Granny? It's Ed."
"Oh, Ed," she says. "What's going on?"
"Dada never came to pick us up," I explain.
"Oh, God, that man," she grumbles. "Do you need me to come and get you?"
"No," I say. "Dr. Hughes is taking us home. I just didn't want you to worry or come to get us and us not be there."
"Well, that makes one of you," Granny says gruffly. My brow furrows.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Hohenheim told me this afternoon that he had a meeting with the chemistry department head and some research guys," Granny tells me. "He didn't even know what it was about. Later, he texted me and told me he had news, but didn't tell me if it was good news or bad news. So, since then I've been trying to get a hold of him and I've been worried sick about him because he won't answer his damn phone."
"D'you think he got offered a research grant?" I ask, anxiety rising up in me like puke.
"Maybe," Granny replies. "That might be where he is. He also might be trying to decide if he wants to take it."
"Oh, if he got offered a grant I know there's no chance in hell he doesn't want it," I tell her. "He probably can't decide if he should take it because... Well, 'cause of me and... me and Al." I pause, guilt washing over me. Al and I are holding Dada back. Dad's a brilliant scientist who's well known in his field. He's published lots of papers and has done some great research. But 'cause of us, 'cause of everything that's happened, Dada cant do what he loves to do. Because of me, he's stuck.
"Don't blame yourself, Ed," Granny says. "Your father loves you very much. He doesn't do research anymore because he loves you, not because you hold him back. You and Al mean more to him than his career. Don't let him fool you, Ed - he loves people more than he loves his work. I mean that."
"Yeah," I reply, not convinced, "okay."
"Have him text me when you see him," she instructs.
"I will," I assure her.
"Bye, Ed," she says.
"Yeah, bye," I reply, hanging up. I hand the phone back to Dr. Hughes and sigh.
"Brother?"
"What?"
"Is Dada going to go away?" Al asks.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "It's been so long since he's done research. I think he's probably itching for some. I have this feeling that if he did get a grant, he's gonna take it. That's why he's not around today; he can't face us."
"I hope you're wrong," Al tells me sadly.
"Me, too," I agree. I don't think Al and I could handle it if Dada went away. Actually, I know that I couldn't handle it if Dad went away. As mixed as my feelings might be I do know one thing; I need him. I still have this childish fantasy of him as Superman. He protects me. And if he goes away, I'll get hurt. We both will.
Dr. Hughes drops us off at home. Dada's car isn't here. Al and I walk inside and turn on the lights. Al walks upstairs to put his stuff in our room and I walk into the kitchen. There's a not on the fridge and I pick it up;
Boys,
Dinner's in the fridge. Just heat it up when you get home. Sorry I've been gone all day. Promise I'll explain tonight. If you don't see me before you go to bed, I'll explain at breakfast. Ed, make sure Al does his homework and I want you both in bed no later than eleven. I don't want you to worry, boys. Everything's fine. Promise I'll explain as soon as I see you. Love you both.
Dada
"Well, that was vague," I mutter, opening the fridge. The light turns on, revealing a bag of food from Red Lobster. That's fancy. I pull it out, staring at a bottle of wine in the fridge. For some reason, I kinda want some. I've never had alcohol before. I wonder what it tastes like. I pull it out and close the fridge. I preheat the oven and open the bottle. I sniff it and grimace. It doesn't smell that good. It smells like bread mixed with grapes. Gross. But my curiosity's been peaked. I grab Al's cup from the cabinet and pour a little of the wine in the cup. I raise it to my lips and sip it, gagging as it goes down. It tastes horrible and burns as it goes down.
"Ugh," I moan, "That was nasty."
"What was nasty?" Al asks, walking in. He put on his pajamas. I show him the wine bottle and his brow furrows.
"I was curious," I explain, putting the bottle back in the fridge. There's still some wine in the cup so I shove it at Al. He blinks and I say, "Try it if you want." Al takes the cup and smells the wine. His face turns sour and he lowers the cup.
"Eww," he says. "Does it taste better than it smells."
"No," I laugh. "It tastes like someone liquefied bread, added artificial grape flavor, and that sour stuff on Sour Patch Kids. It burns when it goes down. Can't believe Dada likes this stuff." Al grins and drinks what's left in the cup. His body lurches forward and he starts coughing.
"Oh, gosh," he gags, "that's disgusting." I laugh at him and nod.
"Told you," I say. "But now we can say we've tried it."
"There has to be alcohol that tastes better than this," Al says, rinsing his cup. "Otherwise, people wouldn't drink it."
"There probably is," I agree. "Maybe something citrus-y? Or with cherries? I don't know. I do think people mix alcohol with stuff like soda and juice, so maybe that's why people like it." Al walks to the fridge and gets the milk and chocolate syrup.
"Want some, Brother?" He asks.
"You know I hate milk," I remind him. He shuts the fridge and grins.
"Yeah, but it's chocolate milk and you've had that before," Al says. I make a face at him as he sets his cup down and inhales deeply. "Fish?"
"Yeah," I reply. I open the fridge, grab a soda, open it, and continue, "Dada's been home. Pisses me off that he has time to pick up dinner, but can't answer his damn phone." Al mixes his milk and sighs.
"Is he mad at us?" Al asks. I take a drink and shrug.
"Beats me," I say. "Grab plates, Al. I'll get forks." Al nods and grabs plates from the cabinet. He sets three of them down and I frown at him. "We just need two. Dada's not eating with us. He won't be home 'til way later." Al sighs and picks up the third plate.
"Oh," he says sadly. "Okay." He puts it back and I put forks and stuff on the table. I set my soda down and walk to the oven.
"Hey," I tell him as he slumps down in a chair, "at least we have those biscuits you love."
"Yeah," he replies. I can tell Dada's absence is bothering him a lot. I mean, it's bothering me, too, but I can't really fix my own anxiety 'cause I can't get out of my own head but Al I might be able to help. I just don't know what to say to him to help. So, I open the oven and pull the food out. Dad's got it labeled already. Crab and mashed potatoes for Al and the seafood pasta back for me. I take the food over and put it on the plates.
"Try not to worry, okay?" I say as Al picks up his fork. "We didn't do anything wrong. Why would Dad be mad at us?" Al shrugs, pushing his food around with his fork.
"I don't know," I says quietly. "We have both gotten in trouble at school recently. He could be mad about that. Or maybe... maybe he's finally figured out how bad we are."
"Don't talk like that," I tell him. "You're not a bad boy, Al. I really don't think Dad's mad at us."
"I guess that means he's gonna go away," Al concludes sadly. He pushes his plate away and says, "I was kinda hoping he was mad at us 'cause then he'd stick around. But he's probably leaving. Probably going to a conference or got an offer to oversee some grad student's research for a couple weeks at some big university. Or one of his paper's getting recognized. He did publish again last year. Either way, I'm pretty sure he's gonna leave." I stab a scallop with my fork. I know he's right. I just really wish he wasn't. I don't want Dada to leave.
"Yeah," I agree. "Guess he's going away. Where do you think he'll go?" Al shrugs and picks up a crab leg.
"You got me," Al says. "Maybe Germany. I think they really like him over there."
"I think Boston," I say. "Harvard. You know, the big dog."
"Oxford," Al offers. "Dad's been there a couple of times."
"Oh, Oxford's likely," I agree. "They love him over there. Love his work." Al takes a small bite, so I do, too.
"Brother, what was his paper on again?" Al asks after he's swallowed his food.
"Oh, something about improving the detection of antibodies in those columns they use in biochem," I say. "Shit - ELSA? Is that what that's called?"
"Hmm, yeah?" Al replies. "I think that's right." He shakes his head and says, "No - ELISA."
"Well, it was on that," I say. "The enzymes were getting used up really rapidly and Dada proposed a way to slow it down. With more enzymes, it's easier for the reaction to move forward and more antibodies are detected." I take a bite and continue, "I didn't read his whole paper. Biochem's still really muddy for me."
"It's 'cause it's got orgo," Al says with his mouth full. "Orgo's really hard and you haven't had it before. There's lots of orgo in biochem."
"That's true," I agree. "What homework do you have tonight?"
"Math," Al answers. "I need to check if there's anything else. My memory's still kinda rocky."
"I bet," I say. "You hit your head pretty hard, baby brother." Al chuckles.
"Guess I did," he agrees.
After diner, Al and I do homework. We work for a while and I help Al with some of his homework since he's still struggling a little and when we're done, we play the map game. When we were super little, we invented this game (if you can really call it that) to play when Dad was going on a trip. Here's what we'd do. Before he told us where he was going, we'd pull out this old map Mom and Dad had in the spare room upstairs and each of us would pick the country or city we thought Dad was going to. Whoever was closest to where he was actually going won, but that was only the first part. While Dada was gone, we'd each tell funny or silly stories about what Dad was doing while he was away. Mom would be our judge but most of the time we'd tie 'cause she couldn't pick which stories she thought were the best. We quit playing when she came around. I mean, sometimes we'd still guess where Dada was going on the map but that was about it. She hated it when we told stories, so the game sort of died a long time ago. But tonight, well, tonight we're gonna play. We're gonna decide where Dada's going and tell stories while he's gone. Maybe Winry will judge. Like Mom, though, I bet she probably won't be able to. I pull out the map and we both guess where Dada's going. I pick Boston while Al decides on England. I wonder who'll win this time. Al stares at the map after we're done and I frown.
"You okay?" I ask.
"We should put the map up on the wall and pin everywhere Dada's been," Al says. "That'd be neat, huh, Brother?" I grin ear to ear.
"Yeah!" I cry. "That would be awesome! Let's do it!" Al nods and we quickly tape the map to the wall. We hurry to Dada's office and grab a ton of push pins. I also grab a Sharpie so we can write down the year Dada first visited (if we can remember. If not, we'll just ask him later) on the map. We rack our brains, trying to remember all the places Al's been since we were little. It's hard, but I think we get most of them. Lots of cities in Germany and Italy, a couple cities in Russia, he's been to China once, Japan once, a tone of states, cities in Canada, Spain, and England. We step back from the map, dozens of push pins in it. Al grins and I shove him lightly.
"Love the way your brain works," I tell him. "Dada' awesome. Look how much of the world he's seen!"
"Yeah, but look how much he hasn't," Al comments. The Middle East is empty as is Africa and South America. "The world's a pretty big place, Brother. It's so big. And even though Dada's been lots of places, there are just as many places he hasn't seen yet." I nod.
"Yeah," I agree. "The world is big, Al." Dada's lucky. He's literally been all over the world and the farthest I've ever been from home is St. Louis, Missouri. I've literally never been outside the Midwest. During those seven years of hell, he was traveling the world. He got to do what he loved and travel and I think that's part of why I resent him a little. While Al and I were getting beaten, Dada got to see the world. It just isn't fair.
Bedtime gets closer and closer and Dada's not home yet. He hasn't even called. My heart sinks as I realize that I probably won't see Dad again until morning. Al's playing Pokémon next to me and I have my DS, too, but I haven't actually played. I can't stop thinking about what Dada's news is. It could be a research grant. Maybe it's a job offer. Maybe there's a conference. Maybe it's 'cause of his paper. Could be something else entirely. I don't know. But I want to know. My watch beeps to tell me it's ten o'clock. I tell Al and he stops playing. We go upstairs to get ready for bed when I hear the door unlock.
"Dada!" Al cries, hurrying down the stairs. He's moving so fast he slides all over the wood floors. I follow after him and watch as Al gives Dad a big hug.
"Hey," Dada greets. I can tell he's tired. Whatever happened today wore him out. There are bags under his eyes and he's all slouched over. I cross my arms and walk over, Al finally ending the embrace.
"Where were you?" I ask. Dada sits down and sighs.
"All over the place," he replies. He glances over at the wall, smiling a little when he sees the map. "Did you boys do that?" He asks, even though he knows it had to be us.
"Yeah," I answer, my arms still crossed. "It was Al's idea." Al sits down next to Dad and Dad smiles and kisses Al's cheek. Al grins happily and I say, "So, what's up? You promised to tell us."
"Well, I've been invited to attend a conference in a couple weeks," Dad explains. My stomach drops and Al goes pale as Dad continues, "It's in London and it's only a week long conference. It's been a while since I've traveled and I wanted to see what you two thought of me going." Well, obviously we don't like it. Him going away still equates us getting hurt in our minds. That's what happens when your stepmom abuses you for seven years. But it's like Dr. Hughes keeps telling us - Dada's a person and people have needs. While he likes teaching, research and traveling are what he likes the best. When he does those things, Dada has things to say and stories to tell. I have to admit that it'd be nice if Dada told stories again. But there's that ever present fear something will happen to us if he leaves. So, I'm stuck in a hard place and I don't see a way out of it.
"A week's a long time," Al says wearily.
"I suppose," Dad agrees, "but it's really not all that long, either, sweetie. You'd spend the week with Granny and Winry, so you wouldn't be alone. I don't want you boys alone for that long." Don't blame him. About a year ago, Dada took a trip to Chicago with the chemistry department. He was only gone for a weekend. But that weekend, Al and I never showered, slept all the time, and barely ate. It's like we needed someone to remind us those things were important. We were too anxious and couldn't remember on our own. Yeah, it's weird, but it's the way it is.
"Or we could go with you," Al suggests, reminding me of when we were little. Whenever Dada would go away when we were little, Al would beg for him to take us with him. It got especially bad when she started hitting us. Every time Dad had to leave, Al'd cling to his leg and beg for him to stay or take us with him. I imagine Al ask he is now wrapping his limbs around Dad's leg beg him the same way he did when he was little. It's kind of a funny picture.
"I would love that, but you won't be on a break when I leave," he says. "Sorry, boys."
"But what's one week?" Al persists. "C'mon, Dada! Take us with you!" Dad smiles sadly at him but shakes his head.
"Al, honey, I'm sorry, but you've already missed so much school this semester," Dada begins. "You and Brother need to stay here, okay?"
"No!" Al yells. "You can't go! Stay here if you won't take us! Please, Dada!"
"Alphonse," Dad says sternly. I cringe at the use of the first name. Most 'cause Alphonse is a terrible name but also 'cause I can tell Dad's getting kinda fed up with him. Al's acting like a little kid; begging for Dada to stay and Dad's not having any of it. Not tonight. "You can't go with me. That's final."
"So, you're gonna go then?" I ask anxiously.
"Yes," Dad says. "I believe that I am."
"You can't!" Al cries.
"Alphonse," Dada warns.
"You can't leave us here!" Al insists, ignoring Dada's warning. "Don't you care? Do you even love us?"
"Alphonse, I'll tell you one more time to knock it off," Dad says.
"Al," I say gently, "it's okay." Even though I'm feeling all the same things he is, I know that Al needs to calm down. If he doesn't, Dada will yell at him and that's the last thing either of us need. Al's lip quivers and he shakes his head.
"You hate us, don't you?" Al asks pathetically. "You're sick of us! I knew it! That's why you want to leave! Well, fine! Go! Maybe we hate you, too!" Al stomps off, Dada sitting on the couch like he's just seen a ghost or something. He turns to me, confusion on his face.
"What just happened?" Dad asks.
"Al's got a lot of feelings," I sigh. "I've got 'em, too." I sit down and rest my face on my hands. Dada moves to sit next to me.
"Why don't you talk to me about those feelings?" Dada suggests. "Talk to me, Ed. Tell me how you're feeling. You might feel better if you do." I blink. Dad never really offers to talk about feelings. That's always been Dr. Hughes' job. But if Dada wants me to open the flood gates, I guess I will.
"Sometimes it really felt like you hated us growing up," I explain. "I mean, she told us that constantly, but it went deeper than that. You were never there. You believed her stories instead of believing us. You sided with her more than you sided with us and... I don't know. Sometimes it felt like she was right; that we were bad and that you hated us. I think Al's just scared, you know? You haven't been gone that long for a long time. I'm scared, too. We know it's stupid but we can't change how we feel." Dad turns slightly, sadness on his face. He sighs, takes his glasses off, and cleans them while he stares at the TV.
"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I didn't realize you felt that way. I suppose it should have been my first instinct to trust you. You boys weren't liars. Van... She just made it seem like you were and I believed her. I'm so sorry, Edward."
"I know," I say, "but it still sucked. You have no idea what it was like to have your reputation destroyed; to have your dad think you were a lying little monster. You don't know what it was like to lie awake at night, wondering if your dad hated you every time he went away. You don't know what it's like to live in fear. But I know. Al knows. That's why he said what he said. He doesn't hate you. He's just afraid that you hate him."
"There's no way I can make up for those seven years," Dada breathes, like he's realizing it for the first time. "I can't. It's not possible. I was wrong and that hurt you. Nothing will ever change or fix that."
"Yeah," I agree grimly. "It happened and nothing you do can fix it."
"Then how can I convince you boys that I don't hate you?" Dad asks, his voice strained. "That I'm sorry for what I did?"
"Dada," I begin, "I know you're sorry and I know you love us, in my head I mean. In my heart... What I'm trying to say is love isn't the opposite of hate, you know. I think you can love and hate someone at the same time. Not saying you do, but I think it's possible." Dad looks away and I say, "Look - I think the only thing you can do is just keep doing what you have been doing. For two years, you've just loved on us and made sure we knew we're safe. Just keep doing that. The rest will follow, I think."
"Are you saying I should go check on Al?" Dada asks.
"I think you probably should," I reply. "He needs to know you haven't given up on him." Dad turns to me and smiles. He pulls my head closer and kisses my forehead.
"I love you so much, Ed," Dada says.
"I love you, too, Dada," I say. Dad stands up and I follow him. I think he needs some support right now.
Even though Dad's good at getting Al to calm down, sometimes Al needs me. I think it hurts Dad's feelings but I also think Dad understands. For the first couple years of Al's life, Mom comforted him, then Dad did. But then she came around and that job didn't stay with Dada; it became mine. I had to be the one to calm him down and make him feel safe. That was my job for seven years and in a lot of ways, it's still my job - the only job I know how to do. We walk up the stairs, Picard standing guard outside our door. He bristles at the sight of Dad like he knows Dad's the one who upset Al. He meows in warning, his tail flicking dangerously. I shake my head and walk to him. This cat is weird. It's like he's known Al his whole life, but he hasn't. He acts like he's been trained to be Al's therapy animal or even a service animal but he hasn't. This is just how Picard is. Makes me wonder what his first owner was like. Maybe his first owner needed a lot of the same things Al does. Maybe that's why he is the way he is. I don't know. I squat down in front of Picard and extend my hand toward him. He sniffs it before pressing his clod nose into my hand.
"Hey, Captain," I say gently, "it's okay. Dada's not gonna hurt Al, promise." I run my hand against Picard's back and I can feel him relax. Dad walks over and Picard yowls before darting away. I shake my head before standing up. I knock on the door and wait.
"Go away," Al says from inside the room.
"Al, it's Brother," I tell him. "Can I come in?"
"Is Dada with you?" Al asks worriedly.
"Yeah," I answer, "but he just wants to check on you and make sure you're okay."
"Is he mad at me?"
"Nah," I reply. "He's not. Don't be scared, Al. It's okay." I take a step back and wait. The door opens and Al lets us in. He sits down on his bed, Chico in his hands. I sit on my bed and allow Dad to do his thing. Dad sits next to Al, Al not making eye contact.
"Hey," Dada says softly, "I'm not angry with you."
"I said some awful things to you," Al points out guiltily.
"Baby, I know you're scared," Dad tells him. "And it's okay to be." Al blinks as Dada takes his hands that never shop shaking in his own. "I love you. I've always loved you. No matter where I go or how long I'm away, I'll always love you and I'll always come home. I'm not leaving because I'm sick of you or because I hate you. Dada has a conference, Al. It's part of my job sometimes. You know that. I promise that I'm not mad at you." Al blinks, his eyes filling up with tears.
"I love you, Dada," Al says, his voice wavering, "but I don't believe you." Dad's face falls briefly before he smiles lovingly at Al. It's that dad smile - you know the one. The one where the corners of his eyes crinkle and you can almost see the love in his eyes. I actually think I can.
"That's okay, Al," Dada says. "I'll just have to continue to prove it to you." Dad kisses Al and Al wraps his arms around Dada's neck like he always did when he was little. Dada pulls Al on to his lap and Al wraps his legs around Dad so he never has to leg go.
"Please don't go," Al begs.
"I have to go, honey," Dada whispers gently. "It would be very difficult to get out of, so I have to." Al hides his face, Dad rubbing his back. Sometimes, I'm glad we're both super small for our age. That means that Dada can still hold us like we're little. We're too big for him to do it for a long time when he's standing up or something, but I never feel safer than I do when Dada's holding me.
"I'll be good, Dada," Al cries softly. "I'll be good. Don't go."
"Shh, it's okay, baby," Dada coos. "I'm not leaving for a couple weeks. It's okay. It's okay." Dad hugs Al tight, Al silently crying on Dada's lap.
"Ally," I say, "Dada's gonna come back. He always does. Until he comes back, I'll take care of you. I always do." Al grins weakly and wipes his face.
"Yeah," he says. He sniffles and says, "Yeah. Dada will come back. He always comes home."
"Because he loves us," I say. Dad nods and I can tell he's proud of me. I can tell he loves me. I can tell he loves Al.
"I love you, Dada," Al says. He kisses Dad's cheek and Dad smiles at him.
"I love you, too, sweetie," Dada tells him. He tickles Al's tummy, Al rolling off his lap to get away.
"Stop!" Al laughs, sitting on his knees. "I'm not a baby anymore!" Dada grins and leans forward. He reaches for Al and tickles him, Al laughing loudly.
"Maybe not," Dad agrees, "but no matter how old you get you'll always be my baby." Picard walks in and hurries over. Dad lightly pets the cat as Picard sits down next to Al. Al scratches Picard's head, a smile plastered on his face.
"Hey, bud," Al greets. "Were you worried about me?" Picard meows and butts his head into Al's arm. "I'm sorry," Al says, "I didn't mean to worry you." I shake my head; Al's ridiculous, but in a good way. He cares too much. And in a world where no one cares enough, it's refreshing to see a person care as much as my little brother does.