Cutepanda12323: Thank you very much! Thanks for the review, glad you liked the last chapter, and I hope you like this one!

Mother Of The Universe: I'm going to so join you on your mission to hug these poor kids. They really need a good hug. Poor kids deserve it. Thanks for the review and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Hey, guys! I didn't think I'd be able to update again this month with nursing school and all, but I managed to write and edit a chapter in between studying, clinical, and class. I also have some big things planned for Ed after the story's through (the end is actually coming pretty soon, believe it or not) so I'm super excited to share that with you all. I won't give details away, though, until this is closer to completion. Anyway, this chapter only mentions cutting and child sexual abuse in passing, but I'm letting you know just in case that's just something that really makes you uncomfortable. I don't have anything else to say except enjoy and I'll see everyone next chapter!


It's occurred to me that I have no idea what family therapy's gonna be like. I mean, I know it's gonna be different than the therapy me and Al have with Dr. Hughes and it's gonna be different than the group me and Al go to every week. I just don't know what it's gonna be like. Dada's gonna be there and that's kinda weird. It's good, I think, but it's weird. I don't really talk to Dad about shit like that. Feelings and the abuse and stuff. It always gets super awkward and I can tell it makes Dada uncomfortable and sad. Besides, I don't really like talking about that stuff anyways. I do at group obviously and I talk about it at therapy sometimes but I don't like to talk about the abuse or my feelings at home. Sometimes I'll talk about it with Al when we're lying in bed but it's not something I really talk about with Dad. But since it's family therapy we're going to today, Dad's gonna be there and I might have to. I don't know if I'll be able to talk about stuff with Dada there. Seeing him cry yesterday after the whole molestation-thing happened…. That was terrible. While I do still blame Dad for a lot of the stuff that happened to me and Al, I don't think it's all his fault or that he's a mean person. I love my dad and I know he didn't mean for the abuse to happen. He already feels so guilty about the whole thing and I hate seeing him cry so I have no idea how this whole family therapy thing is gonna work. I just hope it helps.

Al isn't at school today. He had a rough night and didn't want to get out of bed this morning. It freaked me out 'cause for a while, it seemed like he was gonna spend all day in bed like he did after the abuse ended. Dada did get him to get up, but he was really sleepy and didn't want to go to school. After the shitty day we all had yesterday, I don't blame him for not wanting to go. Winry noticed he wasn't here this morning but didn't ask me about it. I bet she'll ask me when school's out. I don't know what I should tell her if she asks. Al didn't tell me if it was okay to tell her about the molestation. I don't know if he wants people to know. I mean, I know it's Winry and she knows about the abuse but this is different. This is something Al will probably want to tell her himself. The final bell rings and I get up. I walk to my locker, Al's dumb friend Hannah loitering around it. My brow furrows and I walk over.

"Um, hey," I greet anxiously. Hannah looks over at me and smiles weakly.

"Hi," she replies. "I wanted to ask about Al. Is he sick?" I nodded.

"Yeah," I answer, getting into my locker. I put the stuff away that I don't need and go on, "He really doesn't feel good. Our dad might make him go to school tomorrow, though."

"Oh, well, I hope he feels better," Hannah says. I shut my locker and stare at her.

"See ya," I dismiss, walking away.

"Wait a second," Hannah says. I pause and Hannah hurries to stand next to me.

"About last week," Hannah begins, "That thing with Nicole – I'm sorry. I don't know why she said what she said."

"Don't worry about it," I tell her blandly. "As long as what she said isn't spread around, it's fine. It just hurt Al's feelings. Actually, so did the Star Trek bashing."

"Sorry," Hannah says softly.

"Look, I gotta go," I tell her, really trying end the conversation. "My dad'll be here to get me soon."

"Tell Al I said I hope he feels better," Hannah says.

"'Kay," I reply, hurrying off. I sigh, walking outside. It's fucking freezing, but I see Winry standing at the stairs. I walk over and poke her arm. She slides her eyes over and smiles broadly when she sees it's me.

"Hey," she greets.

"Hi," I reply. Winry looks around, her brow furrowed.

"Is Al not here today?" Winry asks. I nod and she continues, "I kinda felt like he wasn't, but I thought maybe he was coming late. Is he still sick?" I shrug.

"Sorta," I answer. "He's still on medicine for that UTI and he hasn't passed a kidney stone yet. He's just really tired." Winry frowns and crosses her arms.

"You know I can see right through you, right?" She questions, her brow raised.

"Huh?" I ask stupidly.

"I don't doubt he's still feeling lousy, but I know that's not why Al's missing school," Winry informs me. "Granny mentioned that Uncle Victor's been really mopey lately and that you guys had a home visit on Friday. Did it go poorly or something?" I swallow nervously and shake my head.

"The home visit went fine," I tell her, feeling everyone's eyes on me. There's hardly anyone around, but my anxiety makes me feel like there's a million pairs of eyes on me. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

"I'm worried, Ed," she says quietly. "Did something happen?" I glance around, Ryan Vaus standing nearby. I pull Winry aside and sigh loudly.

"Look, um, I really shouldn't tell you," I whisper so no one can hear, "But Al told us something secret that happened when we were living in one of the foster homes. Al'll probably wanna tell you himself, though, so that's all I can tell you." Winry's eyes widened.

"Something secret?" Winry questions worriedly. "I'm assuming it's a bad something."

"Bad doesn't even begin to describe it," I say sadly. "But I really can't tell you, okay?" Winry nods.

"So, is Al gonna volunteer today with Mei?" Winry asks, changing the subject.

"No," I answer. "We've got family therapy today."

"Family therapy?" Winry asks, crossing her arms and shivering.

"Oh, yeah, that's something we're doing now," I say offhandedly, looking for Dada's silver hatch back.

"God, Edward, what happened?" Winry presses. "Whatever secret Al had must be terrible if you guys are doing family therapy."

"Please, drop it," I beg. "I really don't wanna talk about this. I can't tell you Al's secret." Winry gives me a sympathetic look and I glare at her.

"Sorry," she apologizes. "I'm just worried about you guys." I sigh and nod.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I groan. "I'm sorry, I just shouldn't tell you, okay? It's nothing personal, promise. It's just something Al should tell you himself."

"Okay, I get that," she says. "It's just…. Is he gonna breakdown when he does? I don't know if I could handle that."

"He might," I inform her. "It's that bad." Winry grimaces, snow starting to flurry. Little flakes land on Winry's coat and I stare at them. They don't melt right away – they just stay there.

"Ed," Winry says, "Did somebody hurt Al in the foster home?" My lip trembles and I nod.

"Uh, yeah," I answer, trying not to cry. "Someone hurt him bad, Winry. I…. I watched the whole thing happen to him." Winry's eyes widen.

"Oh, my God," Winry breathes, her breath visible for a couple seconds. I quiver, my throat tightening up. If Dada doesn't come to get me, like, now, I'm gonna accidently tell Winry what happened to Al.

"It was terrible," I whimper, starting to wheeze. "It was so horrible."

"Ed, calm down," Winry instructs, trying to remind me there's kids from school standing all around. I shake my head, trying to get a hold of myself.

"So, horrible," I repeat, Winry inching closer to me. I feel my eyes burning, tears fighting to escape.

"Um, Edward," Winry struggles. "I'm sorry I pressed you so hard. I shouldn't have. You don't have to say anything else. I'm sorry." I shake my head, my breathing getting frantic. I grab my hair, squatting down and staring at the ground.

"I c-couldn't d-d-do anything t-t-to st-stop it," I whimper, Winry squatting down next to me. She rubs my back and I just keep talking. "All I c-c-could do w-was w-w-watch. Th-That's all I c-c-can ever do. It's a-a-all I c-can e-ever d-do."

"I don't think that's true," Winry says gently, still rubbing my back. "I think you do plenty. It's not easy to look after someone but you do it each and every day for Al. You've done it since you were kids. Even before she came around, you helped your dad take care of him after Aunt Trisha died." I glance up at Winry, her lip trembling. "I remember how depressed poor Uncle Victor was. Granny says she'd never seen someone look the way he did. He barely managed to take care of himself, let alone you two. And Al was so little. He wasn't even four yet. You were so little, too. Just five and you were the one that got Al dressed in the morning and fed him breakfast. You made him peanut butter sandwiches, remember?" I nod, tears running down my face.

"W-With banana in the middle," I manage to say. "And milk to drink."

"Yeah, that's right," Winry affirms. "You were the one to help give him baths. You took him to go potty. You even tried to help your dad feel better. It was your ability to keep going that got Uncle Vic out of his depression."

"No, it wasn't," I argue. "It was her."

"No," Winry insists. "It wasn't. You don't remember it the way Granny and I do. Before Uncle Victor met her, he was starting to feel better. Granny says that he was moved by the way you continued on, even though you were devastated after Aunt Trisha died. He was so impressed with your ability to take care of Al, even though you were so upset and it gave him the courage to start living normally again. Because of you, he started to be the one to get Al dressed in the morning. He started to be the one to give the both of you a bath and tuck you both in at night. That all started long before he met her. Uncle Victor got better because of you." I stare at her, Winry's chin quivering. She sniffles loudly and I wipe my face.

"It was me?" I ask, my lip still trembling. Winry nods.

"It was you," she confirms. "It's always been you, Ed. The only reason your dad does what he does is because of you and Al. He's gone about it the wrong way a lot in his life, but it's always been you guys. That's what he cares about. That's why he keeps going, even when life is hard. That's why he got better when he was so depressed. It was you and Al. It's always been." I quiver, shaking my head. Me? No way. But…. Then again….

I did take care of Al when Dada couldn't. I remember the days Winry's talking about. Me and Al took care of each other. At first, we had to feed each other and keep each other clean. I used to make Al peanut butter sandwiches with sliced banana in the middle. Al would make me jam sandwiches. Strawberry jam, actually. My favorite. Al taught Dada what jam I liked best so when he started making my lunches for kindergarten, he'd pack the right thing. I used to pick out all of Al's clothes. I'd give him a bath and clean him up if he had an accident. I'd cuddle with him late at night, calming him down when he missed Mommy so bad he felt like his chest was going to fall in. He'd do the same for me. Then, all of a sudden, Dada started to do those things. He started to be the one to pick our clothes out in the morning and help Al get dressed. He started to be the one to feed us in the morning and tuck us in at night. He started to be the one to give baths and do the cleanup when one of us had an accident. He started to act like our daddy again. And he got better, got back to that place, all because of me and Al?

"Your dad's here," Winry informs me. I don't move, Winry getting closer to me. "You okay?"

"Elric!" I freeze, Winry standing suddenly.

"Leave us alone, Ryan," Winry warns. "I'm really not in the mood."

"What's the little cripple up to?" Ryan questions. I remain planted on my feet, squatting down and staring at the concrete.

"None of your damn business!" Winry cries angrily.

"Well, Elric, tell your pissy little brother I've missed him," Ryan calls. "I've had no one to push around lately. He's the most fun." I clench my jaw, Ryan going on, "It's the funniest thing when I lock him in supply closets and he cries for you to save him. He was the funniest, though, when he cried about not wanting me to bad touch him. What a pussy! Seriously – bad touch? I'll make him hard if I –!" My hand is in a fist and it makes contact with Ryan's face. He falls backward and I'm heaving. I don't remember even getting up. Winry's standing nearby, her gloved hands in front of her mouth. Ryan sits up and glares at me, blood running down his face from his nose.

"You little prick," Ryan grumbles loudly. I glare at him, still heaving. The courtyard is basically empty now. Almost everyone's either inside or already at their car. There's a couple kids, but since school's out most of them are not concerned with Ryan and me. They just wanna go home. I want to go home. But I can't – not until I tell this douche bag off. He's had it coming all year, too, the dick.

"You shut your fucking mouth," I pant angrily. "You have no fucking clue what you're talking about!"

"I know your brother's a worthless little gay pussy," Ryan retorted. "I know that no one except you and your looser friends care about him. I know that he gets hard for boys, the little faggot."

"Shut up!" I yell, Ryan standing up. "He does not!"

"Does so," Ryan argues. "He told me so." Sweat run downs my neck, saturating my shirt collar.

"What?" I breathe.

"Oh, I know, Elric," Ryan teases. "I know all about him and a boy named David." I stare at him, Winry walking over to me.

"Ed, what is he talking about?" Winry questions frantically. "Who's David?"
"How the hell do you know about that?" I ask behind a clenched jaw.

"You moron, I just told you," Ryan snaps, wiping blood off his upper lip. "The faggot

told me himself when he was locked in a closet in the locker room. He cried like a baby, claiming he didn't mean to get hard for him. 'I didn't mean to! He touched me all over! I didn't want him to touch me!' He told me everything. After I heard enough, I dragged him out of that closet and roughed him up a little. Think he went home sick that day." I start walking over, Winry grabbing my arm.

"Ed, who the hell is David?" Winry demands, about to cry. "What is Ryan talking about?" I yank my arm away from her and keep walking.

"You had no right," I tell Ryan angrily. "What happened wasn't his fault. He was molested you sick bastard!" The air around me tenses, Winry gasping loudly.

"M-Molested?" Winry questions, her voice shaking. I ignore her and glare at Ryan.

"A boy molested him when he was eleven," I continue, my own voice shaking. But mine's not shaking 'cause I'm about to cry. Mine's shaking 'cause I'm furious. "He was over powered by a teenage boy and violated when he was just a little kid!" I grab Ryan's collar, a bunch of kids watching. "He's not a faggot! A bad thing happened to him! And you've been locking him in closets and torturing him so he spills his guts!? You've been forcing him to relieve the worst moments of his life!? You're sick, you know that!?" I raise my fist and punch him right in the face, Ryan grunting. He struggles, trying to get away but I'm stronger.

"I didn't know," Ryan argues loudly.

"It doesn't matter!" I roar. "You don't treat other people that way!" Ryan glares at me and kicks my left leg. I lose my balance and fall, Ryan grabbing the foot of my prosthetic. He rips it off and tosses it away, hovering over me.

"Don't tell me what to do, Elric," Ryan growls, standing over me. I quiver, laying face up on my back as he heaves over me. "I can treat people however I want. That means I'm totally cool with teasing a kid who's been molested or a cripple who throws up all the time. I don't care what happened to you and your brother. And you know what? No one else does, either."

"Get off him!" I turn my head, Ling, Mei, and Lan Fan running over.

"Oh, Ling," Ryan says, still hovering over me. I whimper and Ryan says, "What's up, man?"

"You heard me," Ling says, stopping right next to Ryan. "Get off him." Mei kneels down beside me.

"Are you okay?" Mei asks. I nod.

"I hit my head," I inform her, trying not to cry. "I'm okay, though." Mei nods.

"Winry's getting your leg," Mei tells me.

"Edward!" That's Dada's voice. I sit up, Ryan pushing me back down.

"Dada!" I cry, Mei looking over.

"Al!" Mei cries happily.

"Brother!" Al calls. He hurries over and squats down next to Mei. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I reply, feeling guilty. Hopefully no one but Winry and Ryan heard what we were arguing over. I mean, practically no one was around, but still. Someone could have over heard and that's the last thing Al needs right now.

"Get off my son," Dad warns. Ryan gets off instantly.

"He started it," Ryan says quickly. I sit up, Winry handing me my leg.

"I don't care," Dada replies. I put my leg back on and Al helps me up. Ling's glaring at Ryan, Lan Fan standing next to him with her hands on her hips. Ryan grins and looks at Al.

"Hey," he greets, Al's chin quivering. "I missed you, little faggot boy."

"Leave him alone!" Mei cries.

"Shut the fuck up!" Ryan yells at Mei.

"That is enough." Everyone turns to find Ms. Hawkeye standing near the door.

"Ms. Hawkeye, Ryan's been –" Ms. Hawkeye holds her hand up, cutting Ling off.

"Ryan, Edward, I need you in my office," Ms. Hawkeye says.

"Ms. Hawkeye, I have to get the boys out of here," Dad says. "They've got an appointment."

"I understand, Mr. Elric, but Ed punched this boy in the face," Ms. Hawkeye replies coolly. "I told him last semester fighting would not be tolerated. I went easy in the fall, but I can't go easy this time."

"Hold on a second," Winry butts in. "You have no idea what happened. Ed wouldn't punch him in the face for no reason! Ryan was saying awful things about Al! He was bragging about how he locks him up in closets and bullies him!" Winry looks over at Al, Al staring at the ground.

"Thank you for telling me, Winry," Ms. Hawkeye says. "Regardless, I must punish them both. I'm sorry." Al takes my hand, squeezing it lightly. Dad walks over to Ms. Hawkeye and whispers in her ear. She nods and looks over at me.

"Let's go, Ed," she says gently. "You and I need to have a chat. It'll be quick, I promise." I look at all my friends, all of them really worried looking.

"Um, thanks for coming to help," I say quietly. "You didn't have to."

"Of course we did," Ling argues. "We were getting ready to leave when we saw Ryan kick your leg. That wasn't cool."

"You, uh, didn't hear anything we said to each other, did you?" I ask nervously.

"Some people are talking, but mostly about Ryan bullying Al and how terrible it is," Lan Fan tells me. "Nobody really knows any details about what you guys were saying to each other. Too much background noise and hardly anybody was actually outside during the fight." I nod, sighing in relief. That's good. Even if I get in huge trouble, at least the molestation was kept a secret. Only…. My eyes widen and I look over at Ryan. Shit! He and Winry know! It's not just Winry! I let go of Al's hand and hurry over to Ms. Hawkeye.

"Ms. Hawkeye," I say, squirming on my feet, "Ryan knows Al was molested! He's gonna tell everyone! Al's gonna go back to the bad place he was in and it's all my fault!"

"Edward, calm down," Ms. Hawkeye tells me. "Ryan won't be telling anyone anything for a while. Trust me." I blink at her, a few tears rolling down my face. She smiles sadly at me. "We need to get moving. This conversation won't take long." She turns to Ryan and barks, "Let's go, Vaus!" Ryan glares at us and Dada takes my hand briefly and squeezes it. We start walking and Al hurries to catch up with us. I look guiltily over at Dad and sigh.

"I'm sorry I got in a fight," I say guiltily. "He just wouldn't shut up. He was saying terrible things about Al." Dada nods.

"I know, but, Edward," Dad sighs. "You know better. Violence is never the answer. It doesn't solve problems."

"I-I'm sorry," I whimper, my throat tightening up. "I c-couldn't…. I couldn't just stand by and let him talk that way about Al."

"I understand, but," Dad says quietly, "Now you're in trouble and there's nothing I can do." Ms. Hawkeye takes us to her office and me, Al, and Dada go in before Ryan since we've got family therapy in, like, an hour in a town that's thirty minutes away. She sits down at her desk and I stand near the chairs Dad and Al sit down in.

"Ed, please, have a sit," Ms. Hawkeye instructs. I shake my head. "Well, alright." She sighs and shakes her head. "You've really put me in a bind here, Edward. Even though I have to punish you, it makes me physically sick to do it. I know what Ryan said. Winry told me. It's abhorrent and Al's reaction gave me all the ground I need to punish Ryan accordingly."

"Ms. Hawkeye," Al says, his voice shaking. He leans forward in his chair and says, "Please don't be mad at Brother. He was just trying to look out for me." Ms. Hawkeye nods, her fingers rotating the engagement ring on her left hand.

"Alphonse, I know that," she replies. "And because of the circumstances, I can do something a little different for punishment that I think Ed might actually enjoy."

"What?" I ask, Ms. Hawkeye smiling at me.

"Your math and science grades are really amazing," Ms. Hawkeye praises. "My fiancée told me recently that there is a great need for tutoring in math and science in this town, particularly for middle school kids. I thought instead of suspending you as I know that won't do you any good or give you weeks of detention, you could tutor a couple nights a week for a little while. I know your schedule gets busy with all the therapy appointments and I don't want to take you away from that, but you can always do tutoring in the evenings at the library for an hour or two. What do you think?" I blink, suddenly less anxious.

"Oh," I say stupidly. "Well, um, considering detention gave me a panic attack I think I might be able to handle tutoring."

"That's a wonderful idea," Dada enthuses. "It'll look great on his resume, too. Thank you so much, Ms. Hawkeye."

"I have to warn you," Ms. Hawkeye tells me. "Roy might be dropping in from time to time. This is a new program that the police department and the school district are trying out to try and prevent teenage crime and drug use."

"Um," I say nervously. "I can handle it."

"Glad to hear it," Ms. Hawkeye says.

"What measures are we going to take to ensure Ryan doesn't spread sensitive information around the school?" Dada asks.

"The school resource officer will be monitoring the school more frequently and Ryan is not going to be returning to school for a while," Ms. Hawkeye explains. "He'll be suspended outside of school for two months. In addition, I'll be informing him that if talk of Al's molestation or any of the abuse is heard outside of anyone's mouth besides Ed, Al, Winry, or the school faculty, charges for harassment will be brought up against him. Those are sufficient grounds for charges, Mr. Elric." Dada nods.

"Oh, believe me, it's not some empty threat you'll be making to this boy," Dada says seriously. "If I hear that anyone is talking about something they shouldn't and making life hard for my little boy, those charges will be pressed. My boys have had such a hard life. I will not allow immature high school students to contribute to that if I can help it." Ms. Hawkeye nods.

"My fiancée would be more than happy to guide you through the process if you have to go through with it," Ms. Hawkeye tells him. "We'll know in a couple days if pressing charges will be necessary. Edward?" I look over at her.

"Yeah?"

"Keep your ear to the ground and inform me if you hear talk of the abuse you went through or people talking of Al's molestation," Ms. Hawkeye instructs. "Those things should be kept private between yourselves and the people you choose to disclose it with. And keep your nose clean, Ed. No more fighting. You're a good kid and this tutoring deal only applies to this circumstance. If you get in trouble again, I can't extend the same offer twice." I nod.

"Thank you," I say gratefully. "It means a lot."

"We need to get going, Ms. Hawkeye," Dad announces. "Family therapy is about thirty minutes away." Ms. Hawkeye nods.

"Okay, thank you for your time," she says. Dada and Al stand up and Al takes my hand. We move toward the door and Ms. Hawkeye says, "Oh, Alphonse?" Al turns to look at her.

"Huh?" Al asks. Ms. Hawkeye smiles warmly at him.

"I hope to see you in school tomorrow," Ms. Hawkeye tells him. "Your teachers and friends miss you." Al grins weakly.

"Uh, yeah," Al replies. "I'll try, okay?" Ms. Hawkeye nods, still smiling at him.

"Have a good evening," Ms. Hawkeye dismisses and we all leave, Ryan glaring at us as we all leave the office.

We don't talk about what happened as we drive to family therapy. Maybe Dad wants to talk to this Dr. Bergmann about what happened. I don't know. Or maybe there's nothing really to say about it. I mean, Dada doesn't seem angry that I got in a fight. But that's not really what I'm concerned about. I'm worried about people finding out about the molestation. I mean, our friends outside of Winry and Ling don't even know we were abused. If Rose or Lan Fan or Mei or Paninya found out about Al getting molested when he was eleven, that'd force us to tell them everything and I'm not ready to do that. I wanna tell them when I'm ready, not because they heard a rumor or something. Plus, I don't want Al to have go live through more bullying and isolation than he's already been through. School would be a nightmare and might send Al right back to his bad place. Since he's still in the low place, going back to the bad place might even make him suicidal and try to kill himself. I don't want him to go through that. I can't lose him. Al's the person that means the most to me. All those mornings I made him peanut butter sandwiches and picked out his clothes and rocked him to sleep…. Those memories mean a lot to me. And some mornings, I still make him a peanut butter and banana sandwich to take to school. I don't want that to go away.

We get to the office and Dad stops the car. He sighs and turns the car off. I stare at him, Dada smiling weakly at me. He really doesn't seem mad at me. That's good. I can't handle it when Dada's mad at me. We all get out and I look at the brick building. I read the name of the agency, but quickly forget it as I follow Dad inside. The name doesn't matter. I know the therapist's name so who cares who she works for. We get inside and find the right suite in the building. Dada checks us in, thanking the secretary for getting us in so soon. He did just call yesterday. I look around. The waiting room is a lot different than Dr. Hughes'. There's no toys or puzzles or little kids. There's a teenage girl sitting far away from us looking at her phone, and a boy on the other side of the room with his arms crossed. Al whimpers and hides behind me. Dad guides us to three chairs and we all sit down. All the pictures on the wall are of those weird blobby-things offices have and landscapes. I guess that makes sense, though. This agency's focus is teenagers, young adults, and families. They can't cater to kids like Dr. Hughes' office does. All Dr. Hughes sees are kids. I mean, he sees teenagers but that's 'cause teenagers are kids and his office only deals with kids. I think Dr. Hughes will see somebody into their twenties, though, if they aren't ready to get a grown-up therapist. That'll probably be me and Al. I anxiously wring my hands together, Dad scrolling through his phone. I see him typing so he's probably responding to an email. I guess he wants to respond to someone before therapy starts. Al's looking at all the pictures on the wall, his mouth a thin line. His eyes are green today. I didn't notice until now. He looks a lot like Mom.

"Edward, Alphonse, and Victor," a woman calls. Standing at the door to the offices is a middle-aged red headed woman. I guess that's Dr. Bergmann. She has a name tag but I can't read it from here. My family stands up and I take Al's hand. She smiles at us and I read her name tag when we get close enough. Yup – that's Dr. Bergmann. She looks nice. Doesn't mean she is, but it does make me feel a little better. She takes us to her office and invites us to sit down. We do, Al staring at his shoes. Dr. Bergmann sits in front of us and crosses her legs.

"Okay," she begins. "This week is going to be some basic introduction stuff so I can get better acclimated to your family's basic needs. I did get the gist of it from Dr. Hughes, but I always like to start off hearing it from the client directly. Helps me understand if I hear it from you rather than just from someone else." Dr. Bergmann turns to Dad, a smile on her face. "I presume you're dad?" Dada nods.

"Dr. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric," Dad introduces himself. "It's a pleasure." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"Pleasure is all mine," she replies. "Now, tell me a little about yourself. Try to include any personal mental health struggles you've had, if any. And please try to only talk about yourself, not your children. They'll get their chance to talk to me and if we have time, we can work through some things this week as a unit. Our main goal this week is to set some boundaries for each other once I know you three better and pick out specific things to work out and how to make your family unit stronger." Dad nods.

"Okay, um, well I'm forty-three and I have a doctorate in organic and biochemistry from the University of Illinois," Dad says nervously. "I have used it for both research science and teaching at the university level. I met my deceased wife, Trisha, in the senior year of my undergraduate degree. We married three years later, after her senior year. I was finishing up my doctorate at the time. I was twenty-five and she was twenty-one. We moved to Resembool because Trish got a job teaching kindergarten and she was born and raised here. We got pregnant with Ed in 1999 and he was born in February of 2000. We got pregnant a second time fairly quickly, but Trisha had a miscarriage. I think I might have experienced a short depression, but it was quickly resolved when Trish got pregnant a third time in late 2000. Al was born premature, though in May of 2001 and the night he was born, we got the news that Trisha had cervical cancer." Dad stops talking and takes his glasses off. I watch as he cleans them and puts them back on his face.

"I suppose I was depressed then as well," Dad says quietly. "But when both Al and Trisha were in the hospital, I had Ed to look after. I don't know if I got out of the depression or if it just got shoved to the backburner. It's hard to know. But as Trisha improved and felt better, I started to feel better. She was in remission for a little while, but after Al's second birthday, the cancer came back. It spread to her liver, then to her bladder. Her uterus was removed a few months after Al was born because it spread there initially. Anyway, she fought the second time for a year, but died right before Al turned four. That is a period in my life that I know I was depressed. I got through it, though, thanks to my boys. And, uh, that's when I met Vanessa."

"And Vanessa is your second wife, correct?" Dr. Bergmann asks. Dada nods, Al squirming anxiously in his seat.

"Yes," Dad answers sadly. "I met her in a time in my life where I falsely thought I couldn't be a single parent. I was coming out of my depression and…. I don't know. I had this picture in my head of marrying a nice woman and that would help my boys heal. I thought we needed to be a 'complete' family unit. I was wrong, obviously. When I learned what she had been doing behind my back for seven years to my children…. I suppose that was when I really felt the cloud of depression. I began the divorce process while she awaited trial and I had never felt more hopeless and useless. I sill blame myself for what happened to my boys and at the time I had no idea how to help them. I still don't sometimes and I guess that pretty much brings you up to speed." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"Alright, thank you, Victor," Dr. Bergmann says. "Edward? Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself?" I swallow nervously and look over at Al. He asks me with his eyes if I'm okay. I tell him I don't know. I don't even know what she wants me to tell her.

"I, um, don't know what to say," I say stupidly, blush on my cheeks. Dr. Bergmann smiles at me.

"Just tell me about you, Edward," Dr. Bergmann tells me. "How old you are, what grade you're in, your hobbies, and maybe some of your coping skills. We don't have to talk about the abuse or your stepmother if you don't feel comfortable doing so yet." I nod. I'm still anxious, but I know if I don't say anything we'll all just stare at each other until I do.

"Okay," I reply, my voice shaking. "Um, well first I mostly go by Ed, so you can call me that if you wanna. I, uh, am sixteen and I'm a sophomore. I get good grades and I'm in the advanced math and science program at school. I like to read, make puzzles with Al, play video games, and play outside, especially with Al and Winry. Winry's our friend. Uh, anyway…. When it all… ended I, uh, was low. I started cutting myself and setting fires. I don't do that stuff anymore, but sometimes I still wanna cut. When I do, I rub ice on my skin or color. I have lots of panic attacks and my anxiety's insane. I have bad dreams and I cry a lot. I word vomit when I get nervous and sometimes I actually throw up. I guess that's what you wanted me to say. I don't really know what coping skills means."

"That's okay, Ed," she assures me. "Coping skills would be behaviors you use to deal with your feelings. They can be both beneficial and harmful. The self-harm or setting fires are harmful coping skills while rubbing ice on your skin and coloring are beneficial. Do you have breathing exercises you do when you're panicked or upset?"

"I breathe in with my nose and out with my mouth," I answer. "I also have a list I say – mostly in my head but sometimes out loud – that helps when I'm anxious."

"Okay, and do you have a comfort item?" Dr. Bergmann asks. I blush and she says, "It's alright. You can tell me."

"I have a blankie and my stuffed lamb, Lamby," I admit softly.

"Any behaviors that make you feel more like a little kid than a sixteen-year-old that you'd like to tell me?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Are you talking about that regression stuff that Dr. Hughes talks about?" I question. Dr. Bergmann nods so I say, "Uh, yeah. I, um, wet the bed sometimes. I also sleep with Al and Dada and I like to be held when I'm scared. I used to suck on my blanket and Lamby, but I don't anymore." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"Alright," she says cheerfully. "Thank you very much, Edward. Now, Alphonse; tell me a little about yourself. Just tell me the same things Ed did if you feel like you can." Al nods and I can tell he's swallowing barf down.

"I'm fourteen," Al starts nervously. "I actually go by Al, but you don't have to call me that. I'm in 9th grade. I like school a lot. I'm good at science and I really like math. I volunteer at the cat shelter with my friend Mei on Tuesdays. I couldn't go today, but I'm gonna go next week. I like to play with Brother, watch movies, read, do puzzles, paint, play video games, and I really like riding my bike. I also like to go fishing and doing martial arts. Brother does, too. We just don't do that stuff right now. Um, I have a stuffed cat I carry around. His name's Chico. I'm in a low place right now so, I've been hurting myself. I have a plan to stop, though. Dr. Hughes helped my family make it. When…. When everything stopped I didn't get out of bed and didn't leave the house for a long time. I suck my thumb sometimes when I'm anxious or scared and I wet the bed a lot. I used to pee my pants during the day, but I don't do that anymore unless I have a panic attack. I have a list I say like Ed and, uh…."

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything else," she tells him. "I can tell you're anxious and I got enough basic info from all three of you. I can tell that all three of you have dealt with or are currently dealing with depression which is normal given your family's entire history. Losing a spouse and a mother is never easy, nor is abuse and domestic violence. Since you boys are anxious, let's steer away from the past and focus on some simple goals to help your family begin the healing process. Let's start by forming ground rules for our session and talking about what you think is a part of the healing process. I feel like the biggest ground rule we need is to be respectful. No interrupting or trying to finish sentences for one another. Allow each other time to form thoughts and sentences. We shouldn't pressure anyone to talk about something they don't feel comfortable sharing and be understanding of some behaviors, regression, and coping skills. The last ground rule I can think of is no cell phone use. Is everyone okay with these?" We all nod so Dr. Bergmann says,

"Okay, let's move on to the healing process. What are some things or activities that are part of the general process of healing that we all go through?" My family sits in silence for a minute, Dr. Bergmann smiling weakly at us. "Okay, Victor? What's one thing you feel like is a part of the healing process?"

"Well, I feel like communication is important," Dad says. "If we don't communicate we can't understand how we all feel or what's going on in our lives. Healing involves talking so communication is part of that process."

"Okay, that's a good one," Dr. Bergmann agrees. "What about you, Ed? What do you think is a part of the healing process?"

"Like, what helps us get better?" I ask.

"Primarily, yes, but that isn't the only aspect of healing," Dr. Bergmann clarifies. "The process also includes aspects that may not be helpful or even good. Just like there are good things, there are bad things. If you can't think of a good part of healing, you can mention a bad thing."

"Um, I think that coping is part of healing," I tell her. "Like, when the abuse ended I coped really bad but as I got better, I started doing good things to deal with my feelings and bad memories."

"Very good," Dr. Bergmann says. "That just leaves Al. What's part of the healing process to you?"

"Patience," Al says instantly. "I…. I can be a lot to handle. I know that. It's not easy and Dad and Brother are always patient with me and each other. We're not perfect, but we try to be patient."

"Okay, so out of those three things, which one do you personally struggle with?" Dr. Bergmann asks. "It's okay if you feel like you struggle with all three. That's perfectly normal based on your family's history."

"Coping," Al answers softly. "I'm hurting myself and that's not good. I also suck my thumb which I know is bad, too, 'cause if it might hurt my teeth or if other kids find out…." Al trails off and looks at his lap.

"I struggle with communication and patience," Dada admits. "I'm guilty of looking at my phone and reading emails when I should be spending time with my kids and talking to them. They might feel like I've closed myself off to them because of how time-consuming my work is. There are times where I lose patience with the boys, even though I know that what is going on or the behaviors they are having aren't their fault. I know that if they had never been abused, they wouldn't have those behaviors at all. I need to find ways to be patient with them, even when I'm frustrated."

"Okay," Dr. Bergmann says. "Edward?"

"Patience," I say. "I'm not always good at the other stuff, but I think patience is my biggest problem. I'm not patient with myself and I can lose patience with Al or Dada or even my friends really quick. When I lose patience, I get angry and snap at the people I love. I don't want to do that anymore."

"Then let's set two goals for each of you based on what you said you want to change," Dr. Bergmann suggests. "These goals won't make everything magically go away, nor does meeting them for a week mean a change in behavior. What these goals do are give you two tasks that you can work on and accomplish in between visits and see your progress over the course of a couple weeks. If we can target the weaknesses in your family inhibiting growth and healing, we can begin to fix what doesn't work, strengthen your family, and make new strides in healing as a unit." Dr. Bergmann stands up and walks over to her desk. She pulls out some index cards and a Sharpie before walking back over to us and sitting down.

"Okay, Victor," Dr. Bergmann begins. "You mentioned using your phone when you feel like you could be talking with your boys. Is this at meal times?" Dada nods.

"Yes, particularly breakfast," Dad answers. "I typically have early classes every semester and college students tend to stay up late and email me when I'm already in bed. The morning is the only opportunity I have before class to look through and respond to emails they've sent."

"Okay, so would a reachable goal for you be to not use your phone at the breakfast table?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Yes, I believe so," Dad replies. Dr. Bergmann hands Dada a blank index card and the Sharpie.

"Write out the goal like this," Dr. Bergmann instructs. "'I will not use my phone at the breakfast table.'" Dad nods and writes, Dr. Bergmann saying, "If you do not reach the goal next time we meet, we can make the time frame smaller and go from there. The next time we see each other, we can talk about whether or not the goal was actually attainable or if you had trouble meeting it. We'll do that for all the goals we make today."

"Shall I make out my second goal?" Dada asks.

"Of course," Dr. Bergmann replies with a smile.

"I will count to twenty when I get frustrated with the boys so I have a moment to regain my patience," Dada says. "Is that good?"

"I think that's very good," Dr. Bergmann tells us. "I think you can reach that goal, too. Just remember to evaluate your progress every week and find a way to record how you did each week or how you tweaked your goal so we can talk about it next time." Dr. Bergmann looks over at me and I swallow nervously.

"Ed, do you have any ideas about a goal for yourself?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Um, I don't know," I squeak.

"That's okay, I'll help," Dr. Bergmann tells me. "You mentioned that you have been struggling with patience and anger. Let's try to make two goals that center around those topics. How about this – I will sit by myself in a quiet place for five to ten minutes when I am angry so I can calm down. Is that a good goal, Ed?" I nod.

"I like that," I say. Dr. Bergmann gives me an index card and Dada hands me the Sharpie. I write the goal and look up at Dr. Bergmann. "What about my second goal?"

"What do you think you could do to help improve your patience?" Dr. Bergmann asks me. I shrug.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "Uh, maybe slowing down? My brain moves kinda fast sometimes and makes me anxious. When I'm anxious, I can be really impatient."

"Okay, what's a goal we can make to help slow your brain down?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Um, maybe… maybe 'I will take a few deep breaths before saying something or doing something when I feel anxious or upset'."

"Very good," Dr. Bergmann praises. "Go head and write that underneath your other goal." I do and look back up.

"Al, let's make two goals for you now," Dr. Bergmann says. "You focused on improving your coping skills, particularly self-harm and thumb sucking. Let's focus on making goals centered around beginning to not do those things anymore. Can you think of a goal to make for yourself?"

"Um, I think a good one would be that I will count to ten when I feel like I need to cut and hopefully that'll give me time to decide if that's something I really wanna do," Al says.

"Okay, here's your index card," Dr. Bergmann says, giving Al the index card. "Write your goal like this; 'I will count to ten when I feel like hurting myself before making a decision on what I should do.'" Al nod and writes, Dr. Bergmann going on, "Now, what goal do you want to make in terms of thumb sucking? I know it's a comfort measure and not immediately harmful, but I also understand you'll be fifteen in a couple months and don't want to be sucking your thumb forever."

"I wanna try to not suck my thumb during the day, even when I'm scared or remembering something bad," Al says. "I wasn't doing it so much in the day time until…. Until I told D-Dada and B-B-Brother about my b-b-bad touch."

"I think that's a goal you can reach by the next time we see each other," Dr. Bergmann tells him gently. "Write this on your index card; 'I will do my best to only suck my thumb at nighttime, mostly when I am asleep'." Al writes that down, Dr. Bergmann looking at us.

"Is there anything specific you want to talk about as a family?" Dr. Bergmann asks us.

"Um, what do we talk about here?" I ask nervously.

"Well, I think the first couple sessions will mostly be getting to know each other and the crisis that had your dad call me sooner than he had planned – Al's history with sexual abuse," Dr. Bergmann explains. "We'll also talk about your father's guilt and feelings of resentment you may feel toward not only him, but perhaps other adults in your life and even your brother as well. We can also talk about whatever you want to talk about, just like you do with Dr. Hughes. Make sense?" I nod

"Uh, yeah, I'm just anxious," I tell her. "I don't like change."
"I realize this is stressful and uncomfortable for all of you," Dr. Bergmann replies. "But

it's just like when you started therapy with Dr. Hughes. Over time, it'll get easier for you to talk with me and share things as a family rather than one-on-one."

"Okay," I reply.

"If there's nothing else, you guys are free to go," Dr. Bergmann tells us. "Make sure to keep track of your progress with meeting your goals, okay? Why don't we plan on meeting in two weeks and Dr. Hughes will keep me posted on updates with talk of the molestation as it is very relevant to what we'll be focusing on here."

"Thank you very much for your time," Dada says, leaning over and shaking her hand. "I appreciate you making time for us today. I know it was short notice."

"It was a pleasure," she assures him. "Your boys are good kids. I hope this additional resource will help your family to heal as a unit." Dad's chin quivers and he nods.

"I hope so, too," Dada agrees sadly. "It's been a bad couple of years." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"I'm sure," she says. "I am truly sorry for what your family's been through."

"I am, too," Dada replies. "Ready, boys?" I nod. I am more than ready to leave. I'm so anxious. I wanna go home. I stand up and stare at my index card as we leave the office, Dada making our next appointment. I think I can handle trying to do these things. I glance over at Al who's staring at his index card, too. We leave the building, getting into the car and Dada pulls out of the parking lot.

"Uh, Dada?" Al asks.

"Yes?"

"If I don't meet my goals, am I gonna get in trouble?" Al asks. I look over at Dad. That's a good question. At least, I think it is.

"No, honey," Dad assures him. "But, we do need to try our best to hold each other accountable. That's the only way we'll meet our goals to begin with."

"So, d'you think this'll actually help?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"I think so," Dada tells me. "I've been running from this for so long, denying a lot of my feelings and hiding in my job to avoid dealing with the repercussions of my own actions and inactions. It's time we stop running and meet these things head on. It's the only way to improve. I feel like Dr. Bergmann can help in ways Dr. Hughes can't." Dad's brow furrows and he glances over at me. "Did you like her?"

"She's nice enough, I guess," I reply. "I'm still pretty unsure about all of this."

"I liked her," Al chimes happily. "I think setting goals was a good idea." Dad smiles fondly at him.

"Good, I'm glad," he says warmly.

"Let's get something to eat, Dada," I say. "I'm starving." Dad nods.

"Sounds like a plan," he replies. I pull my index card out of my pocket and read it again:

I will sit by myself in a quiet place for five to ten minutes when I am angry so I can calm down.

I will take a few deep breaths before saying something or doing something.

I put the card on my lap and stare out the window. I watch the frozen trees and other cars zip by, still not really sure what to make of this family therapy thing. We've never sat down as a family to talk about the abuse. Ever. The closest to that we've gotten is when I told Dada about
That Night, when I have the courage to talk about my bad dreams (which, if I'm being honest, is rare), and yesterday when Al admitted to being bad touched. The abuse is just not something I talk about, with anyone really, but especially with Dad. I don't know why. Part of it's probably 'cause of me blaming him for it. The other part's probably 'cause I know how freaking guilty he feels. But I don't know that for sure. I just don't know if I can talk about the abuse or my feelings with a therapist and Dad in the room. It makes me kinda queasy just thinking about it. I glance back down at my goals for the next couple weeks and sigh. I'm gonna do my best to be positive about this whole family therapy thing, even though I'm kinda anxious about it. Besides, I like having a goal to reach. It'll make me feel like I've made some progress which'll be nice. I glance over at Dada who's talking – just talking – to Al. I don't know about what, but I smile anyway. Family therapy's important to them so I'll do my best to make it work for me, too. It's the least I can do after everything they've put up with for me. I'll be brave and make it work. No more running. It's like Dad said – it's time to face this head on and I think the only way we can do that is if we do it together.