PierceMyChemicalHorizon: I hate that Al had a panic attack, too. Al's actually my favorite character and I really hate that I torture him so badly. But I need to keep it realistic so Al's on the torture train. I loved writing that snarky scene between Hoho and Edward! It was so much fun to write him acting like an actual teenage boy for once, haha. He and Hoho still have a bit of a complicated relationship and it was fun to play with it. You're not overly emotional - most of Ed's anxiety scenes make me really sad. This story in general depresses me because of what they've been through but I can't stop writing now. I'm in too deep, haha. Funny story - when I first got an account on here, I didn't realize that PMs were a thing. I think it was mostly 'cause I wasn't expecting for people to even read my work let alone review it so I just didn't realize that PMs existed at all! I wanted to let people know that I did read what they wrote and respond to them, so thus this method was born! I'm so used to it that I don't think I could stop even if I wanted too, haha. Anyways, thanks for reading and thanks for your awesome reviews! You're amazing! :D
Hey, guys! So, I've decided for the time being to update regularly on Saturday nights. I'll see if I can get a second day to regularly update, but for now look out for updates on Saturdays! Life's pretty crazy for me right now, but having a regular update day will keep this story going until my life slows down a little, haha. As always, thanks again for reading and I'll see you all next week!
Al's crying. I stir, trying to go back to sleep, when I realize he's crying. I don't know what time it is. It's semi-lit in the room, I think, as my eyes struggle to stay shut. But Al's crying. I can't sleep when Al's crying. I sit up, groaning when I realize the sheets are wet. If Al's crying, it was probably him. I rub at my eyes and look over at him. He just sitting there, sniveling. I stare at him and wonder if maybe he misses Mom. I know I do. Being with Nana, while Nana's nice and everything, makes me miss Mom. It's like when we visit Gracia. I like Gracia a lot. She's nice to me and pets my hair and talks all gentle to me. But she makes me miss Mom. Because Mom was nice to me and petted my hair and talked gentle to me. So being around Nana's like being around Gracia and that makes me miss Mom. I bet Al misses Mom, too. That's probably why he's crying. Well, part of the reason, anyway. I sigh and reach over. My hand rests on his hand and Al hiccups a bit.
"You okay?" I ask. Al nods and wipes his face. I check my watch and groan. It's eight in the morning. I don't think I fell asleep until, like, one and we both had nightmares. I wanna go back to sleep but can't 'cause the bed's wet.
"Sorry," Al says with a strained voice.
"Don't worry about it," I tell him. I strap on my leg and stand. "Let's get this cleaned up so we can sleep for a couple more hours." Al blinks at me before he grins weakly.
"I'd like to sleep more," he says. He gets up and I start stripping the bed. Al moves to help but I swat his hand away. "Hey," he whines.
"Just put clean clothes on," I tell him. Al stares at me before his eyebrows point downward.
"You don't have to do it for me," Al mumbles. "I'm not a baby." I shake my head.
"Al," I groan. "I've told you this a thousand times. I don't do it for you 'cause I think you're a baby. I do it for you 'cause I want to. I want to help you." Al blinks at me and sighs.
"Yeah, but…." He trails off before taking a deep breath. "You always take care of me. Isn't that annoying?" I blink at him as my brow furrows.
"No," I reply. "You're not annoying."
"I didn't ask that," Al tells me. "Isn't it annoying or frustrating or something having to take care of me all the time?" I frown. I've never thought about. I guess it can be tiring to take care of Al but it's part of me. It's my job – the only job I know how to do. Al means so much to me that taking care of him is second nature to me. But I guess…. I don't know. It can be exhausting sometimes. Like at two in the morning when Al's up crying and I'm fighting sleep but someone has to calm him down. Or when he's having a panic attack and nothing I do makes it better. Or when I can't get him to eat, even when he really needs to. But it's my job and I like doing it. So…. Yes?
"Well, I…. It's tiring sometimes," I finally tell him. Al looks a way guiltily and a continue, "But I like doing it. I like taking care of you. You're my brother, Al. I'd do anything for you." Al looks up at me.
"Really?" Al asks.
"Yeah," I reply with a smile. I frown again, realizing something. Part of Al learning to be more independent means not doing everything for him. So if he wants to help strip the bed and put clean sheets on it, I guess I should let him. But I never do 'cause I don't want him to think he's in trouble for wetting the bed. But he wants to help me. So I should let him? I don't know but before I can decide my lips move,
"Hey, uh, Al?"
"What?" Al asks.
"If you wanna, you can help I guess," I tell him.
"Really?" Al asks.
"Yeah," I say. Al doesn't know I'm trying to teach him to be independent. He doesn't know that me and Dada and Dr. Hughes are slowly trying to teach him to do things on his own and not rely on me so much. He doesn't know 'cause if he did, he'd feel guilty. Al feels guilty about lots of things. He feels guilty about Mom dying, feels guilty about the abuse, and feels guilty 'cause he's clingy. He depends on me a lot and feels bad about it. So he doesn't know just yet how we're trying to teach him to be independent 'cause it would make him feel bad. Al looks at me, a smile spreading across his face.
"I'll help, Brother!" He says happily. He helps me strip the bed and carries the sheets while I carry the comforter. I walk into the hallway and pause. "What's wrong, Ed?" Al asks.
"I don't know where to put this," I say. At home and at Granny's we just throw dirty laundry in a hamper or in the laundry chute. Nana didn't tell us where to put our laundry here, though. Neither did Dada.
"We can go ask Dad," Al says. He walks toward the room Dada's staying in and knocks. No one answers so we both go inside. Dad's not there so we try Nana's room. We peek inside and see she's not in there.
"Guess they're downstairs," I say. We walk downstairs with our pee-soaked blankets and pajamas, looking for Dada or Nana. We get to the living room and we nearly drop everything. Sitting on the sofa is Uncle George, his wife Karen, and their two kids. They stare at me and I feel vomit rising up in my throat. Al whimpers and hides behind me as they stare.
"Well," Uncle George mutters. "Forgot they were here." Aunt Karen's nose crinkles.
"Little old to be wetting the bed," she mocks, her kids snickering. Al starts crying and I drop the comforter after swallowing the barf in my mouth.
"Watch it," I warn.
"You have a bad attitude, Edward," Uncle George informs me. "You always have. No respect for authority."
"Oh, I have plenty of respect for authority," I argue. "I just don't have respect for assholes."
"Edward!"
I cringe and turn around. There in the doorway is Dada. He glares at me and I wave at him. "Morning, Dada," I greet with a nervous chuckle.
"You apologize to your uncle!" Dada demands loudly.
"But, Dad!" I cry. "He and Aunt Karen were teasing Al!" Dad peers around me and sees Al crying.
"Oh, dear," Dada says. He glances down at the comforter on the ground and sighs. He rubs his temples and says, "I forgot to tell you boys what to do if one of you wet the bed." I blush and nod.
"We came down here to find you," I tell him. "And now Al's crying." Dad collects the comforter from the ground.
"I'll deal with your uncle," Dad tells me. "You try to corral Al upstairs." I nod and walk over. Uncle George's kids make faces at me as I walk back over to Al. One of them's older than me (she's sixteen) and their son's thirteen. I glare at them as I walk over to Al but that angry look melts as soon as I'm in front of Al.
"Hey, buddy," I say gently. "Let's go upstairs, 'kay? We'll put on clean jammies, put new sheets on the bed, and sleep for a couple more hours. Sound good?" Al nods, but flinches as Dada and Uncle George get into a heated argument.
"I don't care that he called you an asshole if you're tormenting my son!" Dad yells. "You don't tease a child for bed wetting!"
"He's too old for it," Aunt Karen argues. "He's doing it on purpose."
"That's insane!" Dad cries. "What teenager would pee themselves on purpose?!"
"The kind that have no respect for authority," Uncle George says. "I knew you were no good, Hohenheim. I warned Trish about marrying you. All you've managed to produce is two rotten children." I see Al's whole demeanor change in that moment. He slouches over, defeat written all over his face. My heart slows and I stare at Dada. Dad's heaving angrily and I don't know how he's going to respond.
"I loved Trish," Dad begins softly. They've crossed a line, I think. Dada's voice sounds really hurt and they brought Mom into the argument. Definitely crossed a line. "I loved her with everything that I was. These boys…. They're the only bits of Trisha left in this world! I don't understand how you can be so cruel to them! They're your nephews, damn it! Trisha would be so disappointed if she saw how you treat them!" Al takes my hand, his whole body shaking.
"I wanna go home," he whimpers.
"Shh, it's okay, Ally," I say. "Let's go upstairs." Al nods again and I guide him upstairs. Dad's not yelling anymore and honestly I don't want to hear any more of his conversation. Both Uncle George and Aunt Karen think we're rotten. That's enough to keep me depressed for a while. Al walks alongside me for a moment before yanking his hand away. I stare as he runs off and goes into the bathroom. Maybe he's throwing up. I hurry after him and try to open the door but it's locked. I press my ear against the door and I can hear him. My heart slows down, my stomach dropping as I hear Al say those four words I hate more than anything.
"I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy." Over and over and over again. My face burns in anger and I want nothing more than to stomp downstairs and tell them off. But honestly, I'm scared that Al's gonna hurt himself if I leave. I know I hurt myself when I told myself I was bad over and over like that.
"Ally, c'mon," I say gently. "Come out. It's okay."
"I'm a bad boy!" He wails. "Everyone thinks so! She was right about me!"
"Al…. Uncle George and Aunt Karen are assholes," I tell him. "What they think of us doesn't matter." I'm kind of lying to him. As much as I wish what he said didn't hurt me, it did. And here I am, telling Al it doesn't matter when it hurt my feelings too. I'm just trying to be brave; to be brave for my little brother who needs me. "Dada doesn't think you're bad, Al. Neither does Nana or Winry, or Picard or Granny. Nobody who matters thinks you're a bad boy."
"I wanna hurt myself," Al tells me softly.
"I know," I reply. "And you're brave for telling me. I was always too scared to tell somebody." I stop talking, my tongue sliding nervously across my lips. I really don't want to have to ask this, but since Al's in the low place and admitted to feeling like he wants to hurt himself, I kinda have to; "Are you hurting yourself right now?" A pause. My heart thumps wildly as I wait for Al to answer.
"Yeah," he admits with shame in his voice. "I scratched my arm with my nails. I didn't stop like usual. I'm sorry, Brother!"
"Is it bleeding?" I ask gently.
"Yeah," Al answers.
"Let me in," I say. "Let me help you." I wait and the door opens. Al stares at me, bags under his eyes and tears and snot running down his face. His nose his red and his eyes are puffy from all the crying. I go inside the bathroom and shut the door. I point to the toilet and say, "Sit down." Al nods miserably and I rummage through the medicine cabinet. There's some peroxide in there as well as some Band-Aids. I grab them and some cotton balls. I walk over to Al and squat down.
"Show me your arm, Al," I instruct gently. I'm trying to stay calm. Freaking out and yelling at him won't help. It won't solve the problem and it won't fix how he feels. I need to be nice. I need to be calm. Al nods and extends his arm toward me. There's a few little bleeding nail marks littering his skin. I wet a cotton ball and start cleaning one of them.
"Brother?" Al asks.
"What?"
"I'm so sorry," Al cries. I sense a meltdown as Al says, "I'm so sorry!" I drop the cotton ball and pull him into a hug. He starts sobbing and I pet his hair.
"It's okay," I whisper. "I've been here, remember? I understand what you're going through. It'll be okay, Ally. I've got you. Brother's got you." Al keeps sobbing loudly and someone knocks on the door.
"Ed?"
"Dada," I say. "Come in." Dad comes in and sighs. He shuts the door and sits on the bathtub. I stare expectantly at him and Dad takes his glasses off and cleans them.
"You need to apologize to your uncle," Dada tells me. I open my mouth to protest but Dad holds his hand up. "Sometimes, Ed, we need to be the bigger person even if we were the ones who were wronged," Dad tells me. "You might be right about them but they're still family. If they won't treat us like family, we're going to treat them like family anyway."
"Dada," Al wails, "Dada, I'm sorry!"
"Hey, baby, it's okay," Dad coos. "It's not your fault, honey. It's okay." Dada looks Al over and his eyes widen when he sees the little bleeding marks littering Al's arm. He opens his mouth to say something but this time I silence him. I pick the cotton ball up and keep cleaning Al's arm. He winces a little 'cause it stings and soon they are Band-Aids all over his arm.
"There," I say like he's a little kid, "All better, see?" Al nods, wiping his face.
"Boys I put fresh sheets on," Dad tells us both, his eyes worriedly staring at Al. "If you want to go back to bed for a while you can. You have a long day ahead." We both nod.
"C'mon, Al," I say. "Let's sleep some more." Al nods and stands up. Before we move, Dada pulls Al into a bear hug. Al whimpers and clings to Dad, Dad rubbing his back.
"It's okay," Dad whispers. "It's okay." Al lets go and I take his hand. We walk back to the room we're sharing and get changed.
"You okay?" I ask. Al shrugs.
"I guess," he answers softly. "It's just…now that Uncle George and Aunt Karen know, everyone else will, too. They'll tell everyone we're rotten kids who…." I sigh.
"Yeah, probably," I agree, sitting down on the bed. "But maybe this will be our reason to never go to one of these things again."
"Maybe," Al says slowly. "But…. What about Nana?"
"I don't know," I say. "All I know is Dada's had enough. I've never heard him yell like that ever."
"He was real mad, huh?" Al asks. I smirk and nod.
"Oh, yeah," I say. Al lays down and I say, "The maddest ever." Al giggles and I throw the blanket on him.
"Madder than a southern high school football coach when his team loses a game?" Al asks.
"Yup," I say, tucking him in.
"Madder than a bear who sees people messing with her cubs?" Al asks.
"Times ten, for sure," I say, taking my leg off.
"Madder than a robot bent on destroying all humanity because we enslave its kind?" Al asks and I laugh.
"You know it," I chuckle. I lay down next to him and Al rolls over to look to me.
"I am sorry I hurt myself," Al says softly. "I won't do it again. I know what it puts Dada through." I look away guiltily. It puts Dad through Hell. I would know. Last year, I was the son hurting himself on purpose.
"I know you're sorry," I tell him, "But take it from someone who's been there – don't say that you won't do it again. All that does is make you feel guilty when you do it again."
"Oh," Al sighs. "Okay."
"Just say, 'I'll try not to hurt myself again'," I go on. "That makes it easier on everyone, kiddo." Al smiles; that smile he always smiles when I use a pet name. Pet names make him feel loved and special, I think.
"Okay," Al says, "I'll try not to hurt myself again." I ruffle his hair.
"Good boy," I praise. Al closes his eyes, soaking up the praise. "Get some sleep, Al." Al nods and rolls over.
"Sweet dreams, Brother," he tells me sleepily.
"You too, Ally."
Al and I slept until lunch. We got up, got dressed, and went downstairs. As soon as we got downstairs, Dada made me apologize to Uncle George. I did, but I made sure everyone knew I wasn't happy about it. I asked Nana over lunch why they were here so early to begin with and it turns out they're here to help with Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently Nana can't do it all herself anymore. Al's face fell and he said that he wanted to help with dinner. Aunt Karen gave him a dirty look and her kids snickered at him. I knew then we wouldn't be allowed to help. I shivered in my seat, remembering how she would tell us we weren't allowed to do various things. Help in the kitchen, speak, eat…. I shuddered and got up from the table. I went to hide in my room and I've been hiding here ever since. I have my DS out, but I haven't even turned it on. Al's still eating but he'll probably come up here soon. He and I like to be together. That's our safest place. Dr. Hughes says it's not healthy but neither of us care. It's safest when Al's with me. When he's beside me, I'm safe. Nothing can hurt me. Nothing can yell at me. Nothing can tell me how I'm a waste of space or anything like that. I'm safe. The door opens and I look up. Al slips inside and walks over. He sits down, a sigh escaping his lips.
"What's the matter?" I ask, closing my DS. It's not like I was playing anyway.
"More people are starting to show up," Al tells me. "It's making me anxious." He groans and tucks his head between his knees and says, "I'm gonna throw up."
"Nah," I say, "You won't. We can just stay up here until dinner then stay here until everyone leaves."
"The kids are thinking of having a football game outside," Al says, lifting his head. He turns to me and asks, "Think we'll get invited to play?"
"No," I reply. "And that's a damn shame 'cause I'd love to turn 'em down."
"I don't want an invite," Al tells me. "It'd be a pity invite or someone forced them to and I don't want that. If I'm gonna get invited to do something, I want it to come from somebody who actually wants me around."
"Nobody here but Nana and Dada wants us around," I say. I sigh then gasp, "Oh!" as I suddenly remember something I wanted to do today. Al jumps a little.
"What?" He asks anxiously.
"I was going to show you Nana's bird scrapbook!" I cry. I scratch at my hair and say, "It totally slipped my mind!"
"Bird scrapbook?" Al asks.
"Yeah," I answer. "Nana goes birdwatching and takes pictures of the birds she sees. Then she puts those pictures into a scrapbook. I thought you'd like it and I meant to show it to you but I forgot with everything that happened this morning."
"I like birds," Al says. "I think I'd like birdwatching."
"You probably would," I agree.
"I wanna see Nana's scrapbook," Al tells me. I set my DS down on the bed.
"Okay," I say, "But there's all sorts of Elrics downstairs."
"That's okay," Al tells me. "We can grab a book and sit in the front yard and watch birds." I don't think Al quite grasps birdwatching. You need binoculars and you go someplace else – like a park – to do it. But Al's excited so I don't say anything.
"If you're sure," I say. I take his hand and we go downstairs. There's Elrics everywhere but none of them are near the couch. We hurry over and grab a scrapbook before dashing to the door.
"Nana!" Uncle George's son, Camden, yells. We both cringe at the same time as he tattles on us. "Edward and Alphonse are stealing one of your scrapbooks!"
"Are not!" I argue loudly. "We just want to look at it!" Nana appears from the doorway to the kitchen and scowls at Camden.
"Cam, you snitch," she scolds. She walks over to us and kisses us both. "Your father mentioned to me that you boys were interested," she tells us.
"I wanna watch birds," Al says.
"Well, Ally," Nana begins, "If you like the book tell me and sometime in the spring we'll get you boys up here and I'll teach you how to scrapbook." Al grins ear to ear.
"Yeah!" He says eagerly. "Okay!" Nana pets his head.
"Good boy," she praises. "Go on, boys." We nod and hurry outside. We sit on a bench in her front lawn, the book resting on my lap. I open it, Al gasping when he sees the inside.
"Nana took these?" He asks.
"Yup," I say. I point to a golden finch and say, "Look, Ally. Those are hard to see." Al smiles and points to a cardinal.
"I like these," he tells me. "The red's pretty."
"Only the dudes are red," I say. "The girls are shitty brown." Al laughs.
"No, it's nice," Al argues. "It's a nice brown color. I bet it makes their babies feel safe." I nod and flip the page.
"Nana's really good at this," I comment. The pictures are nice and the scrapbook is nice too. I want her to teach me how to do it. I tilt my head back and sigh; "I wonder if Mom scrapbooked, too."
"I think she did," Al replies. "Our baby books look a lot like this."
"Baby books?" I question.
"Mmm, yeah," Al says, standing.
"You look at those?" Al nods.
"Sometimes," Al tells me. He stretches and says, "Reminds me of Mom."
"So…. Our baby books are scrapbooks?" I ask.
"Yup," Al chirps. He walks over to a tree and looks up into the branches. "Mom was a lot like Nana, I guess."
"I guess," I say, flipping through the book. My brow furrows and I ask, "What are you doing?" Al turns back to look at me and laughs.
"I'm looking for birds, silly," he tells me. He stands on his tip-toes and leans up against the tree. "I don't see any, though."
"Al," I laugh, "That's not how you birdwatch."
"Sure it is," Al argues. "You look for birds then you watch them. That's birdwatching." Well, he's not wrong, I guess.
"Well, okay," I chuckle. "Try climbing the tree, Al. You might find birds." Al nods eagerly and starts climbing. I shake my head and return my attention to the book. Maybe I should look at my baby book when I get home. I flip the page and smile. On this one is a picture of Nana and her three kids; Uncle George, Aunt Millie, and Mom. They're kids in this picture, all smiling at the camera with Grandpa. I guess they went birdwatching as a family. I stare at Mom and realize that Al looks a lot like her. He's got the same round face, same nose, and the same gentle smile. Al's eyes are even closer to Mom's than mine are. Mine are the same light brown Dada's are but Al's got this brown-green hazel thing going on. Sometimes they look brown and other times they look green but sometimes they're right in the middle – all hazel-y. I grin and decide that I want to learn how to birdwatch. I want to learn how to take pictures of birds and scrapbook. It'll bring me closer to Mom, I think, if I do.
"Brother!" Calls Al from the tree. I look up and laugh. He's hanging upside down from a branch, his face red from laughing. "Look!"
"What are you doing?" I laugh. "I thought you were looking for birds?"
"I am!" Al laughs back. I shake my head; baby brother's silly today.
"Careful," I remind him. "I don't want you to fall."
"I won't," Al says as he disappears into the tree. I turn my attention back on the book as someone walks over. I look up and see Dada standing near the bench.
"Hi," I say. Dad sits down next to me and chuckles.
"Al's silly, isn't he?" Dada asks.
"Yeah," I agree. "You've never told me that Mom did scrapbooking."
"Really?" Dad asks. I shake my head and Dad says, "Oh. Well, I'll try to talk about Mom more. You deserve to know what Mom was like."
"How's dinner coming along?" I ask. Dad chuckles.
"George and Karen won't stop arguing," Dad tells me. "And Millie isn't here yet even though she said she'd come help."
"So her kids aren't here yet?" I ask.
"Nope," Dad answers. "It's just Lauren and Camden right now."
"Camden's a brat," I comment. "Tried to get Al and me in trouble for looking at Nana's scrapbook."
"Well, he's the baby of the family," Dad tells me. My brow furrows.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Well, Ed, usually the youngest kid in a family gets spoiled rotten by his family," Dad explains. "That turns kids into brats."
"Al's not like that, is he?" I ask worriedly. Dada sighs.
"No," Dada tells me. Dad pauses before saying, "But he is babied a bit."
"Is not," I argue. Dad gives me a look.
"Ed, we're all guilty of it," Dad says. "We all baby Al a little. We do everything for him. Mom was guilty of it, too. I think it was because Al would be her last baby ever."
"I don't mean to baby him," I defend. "He just needs me."
"I know, hon, I know," Dada says, patting my leg. "But we have to let Al grow up a little." I nod.
"I know," I sigh. "I'm just glad he's not a brat." Dada smiles.
"Me too," Dad agrees. "I'd rather have a babied son then a spoiled son any day."
"Is that why Al's so sweet and cuddly?" I ask. Dad laughs at me.
"I don't think so," Dada chuckles. "I think Al's just like that naturally."
"Hey, Dad," I say, "Are we coming back to Urbana for Christmas?"
"No," Dada answers. "I thought we'd go visit the von Hohenheim side of the family. What do you think of that?"
"I don't know," I say nervously.
"I never get to visit my family," Dad points out. "I always feel obligated to visit Mom's family."
"Why?" I ask.
"I…." Dad sighs and licks his lips. "It's difficult to explain, Ed. Basically I felt like by going to see the Elrics I was keeping a piece of Mom alive somehow. By seeing them, I was seeing her."
"Oh," I breathe.
"But today finally opened my eyes," Dada goes on. "Only Ma is anything like Trisha was. So I thought maybe we could visit my family instead."
"Your parents are both dead, right?" I ask. To my surprise, Dada shakes his head.
"My father's in a nursing home," Dad tells me. "I sometimes take lab days off to visit him."
"You do?" I ask.
"Yeah," Dada answers. "He asks about you boys a lot. Though, he still thinks Al's in diapers."
"Why?" I laugh.
"He's got Alzheimer's," Dad tells me sadly. "The last time he saw you boys, you were three and Al wasn't quite two yet. He even thinks Trish is alive." Dada sighs and says, "That's why I've never taken you boys with me to visit him. It would make you too sad."
"But he's my grandpa!" I cry. "I wanna meet him!"
"Alright," Dad says. "I'll take you to visit him when we go to Chicago for Christmas."
"Can we visit the aquarium?" I ask. He never took us there. When he came home after she starting hitting us, he told us all about it. But we never went. We were always too bad to go. But now; now we're free from her. We could go if we wanted to.
"Sure," Dada says, standing. He looks over at the tree and calls, "Carefully, Ally! Don't hurt yourself!"
"Dada!" Al cries. He swings off a branch and jumps down. He hurries over and grabs Dad's arm. He tugs on it, bouncing up and down, and says, "Dada, I found a bird's nest!"
"You did?" Dada asks.
"Yeah!" Al says excitedly. "It's got lots of little baby birds! Can I borrow your phone and take a picture of them?"
"Sure, honey," Dada says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Al. Al takes it eagerly and kisses Dad's cheek.
"Thanks, Daddy!" Al cries running off. He climbs back into the tree and Dad shakes his head. A car pulls up and stops next to the house. I groan – Aunt Millie is here. Aunt Millie's got seven kids. They're all mean to me. They all pile out of her van as her husband, Dave, tries to corral them all inside. Aunt Millie steps on to the lawn and glares at Dada.
"Oh," she says stiffly. "You're here." Dad smiles at her.
"Well, we are family," he replies. Aunt Millie huffs and shakes her head.
"Family, huh?" She questions. Aunt Millie folds her arms and says, "Family stays close to each other, I do believe."
"Well, I suppose," Dad says, Al jumping out of the tree, "But Resembool's not that far from Urbana. The boys and I are pretty close." Aunt Millie huffs again as Al runs over. He shoves the phone in Dada's face.
"Look!" Al squeals. "They're so cute!"
"They sure are, Ally," Dada agrees. He gestures to Aunt Millie and Al turns around. He squeaks and hides behind Dada. "Say hi, Alphonse." Al peeks out from behind Dad and waves, a strange look coming over his face. I watch as he steps out from behind Dada and walks over to Aunt Millie. He stares at her belly and my heart stalls.
"Do you have a baby in your tummy?" Al asks innocently. Aunt Millie glares at him and I'm terrified that she doesn't.
"Yes," she replies stiffly. "I'm pregnant." Al grins broadly.
"Would it be alright if I felt your tummy?" Al asks. He extends his hand toward her but she swats it away.
"No," she snaps. Al recoils. I step forward to yell at her but Dad holds me back.
"Millie, come on," Dad says. "Ally just wants to feel the baby." Al's lip trembles and Aunt Millie glares at us.
"I said no, Hohenheim," Aunt Millie says. "I don't want him to touch me. Rotten little rugrat."
"Hey!" I shout. "There's no reason to call him names!"
"Be quiet, you delinquent!" Aunt Millie snaps.
"I'm not a delinquent!" I yell.
"Of course you are!" Aunt Millie argues, Al running to hide behind me. "I know you set fires!" My heart slows down.
"I…. No." I used to do that. I don't anymore. I don't.
"That's enough," Dada commands. "My son isn't a delinquent. He doesn't set fires, Millie."
"It's a shame," Aunt Millie sighs. "How did Trish's kids turn out like this?"
"Stop it!" I cry. "You don't know anything!"
"Brother," Al whimpers, clinging to my shirt.
"It's not our fault!" I yell.
"Ed, it's okay," Dada says gently. He turns to Aunt Millie and says, "I wonder how Trisha's sister turned out so cruel." Aunt Millie's eyes widen and she mumbles under her breath. Dada walks over to her and says, "If you don't want Al to touch your stomach that's fine. Just don't call him names." Aunt Millie nods and hurries inside. Dad turns to look at us and says, "Yup. Let's visit my family for Christmas."
"Sounds good to me," I grumble.
"Me too," Al pipes up. Dad can probably sense that Al's still upset so he hands Al his phone.
"Show me more pictures of those birds," Dad tells him. "You worked so hard to find them." Al grins brightly and nods.
"Okay!" He cries. He unlocks and shows Dada and me a picture of the birds. "See! They're all fluffy 'cause they're babies!"
"You didn't touch 'em, did you, Al?" I ask. Al shakes his head.
"Nope," he answers. "I read once that if you touch baby birds, their moms reject them. So I didn't touch them."
"Good boy," I praise. Al grins and swipes right.
"Look, see," Al says. "There's five of them." He swipes again and there's a picture of Al's face next to the nest. I roll my eyes and laugh. Al's a goober.
"You silly boy," Dad chuckles, shaking his head. Aunt Millie's kids come back outside with Lauren and Camden. Guess they're going to play football now. Al hands Dada his phone back and starts shaking.
"Let's go in," he says nervously.
"Sure, Al," Dad agrees. I grab Nana's scrapbook and start heading inside. The kids jeer at me and I turn around. I glare at them and one of Aunt Millie's sons (his name's Kyle) comes charging at me. I smirk and stand firmly where I am and wait. He tries to tackle me but I grab his arm and flip him over. The kids all gasp and I bush my hands off.
"Nice try, douche canoe," I say. Al's eyes are peeled open and his mouth is agape.
"Brother," he breathes. Kyle sits up, groans, and stares at me.
"You're strong for a shrimp," he comments.
"I'm not a shrimp!" I argue loudly. I don't like to be called small. I'm already super self-conscious about my size. Kyle laughs and stands up.
"Wanna play?" He asks. I blink.
"Uh, what?" The kids all groan 'cause they don't want me to play with them but Kyle seems genuine. That's why I'm confused.
"Wanna play?" Kyle asks again. "I could use good defense." I glance backward at Dada who's encouraging me to say yes.
"I, uh, well," I begin nervously. "I mean, I'll play if Al can, too." I want him to invite Al. I don't want to play without Al. To my surprise, Kyle nods.
"Sure, he can play," he says, the kids groaning again. His face turns sour and he glares at them.
"Shut up!" He yells. "I like Ed. I want him to play!" I hand Dada the scrapbook and turn to Al. I ask him with my eyes if he wants to play. He says he isn't sure, but likes that he got invited.
"Can I just watch for a while?" Al asks.
"Yup," Kyle chirps.
"I didn't think you liked me," I say.
"Oh, well, I guess I was rough on you before but you're nice," he says. "My mom's totally wrong about you. I've heard you tell jokes and you're funny. I'd like to get to know you better." I smile so big it feels like my face is gonna split open.
It turns out that hardly any of my cousins actually hate me or Al. With the exception of Camden and Lauren, they all actually think we're okay. I ask Kyle about it in between running around in the yard and he says that it's easy to act mean 'cause their parents act that way. Makes sense I guess. But the more I pry, the more I learn that Uncle Dave doesn't really hate us, either. Since Uncle George and Aunt Millie are so passionate in their hate, Uncle Dave just plays along so he's on the family's good side. Stupid, but I understand why. Uncle George and Aunt Millie are kind of like the head of the family and when you're on their bad side it stings. They're so mean to you when you're on their bad side. The kids and Uncle Dave didn't want to be treated the way Dada and me and Al have been treated since Mom died so they never admitted to liking us. That conversation ends and Al says he wants to play football with the kids, too. I guess learning that only two of our nine cousins hate us gave him enough courage to play with us.
Around four thirty Nana comes outside to announce dinner's ready. We all take turns washing hands and sit at the table. We don't have a kids' table or anything like that. Nana has a big round table in her dining room and that's what we use. It seats my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, and all the other distant Elrics (like Nana's cousins) comfortably. I sit next to Al and Dada, Uncle George, Aunt Karen, and Aunt Millie glaring at us. They didn't like it that we played with their kids, I guess. But their glares, while anxiety-inducing, do very little to spoil dinner. We talk with the kids and Nana and Uncle Dave and for the first time since before I can remember we have a good Elric Thanksgiving dinner. Nobody cried, nobody threw up, and neither of us had a panic attack. We watch football after dinner together. Uncle George pesters Al a bit but I butt in before he can make Al cry. I want Al to be happy. He deserves to be happy. Our uncle walks off all dejected and we tell Nana that we want to learn birdwatching from her. She seems thrilled and for the first time ever I wish we were coming to Elric Christmas. But we're not. We're gonna go up to Chicago and meet Dada's family. Dad tells Nana that and she seems okay with it. She says we should get to know the other side of our family. I'm glad she thinks so because I don't want to hurt her feelings or anything.
The football game winds down and people start leaving. Al yawns and I can tell he's beat. Being around people that long makes him tired. He's an introvert. That's what Dr. Hughes says. He's an introvert (an extroverted one, whatever that means) and I'm an extrovert (an introverted one). People always think that introvert means shy. While Al is shy, that's not what it means. It means Al get energized from being by himself. Being around so many people wears him out. It always has, even before the abuse started. Me, well, I get energized around people. Usually. That's where the introverted part of me comes in. Sometimes I get energized the way Al does. Being alone (or just with Al) gives me all the emotional and social energy I need sometimes. Other times, though, being alone wears me out. Dr. Hughes says I'm either and introverted-extrovert or I'm half and half. He says we can't know until I take a test for it. Al yawns as he says good-bye to Aunt Millie and Uncle Dave's kids. Aunt Millie lightened up toward us over dinner so she lets Al feel her tummy before she leaves. Al grins ear to ear and Aunt Millie actually smiles back. While Uncle George and Aunt Karen still seem to hate us, I don't really care. Everyone else likes us. They might have liked us all along.
When everyone's gone, Nana Elric goes to bed. Al and I take turns showering and we both read a bit before we decide it's time to go to bed. In the morning, Nana's taking us to a farmer's market and we're anxious about it. While hanging out with Nana has been fun, hanging out in public can be hard. It's scary, especially since we don't know the area that well. I shut the water off and sigh. I wonder if Al's asleep yet. I bet he's not since he's anxious about tomorrow. But if he's scared I'll just remind him we'll be home tomorrow. I groan, remembering that on Monday Dada leaves. That's something I'm really not ready for but don't wanna think about. I stare briefly at myself in the mirror before walking to my room. My hair really is getting long. I open the door to our room and Al's sitting cross-legged on the bed. He's got a book open and his tongue is peeking out from his mouth. I shake my head and get dressed before walking over and sitting down next to him.
"Get good?" I ask. Al jumps like he didn't know I was there and looks at me.
"You sure scared me, Brother," he informs me. He looks down at the book and nods before saying, "It got real good." I yawn and Al sets the book on the nightstand. He stands up and says, "I'll get the lights, Ed." I nod and take my leg off. Al plugs in the nightlight we brought and turns the lights off. He walks back over and crawls into bed next to me. We lay silently for a minute before Al whimpers. I look over at him and he tries to hide his face from me.
"What's the matter, Ally?" I ask worriedly.
"I'm scared," he answers miserably.
"You scared of the farmer's market?" I ask.
"Yeah and Dada leaves next week," Al replies, sniffling. The tears haven't really started and I know that he doesn't want them to fall. He's sick of crying all the time. He told me.
"It'll be okay," I tell him, though I'm not so sure about that myself. I don't know that it'll be okay. I'm scared too. But I'm gonna be brave. I'm gonna be brave 'cause Al needs me to be brave for him. Al sniffles again and I say, "Tell me about your book, Al."
"Huh?" Al sniffles.
"Tell me what happened in your book," I clarify. "Tell me a story so I can go to sleep."
"But, Brother," Al protests. "I'm no good at telling stories. Telling stories is your thing."
"Yeah, but I'm tired," I say. "So you tell me about your book so I'll go to sleep." Al sniffles again and nods.
"Okay," he replies softly. "Bigwig – that rabbit with the funny fur on his head, remember? – and Silver find a big bird and he's hurt. They find him some food and he talks really funny. I think he's Russian or something, Brother. Anyways, Hazel comes to check him out and convince him that they want to help but the bird's scared. He doesn't want their help. So the rabbits leave him alone. But Hazel was really bothered that they couldn't help so he went back and told the bird that he could live in a hole the rabbits would dig for him. He tells the bird their way of life and the next day the bird agrees to live with them. Since he feels better, he's friendly and he and Bigwig become friends." Al keeps talking and I curl up beside him. He talks and talks about rabbits and birds and how they need does to keep their warren alive. His voice is soft and gentle and I'm imagining lots of rabbits talking to the bird from Up. Al didn't tell me what the bird (Kehaar's his name) looks like. It doesn't matter, though. The last thing I hear before I shut down for the night is how all those rabbits with silly names are going to bring does back to the warren with Kehaar's help.
Seems like a weird book.
Side note - the book Al's reading is Watership Down by Richard Adams. It's one of my favorite novels of all time and I actually named one of my rabbits after a character in that book. I highly recommend it if you haven't read it before! Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next week! :D