Guest: Go Al indeed! He was so salty there and I loved it! It's a glimpse of the Al from the show that we all know and love :) Thanks for the review! You're awesome!

The Fallen Dash: Thanks! My birthday was awesome and the prayer means a lot. Thanks for the review! :D

00cdg: I'm glad you think the story is good but it's not abandoned. Not entirely sure where you got that idea, friend.

Hey, guys! Happy Saturday! I hope you all enjoyed the surprise update this week! I'll be sticking to Saturday updates for a while, so be on the look out for that. Not much else to say this week accept enjoy and I'll see you all next Saturday!


I don't know why, but Dr. Hughes' words really affected me differently than they usually do. Maybe it's the subject matter. I don't know. All I know is I feel different. I think it's a good different. I think it's good 'cause I'm being more conscious of how I talk. When I'm frustrated with someone or something, I count to ten before I say anything. That way I don't snap at somebody who doesn't deserve to be snapped at. After therapy on Friday, Al and I called Dada and I told him all about what Dr. Hughes told me. I told him how I'm learning to control my feelings better and he said the words I love more than anything; he told me he's proud of me. Al talked Dad's ear off after that. He talked about school and Picard and pretty much anything that popped into his brain, I think. We've both missed Dada so much and haven't been super good about calling him while he's been away. So Al just talked and talked and talked because it was the first time we called him when he wasn't busy.

The rest of the weekend went better than the week itself had. The sticker chart, while completely childish and embarrassing, actually did help me to remind Al to take care of himself better which in turn allowed him to take care of me. So our symptoms got a little better which made life easier for everyone. I know it worries Granny and Winry when we get bad like that. Worries Dada, too. So when we take better care of ourselves, everyone feels better. Now it's Sunday night and Al and me have both showered already. We're getting ready for bed and all I can think about is how Dada is coming home tomorrow. I know he'll be jetlagged tomorrow but I plan on talking his ear off. I know Al will, too. Actually, Al will probably cling to Dada hard core for a couple of days like he did when he was little. I remember that whenever Dad would come back after going away, Al would cry whenever Dada forced him to go to school or when Dada wouldn't let him hang on him all the time. I don't know if Al will cry if Dad won't let him do those things now, but I do know that Al will probably try to cling to Dad like he used to. People don't ever really change. I mean, they do, but not fundamentally. Our personalities do get shaped by lots of different things, but the fundamental elements of who we are never really change. Like, Al has always been a talkative, gentle, kind, and cuddly person. While the abuse did make Al kinda shy, he still can talk for hours if someone will let him. He's still gentle, he's still kind, and he's still cuddly. So while he's changed, he's also the same at the same time. That's why you can't put people into boxes, I think. They're too complicated for that.

Al reads for a while before deciding he needs to go to bed. It is getting kind of late and I'm actually kinda tired. So I tell him that I'll go with him and Al seems really happy. We wish Winry and Granny goodnight and walk up to our room together. We talk briefly with our eyes about Dad. Al is really excited to see Dada tomorrow and I tell him I am, too. Picard follows us into our room and we get into our own beds. Even though we feel safest when we sleep together, Dada and Dr. Hughes say that we should try sleeping on our own more often. I think it's 'cause they want us to be able to sleep on our own when we're grown-ups. I don't know. But when we're thinking about it, we do try to listen to them. I mean, we'll probably end up in the same bed tonight (we usually do) but Dada always praises us when we sleep in our own beds. I lay in bed and cringe. God, I'm such a baby. I literally do things just so Dada can tell me I'm a good boy. I like to hear that I was good, that I made him proud, and that's literally the only reason I do thinks like try sleeping on my own. What is wrong with me? How much longer will it take for me to be normal? I roll over and see Al's staring at the ceiling, Picard lying on his chest. I sit up, Al glancing over at me. His brow furrows and he asks,

"Something wrong, Brother?" I swallow and shrug.

"Yeah," I say, though I'm not sure that's true or not. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Al asks.

"Doesn't matter," I tell him, kinda embarrassed about it. "Just stupid stuff."

"Mmm, 'kay," Al says with a yawn.

"Al, you went pee, right?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yup," he answers tiredly. "Got it done when I brushed my teeth." I blink, deciding to see what Al does when I praise him. I know how happy it makes him, but I kinda want to see what his face does. I wanna see if it means as much to him as it does to me.

"Good boy," I praise, waiting. Al blinks at me before a huge smile spreads across his face. His eyes get squinty, but in a good way, as they shine with a shit ton of good emotions. Yeah, I think he feels the way I do about getting praised. He probably does some things just so somebody can say "good boy" or "good job" to him. Damn. We really are like little kids, aren't we? Little kids are like that. They're people pleasers. They like helping so that their parents will be proud of them and say nice things. I glance down and I can feel Al's eyes on me. Why are we so much like little kids? Is it that regression shit that Dr. Hughes talks about? Maybe. I mean, the abuse started when we were little kids. Maybe we act that way because when we were little, we were safe. I don't know.

"Brother?" Al asks worriedly. "Are you okay?" I shrug.

"I guess," I mutter. "I just hate being such a baby all the time."

"What are you talking about?" Al questions. I glance up at him and he says, "You're not a baby."

"Yeah," I scoff, "Okay."
"I mean it," Al insists.

"Then why do I act and feel like I'm six sometimes?" I ask. Al glances down and I say, "Really wish I wouldn't."

"I don't know," Al says softly. "I don't think it's bad, though."

"What?" I ask.

"Well, I mean it's kinda annoying sometimes, but I don't think it's bad," Al clarifies. "It's just the way we are. That's not bad."

"But don't you wish you acted more fourteen than like a little kid?" I ask.

"Not really," Al tells me. "I don't really care, honestly. It might be dumb or unhealthy or something but I feel safe when I act little. I wanna feel safe so I don't mind acting like a little kid sometimes. I don't wanna be a baby and I don't wanna be that way forever, but right now it's how I feel safe."

"Oh," I breathe. So Al doesn't care that he acts like a little kid. He doesn't care that he's clingy and dependent and likes to get praised by people. Well, I know that he does care about being clingy. I know because he's told me and Dr. Hughes lots of times that he feels guilty about being so clingy. I also know that he's terrified that we all view him as some big dumb baby and isn't opposed to doing things on his own. So he's both at the same time. I know how that is. I'm constantly feeling lots of things about the same issue and I can never decide how I really feel about it. I can never tell someone straight about how I feel about somethings 'cause I feel lots of things about it. And even though I do care about being so strange, I do agree with Al on one thing; I do feel safe when I'm acting like a little kid.

"You think that's dumb, huh?" Al says, pulling me out of my thoughts. I smile at him and shake my head.

"Nah," I reply. "I get it. You feel lots of things about the same thing. It's okay." Al grins back and yawns. "Okay, buddy," I say, "Go to sleep."

"Is your leg off?" Al asks quietly.

"No," I answer.

"Can you tuck me in?" Al asks with a strained voice.

"Sure, Ally," I say, getting out of bed. "Don't cry, I'll tuck you in. Hold on." I hurry over to Al's bed and start tucking him in, Al's lip quivering. My brow furrows and I say, "Hey, it's okay. Don't cry. It's okay."

"I miss Dada," Al whimpers.

"I know," I reply. "I miss him too." Al whimpers again and I sit down on his bed. "It's okay. He'll be home tomorrow."

"Yeah," Al says quietly.

"You gonna be okay?" I ask. Al doesn't do anything so I stand up. I walk to my bed, grab Lamby and my blanket, and walk back over to his bed. "Scoot over," I instruct. Al nods and he scoots over, leaving plenty of room for me. I know we should sleep alone but I don't want Al to stay up crying all night. So I crawl into bed next to him and instantly Al wraps his arms around me. He's really upset, I guess. I pet his hair, Al whimpering into my chest.

"She's coming, Brother," Al whimpers. "I c-can be g-good."

"Shh," I whisper. "No, she's not. You're safe. It's okay." He whimpers again and I ask, "What's gotten into you?"

"Uh," Al says, his voice strained, "M-My an-anxiety's s-super bad f-for some r-reason." I frown, wondering if there's a way I can calm him down. I rack my brain and for some reason, all I can think of is Mom. When we were little and we were scared, Mom would curl up next to us in bed and sing until we fell asleep. Now, I'm no good at singing, but I don't know if it was the singing that made me feel safe. I think it was Mom's voice and her scent and everything about her. When she was that close to me, I had no choice but to feel safe. Al was the same way. So, which song did Al always request? Oh, that's right. I remember.

"Here comes the sun," I sing softly, Al glancing up at me, "Here comes the sun and I say; it's alright." Al grins at me and I smile back.

"Little darling," he joins in, "It's been a long, cold, lonely winter. Little darling, it's been so long since it's been here. Here comes the sun, do, do, do, do. Here comes the sun and I say; it's alright." Al's voice slowly fades out as he goes to sleep and my voice slowly morphs into Mom's in my head.

"Little darling," Mom would sing, petting my hair. I'd look up at her and she'd kiss my forehead so I wouldn't be scared anymore. "Little darling, the smile's returning to their faces. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun, do, do, do, do. Here comes the sun and I say; it's alright." Al shifts beside me and I kiss his hair. Mom sure was smart. When I have kids, I hope I'm half as smart as she was. That way I'll always know how to make my kids feel safe when they're scared.

In the morning Al and I wake up to the smell of pancakes. Winry made them for us again and I can't thank her enough. While last night wasn't awful by our standards (I had a nightmare, Al had a night terror and ended up wetting the bed later), Al's anxiety is terrible today. I know he misses Dada and the anticipation of seeing him is making him anxious. I think part of that is that when we were kids, we were both terrified that when Dada got back from a trip that he wouldn't like us anymore. That everything she told him, all her lies she had cooked up for him to hear, that he'd start hating us. I think part of Al is scared that when we see Dada at the airport he'll decide he hates us when he hears how bad our mental health was when he was gone. I pick at my pancakes and sigh. Maybe he will. I don't know. I glance over at Al and see he's not eating. So I silently get his attention and tell him with my eyes that he needs to try and eat. He nods at me and tries again but quickly gives up.

"You feeling okay?" Winry asks, setting her glass down. Al shrugs.

"I guess," he replies softly. "It's just…. I don't know. I have a lot of feelings about Dada coming home."

"Aren't they all good feelings?" Winry asks. Of course she would think that. She doesn't understand. But how could she when we've never told her? We've never told her anything.

"No," Al says simply. He sets his fork down, his face resting in his hand. "When we were kids, we were always terrified that when Dad got home from a trip, he'd hate us." Winry's brow furrows and Al adds, "She lied about us, you know."

"Yeah," Winry says quietly. "I know."

"It's just hard for those sort of feelings to go away," Al goes on, "Especially when you felt them for seven years." Winry blinks before a sad smile spreads across her face.

"You know," she says, picking her fork up, "I think I know how you feel. At least a little."

"What are you talkin' about, Winry?" I scoff.

"Well, when I was super little, my parents were army doctors," she beings, taking a bite. "Whenever they'd come home from being away, I always was sad and a little scared 'cause I knew that soon they'd have to go away again." Winry's eyes get sad and she looks at her food. "I also knew that one day might be the last time they'd ever go away 'cause they could die over there." Winry's lip quivers and she tucks her hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry," Al apologizes. "I didn't mean to make you sad. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Winry says with a strained voice. "I wanted you to know that you weren't alone, Al. At least, not because of those feelings. 'Cause I get it – I really do."

"Please don't cry," Al begs. "I can't handle it when people cry." Winry shakes her head and laughs lightly. She wipes her eyes with her hand and says,

"I won't," she replies. "I won't cry. I promise."

"Hey, Win?" I say.

"What's up?" She replies in question.

"Thanks," I tell her softly. "It means a lot to me that you said all that." Winry shakes her head again.

"Dummy," she teases lightly. I grin weakly and turn to Al. He's smiling too, a bit of pancake on his fork.

Like most days, my morning classes fly by before I can register they happened. I'm really getting sick of not remembering school, but I don't know what I can do to help myself remember it. Well, maybe not being stressed out of my mind would help. I don't know. The bell rings and Winry and I walk to my locker. We wait for Al and wave when we see him. He hurries over, a grin on his face, and we meet up with Ling and Rose before walking to the cafeteria. We jump through the hoops of normal Monday conversation with them. They ask about our weekend; we ask about theirs. They ask what's going on this week and we ask them the same thing. The usual Monday small talk. I hate small talk, but I put up with it for them. They're my friends. Besides, small talk is a pretty effective way to get information across quickly even if it is boring as hell. We get our food and sit down, laughing at something funny Ling said. We eat for a while before Al stands suddenly. Everyone looks up at him as he stares blankly at the door. My brow furrows and I ask,

"Al? What's the matter?" He doesn't answer me. Instead he hurries away from the table and runs toward the door. I follow him and watch as he runs into someone's arms. I stand, one word leaving my lips as I watch Al hug someone tighter than I've seen him hug a person in a while; "Dad?" Dad looks over Al's head and smiles at me. Everyone watches as I leave the table behind to greet Dada.

"I missed you so much, Dada," Al says as I get close.

"Hey, kiddo," Dad says warmly. I blink before a lump forms in my throat. Dada must sense tears because he says, "It's okay, Ed. Dada's here now." I nod, my lip quivering. Dad smiles at me and pulls me into a hug. Al scoots over so we can both hug him.

"I missed you," I tell him, pulling him in tighter.

"I know, baby," he whispers. He kisses my forehead and pulls away before saying, "I know."

"Dad, I thought you wouldn't be home until way later," Al says.

"Well," Dada replies. "I thought it would be nice to surprise you." We grin and Dada says, "What would you boys say to ditching school and going fishing? It's been so long since we've gone." Al nods eagerly.

"Yeah!" He cries happily. "Yeah! Let's go!" Dada chuckles and shakes his head.

"Okay, okay," he laughs. "I'll sign you both out while you go get your things. I'll meet you here, okay?"

"Okay!" Al cries, hurrying off. Our lunch table watches him go, confusion on everyone's face. I walk over and they all stare at me.

"Dad's taking us to go fishing," I explain.

"Okay, but why?" Ling asks.

"Oh," I say, remembering that they don't know that Dad travels. "My dad travels for work and he's been in London for a week. Guess he missed us a lot. I don't know." I feel like I just lied to them because I totally did. I do know why Dada's taking us fishing. He's taking us 'cause he knows how much we've missed him this past week. I just can't tell them that without telling them a bunch of other shit I don't want them to know right now.

"Well, have fun, 'kay?" Winry says with a grin. I kinda feel bad that Winry's not going. When I was little, Mom and Dad would take Al and me fishing with Granny and Winry. It was kind of a thing. We'd go to Lake Liore for hours and fish. I remember one time Al caught a huge one on his tiny little fishing pole. Winry encouraged him the whole time as he struggled to reel it in. But Dad didn't invite her so she can't go. I smile back at her and say,

"You bet."

"Bye, Ed," the table says in unison. I wave and hurry to my locker. Al's already there, bouncing eagerly on his toes. I shake my head at him and grab my stuff. We hurry back to the cafeteria and meet Dada. He says we're good to go so we leave, none of us able to stop smiling the whole way to the lake.

Lake Liore is the only interesting place in Resembool. I mean, I know it's just a lake, but there's really not much else in town. We don't even have a Walmart. All we have is a pizza joint, a movie theater with just two screens, and Lake Liore. So as you can imagine, there's always a ton of people at the lake. Well, on weekends, anyway. During the week, there's a lot less people. When we were little, Dada would take us fishing on weekdays in the middle of the day. We'd find an isolated spot and stay until dinner. We'd eat lunch by the lake, Al throwing bread on to the lake hoping to attract some fish. I don't know if his strategy actually worked or if he just got lucky a lot. Anways, we haven't gone fishing together in a long time. I'm talking like ten years long. We used to go all the time with Mom and Winry's family but once Mom and Winry's parents died, we stopped going. I think Dada took me and Al a few times before the abuse started, but he never took us during it. She wouldn't let us. Besides, we were always in trouble for one reason or another so fishing was definitely out of the question.

We finally get to the lake, Dada finding a place near the water to park. Guess he was planning this on his way back from London 'cause the car was already full of everything we needed. There's a cooler full of sandwiches and water, folding chairs, and our fishing poles. We got new ones two years ago when she got arrested 'cause Dad wanted to take us fishing. He never did, though, 'cause he thought it would stress us out too bad. Whatever. Al and me help Dad unload the car and set up the spot we're going to fish at. When Winry and Granny would come with us, we'd take Uncle Urey's boat out on the lake and make a whole big day of it. I remember when we were kids, we'd spend entire weekends on the lake. Al and I would stay in the water for hours, Mom saying that we'd grow gills if we stayed in much longer. Of course that made Al and I want to stay in the water a lot longer to see if it was true. Well, it wasn't, but I always kinda wished it was. Breathing underwater seems so cool. Anyway, we get real close to the edge of the lake and start eating. I can tell Dada's exhausted but he's smiling and chatting with us. He tells us stories about London and all the people he met and all the places he saw. He says his favorite thing he saw was Buckingham Palace. There's a lot of old paintings and jewelry and shit there. He took a tour and took lots of pictures so he could show us. He just keeps talking and talking and I can feel that dull roar of anxiety quiet inside of me. Dada's voice is soft and steady and gentle and it calms my permanently frayed nerves.

We finish eating and start fishing. Like when he was little, Al picks up a lone sandwich left over from lunch and picks the crust off it. He tosses it into the lake, Dada chuckling at him as he throws pieces of bread into the lake. Whenever we go fishing, we don't keep the fish or anything like that. Mama was a good cook and everything, but she didn't like handling raw fish and Dad's never been good at cooking. So we always just toss the fish back into the lake 'cause we're not gonna keep 'em. Sometimes Granny will take the best looking fish or two home with her and she'd cook them but we don't always have the best luck when we fish. But we don't fish 'cause we're good at it. We fish 'cause it's relaxing and we like it. Dada leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes while Al creeps closer to the water. Al's got a wad of bread in one hand and his pole in the other, his hazel eyes scanning the surface of the water looking for a sign of life.

"Fish," Al whispers softly, crouching down. "I've got some food for you if you want it." He tears a piece of bread off the chunk in his hand and tosses it on to the lake. I shake my head at him as he watches the water eagerly, leaning closer and closer to the water.

"Careful," I warn, "If you lean in any more, you'll fall in." Al turns to face me, a smile on his face. He shrugs and says,

"Wouldn't be the worst thing."

"It's freezing," I laugh. "You'd regret it if you actually fell in." Al chuckles lightly before shushing me.

"Quiet, Brother," he says, "I'm looking for fish." I smile fondly at him and look over at Dad. His eyes are shut and I guess he's asleep. Poor Dada's probably beat. He really should have gone home and slept instead of taking us fishing. But he didn't. I kinda feel guilty about that. Dad sacrifices so much for Al and me. He sacrifices his career, his free time, and his own well-being for us. It's not fair, really. I don't know how he puts up with it, honestly.

"Dada," I say. He stirs slightly and turns over toward me. He smiles as he opens his eyes and he asks,
"What's up, buddy?"

"I'm sorry," I apologize softly. Dad sits up, his brow furrowed.

"For what?" Dada asks.

"For taking up so much of your time," I say, my voice strained. "You give up so much for us. You have since Mom died. I can't believe how exhausting that is and I'm sorry." Dad blinks before he looks warmly at me.

"Oh, Ed," he sighs. "You are such a good hearted boy. I'm your father, Edward. I'm supposed to give up things for my children."

"But you're so tired all the time!" I argue. "You're always so tired but you never complain or get angry or anything! You sacrifice so much for us and I feel so guilty about it!"

"Ed," Dad tries as I start crying. "Ed, it's okay."

"No, it's not!" I cry. "We're not worth your time, Dada! We're worthless! We're fuck ups! We're wastes of space! We're bad boys! H-How can y-you do all th-that? W-We aren't w-w-worth it!" Dada stands, Al watching from the bank, and walks over to me. Silently Dada pulls my face into his chest and just lets me cry into him. He pets my hair and all I can do is cry like a baby. God, I'm such a baby. I'm really not worth Dada's time. I'm really not.

"It's okay," Dad whispers. "You're so worth it, Ed. You're so, so worth it." I shake my head, but can't find any words to reply with. They've all dried up in the back of my throat where all my words go when the bubbles force them away. Dada cradles me close and I drop my pole. I wrap my arms around him, trying to absorb Dad's love for me just through touch so that maybe I can finally believe his words.

"Dada!" Al cries. Dad glances backward and chuckles loudly.

"Ed, Al's got a bite," Dada tells me. I sniffle loudly and wipe my face as Dad pulls away. Al's slowly backing away from the water, his line bending into a deep curve as the fish fights him.

"It's big, I think," Al informs us, grunting as he tries to reel it in.

"Plant your feet, Al," Dada instructs. "Spread your legs apart and hold your ground." Al nods, a look of determination on his face.

"Don't forget to work with the fish a little," I remind him with a strained voice. "If you fight him the whole time, you won't reel him in."

"Right," Al says, his knuckles turning white as he does what Dad told him to do. He plants his feet in the soft ground, his legs far apart as he struggles to reel the fish in. His knees bend as the fish pulls the line, Al yelping as he almost loses his balance. He looks back at us and says, "I think I'm gonna lose this one."

"No," I say, standing up. "You can do it, Al. Try loosening the line before reeling in again." Al nods at me and does what I told him to. Dad watches as Al slowly reels the fish in and Al's really straining. It really must be a big fish.

"Almost," Al grunts, pulling his pole toward his body. "C'mon, fish!" The line snaps but doesn't break and Al falls backward onto his butt. He drops the pole but hurries to grab it. He continues reeling it in, the fish dragging up on to the bank of the lake. It flops around, Al just watching it as it struggles.

"You did it, Al!" I cry. I hurry over and examine the fish. It's a huge largemouth bass; the poor fish's gills going crazy as it fights for air.

"Hurry and pick it up, honey," Dada tells Al. "I want to get a picture to show Pinako before we toss him back." Al seems to have come back to earth and he nods. He hurries to his feet and grabs the line, holding the fish up in the air. "Smile, Ally!" A toothy smile spreads across my brother's face and I grin. I may not be worth Dad's time, but that goofy little kid is. Al is worth Dad's time. He always has been. Maybe someday I will be, too.

"That'll turn out great, sweetie," Dad says tiredly, pocketing his phone. He walks over and says, "Let me help you get him free. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Al nods and I watch as Dada unhooks the fish from the line and tosses him back in the lake. Dad then checks his watch and turns to us.

"We should get going so you two can get to therapy," Dada says.

"Yeah, okay," I reply. We start packing up and I stare at the lake. Al puts the chairs and poles in the trunk of the car and Dad walks over to me.

"You okay, buddy?" Dada asks, probably referring to my break down earlier. I nod, my eyes locked on the water.

"Yeah," I say. I turn to Dada and grin cheekily before saying, "We should go fishing more often. I forgot how pretty lake is." Dad smiles warmly at me and nods.

"It is pretty," Dad agrees. "Very relaxing, don't you think?"

"Yeah," I say. Dad ruffles my hair.

"We'll definitely try to get out here more often," Dada tells me. "I think it'll do you some good."

"Did you mean it when you said I'm worth your time?" I ask softly. The corners of Dad's eyes crinkle and he puts his arm around my waist. He guides me to the car and asks,

"Have I ever lied to you?" I shake my head.

"No," I answer.

"Then I meant what I said," Dad tells me. "You and Al are not a waste of my time, honey. I love you boys so very much. You're both my whole world and these last two years I've done my best to convince you that's it's true. Hopefully someday soon, you'll see it." I smile weakly and look back at the lake. Yeah. Maybe someday, I will.