Warning: Grief, child abuse, child neglect, alcoholism.
you and I are tiny
Things change.
Mrs Rockbell becomes Mrs Pinako.
Then she becomes Granny.
They move, because the house is too big for such a small family. By the time they've packed everything up the garden is overgrown and Ed has to fight his way through the thicket to climb the mahogany cherry tree and hide within the willow's drapery.
The apartment is only about half a mile away, but it's in an area of the city Ed has never been to before. The paint is peeling from the walls and Ed finds mould in the corner of Al's bedroom and demands they switch. He's read about the effects mould can have on the respiratory system, and Al is littler than he is. It only makes sense.
Daddy stops working. At first he's paid for it, but then he isn't and by the time Ed turns eight they've run out of money. The power goes out and it doesn't come back. It's winter and the days are dark and frigid and Al develops a cough that won't go away no matter how many spoonfuls of syrup Ed gives him. They sleep together in Al's room, tucked beneath both their quilts because it's the only way they can retain any heat. In the mornings their breath condensates in the chilly air and they pretend to be dragons. Al says that Ed has to be a fire dragon because he wants to be a water dragon and they can't both be the same kind of dragon.
Ed isn't sure how much sense that makes, but he does think it would be nice to breathe fire, to breathe warmth. If only so Al would stop pressing his icy toes against Ed's ankles.
Daddy cries and sleeps and drinks funny coloured medicine that comes in large glass bottles. He drinks a lot of it. It's scary sometimes, because he's sleeping and taking medicine, and it reminds Ed of Mummy and hospitals and sickness.
He wonders if Daddy needs a doctor. He knows they can't afford it, because they can't take Al to one even though his cough is getting worse. Daddy checks Al for a fever every day, the way he used to check Mummy, and Ed quickly learns how, for the Bad Days, when Daddy is crying so much he can't eat or sleep or stand, and Al's breathing is laboured, the short walk from his bed to the kitchen leaving him flushed and heaving.
They run out of cough syrup, and there's no money for more. Ed tries to give Al some of Daddy's medicine and it's—not right. Al chokes from the taste and goes all floppy and weird, and the sight makes Ed's heart stutter. He doesn't give Al any more medicine.
The next day, Ed wakes up warmer than usual, though seasonal frost still coats the window pane. He curls towards Al and finds a furnace. Pressing against him hurts and Ed tumbles out of bed from the shock, before scrambling on top of the duvet, touching his frozen fingertips to the rosy flush on his brother's cheeks. Al's usually straight locks are curling, damp against his clammy forehead. His breaths are shallow, rattling audibly as he gasps and—and his lips are turning blue.
Ed knows the symptoms of pneumonia by heart. He's spent hours researching using Daddy's old laptop, reading page after page of medical texts, scanning articles on home remedies for chronic coughs and chest infections. He knows how sick Al is.
He's pushing open the door to Daddy's bedroom before he realises he's even moved. The air is stale. There are empty bottles covering over the floor again, and Ed has to kick them aside before he can reach the bed.
Daddy is sleeping. He smells like his medicine; sour and sweaty, but Ed grabs his arm anyway and shakes.
"Wake up!" He sees Mummy on the tiled floor. "Daddy, wake up!"
Ed's not strong enough to rouse him, not from a sleep this deep, but he has to—he has to, because Al—
He grasps the frame of the bed. It's varnished oak, and smooth beneath his palms. He pulls.
The bed frame shatters and Daddy lurches to his feet.
Daddy braces Al against his chest. Ed feeds his brother half of a crushed paracetamol tablet, because Al is too little for a whole one, and too sick to swallow pills.
Then Daddy makes Ed hold Al. They're a year and a half apart and almost the same size, and it's difficult to support his weight, but Ed manages by leaning Al against the wall and sitting on his other side so he doesn't fall. It seems like being upright is helping though, despite the way Al's head lolls against his shoulder. His breathing isn't quite so shallow, and his lips aren't as blue, and his eyelids flutter as though he's fighting unconsciousness in a way that eases the tightness in Ed's own chest, because Al is a fighter.
Daddy leaves to make a call, and when he comes back there's relief in his red-rimmed eyes. He sits on the bed and pulls Al into his lap, and tucks Ed beneath his arm. He still smells sickly, but Ed hides his face in his shirt and clings to his warmth as they wait.
The sound of the doorbell has Daddy standing, still cradling Al. Ed stays where he is, listening to the murmuring voices as they make their way down the corridor. Daddy carries Al back to the bed, settling against the headboard as two more people walk in. The first is a tall blond man that Ed vaguely recognises, but can't remember where from, and the second—
The second is Granny.
Ed immediately launches himself into her arms. She lets out a surprised huff but doesn't push him away, gently petting his hair as he buries his face in her stomach. He's reminded of taffy, and of scoldings and quiet playtime, and he wishes.
"You remember Doctor Rockbell, don't you Ed?" Daddy's voice sounds far away. "Winry's father?"
He does. He hasn't seen Winry for years though. She wasn't allowed to come over to play towards—towards the end, and then they moved. It's been such a long time.
It feels like he's spent every second of it alone.
"Oh dear," Granny says, and Ed realises that he's sobbing into her blouse.
He is shepherded into the kitchen, away from Daddy and Al and the doctor, and he watches as Granny surveys the piles of dirty dishes and their empty fridge, and the bottles and cans lining the counters. There's a tightness to her expression that he doesn't remember being there before, and she looks, for a moment, like she is very, very sad.
Ed doesn't doubt that she is. He knows how to recognise sadness; he's grown with it.
"How about we run a few errands together?" She suggests, and when she makes eye contact with him the tightness has dissipated.
"Okay," Ed's voice shakes and she takes his hand.
They drive to a supermarket and Granny pays for a shopping trolley. They pick up essentials first, and the cart is filled with rice, meat, vegetables. Ed hasn't been to a store this big in months, because Daddy sold the car and there isn't one within walking distance—but they never have enough money for a full grocery shop anyway, so it's not like it matters. They buy toilet paper, laundry powder and washing up liquid. Granny spends a long time with the cleaning supplies, and they end up with more bottles of antibacterial spray than Ed would ever know what to do with. He usually only uses it to wipe down the kitchen surfaces when he's making dinner.
They pass shelves filled with the same medicine Daddy drinks, and Ed asks if they could maybe get some more for him.
"He calls it medicine, does he?" Granny sounds upset and Ed worries that perhaps he shouldn't have asked. It does look expensive. Maybe she can't afford it.
It isn't medicine, she says. It's a grown up drink. A dangerous grown up drink. Ed mustn't taste it. He mustn't ever give it to Al again, because it's not medicine. She's trying not to look angry, but he can see that she is and he thinks he might have done something bad, but he's not sure because he doesn't understand—
Why didn't Daddy—?
Granny buys Al's cough syrup and some children's cold and flu medicine.
Daddy should've—
His head hurts.
The last aisle before the checkouts is full to the brim with confectionery. He's prepared to walk straight past. Chocolates and cake are for kids who have money they can afford to waste. Ed has to feed his little brother.
But Granny stops and tells him to choose anything he wants.
It's almost overwhelming, because there is too much choice, but Ed hardens himself against the sudden rush of anxiety. He isn't one to turn down food, and he knows Al wouldn't either. Some nights they struggle to sleep, their tummies aching with hunger. Al cries and clutches his empty stomach. Ed cradles him and tries to keep himself together.
One such night, when the outside world was blanketed in a thick layer of white, they scraped some snow from a neighbour's fence into their mugs and pretended it was ice cream. It filled them up at first, but then the chills set in and Al got sicker.
Ed remembers holding his little brother through the tremors.
He picks up a pack of iced biscuits and one of caramel chocolate, placing them reverently into the cart.
Granny makes a noise in her throat, and he looks hesitantly at her.
"One more," she says gently.
Ed swallows, and glances again at the shelves. He's already chosen two of Al's favourite treats and he can see another he knows his brother will like, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to look around a bit. He makes his way along the aisle, and really, everything looks good, so he might as well go back and pick out the—
A splash of blue amongst the sea of tin foil boxes and off-brand biscuit packets catches his eye, and he's suddenly reaching for it, grasping the bag in his small hands.
Bubblegum Taffy.
He turns to show Granny.
For a moment he thinks he can see tears in her eyes.
When they return the doctor is gone. Daddy is alone in the kitchen surrounded by pamphlets and clutching a form with shaking fingers.
The apartment hasn't quite lost its chill, but the radiators feel hot when he touches them and there's a whirring coming from the boiler that he hasn't heard in months. Ed sinks into the cracked leather sofa crammed behind the table, burying his face in the musty upholstery. He's forgotten how nice it feels, to be warm.
Granny calls him to put away the ingredients, and then sends him away to Al's room while she and Daddy scrub at the surfaces with strong-smelling chemicals that make Ed's nose tingle. Al is asleep, but his cherubic face is relaxed and he's no longer struggling for breath. He looks better, despite the fever-bright spots adorning his cheeks.
Doctor Rockbell has a healing quirk, he later learns. Al has been given a course of antibiotics, paid for by the doctor. He's going to be okay.
Granny makes dinner, and Ed thinks it might just be the most delicious thing he's ever eaten, though it's nothing more than rice and chicken. He's been hungry for a long time. He tells her this and she smiles sadly, patting his head. She's glad he likes it.
That night, he overhears Daddy and Granny in the kitchen; it's hours past his bedtime and Daddy is crying.
"You can't keep living like this, Van," Granny is saying. She sounds subdued, far removed from her usual bustling self. "They can't live like this. They're children."
"I know," Daddy croaks.
"And you know who they'll end up with if you're considered unfit," she continues darkly. "I'm surprised he didn't show up after—"
"I didn't tell him," Daddy interrupts. There's an edge to his tone, and Ed doesn't need to see him to know that the corners of his mouth are downturned. "He doesn't know, Pinako, and he won't."
Granny huffs, "Can you honestly tell me you think the way they're living now is any better?"
"Yes," Daddy says immediately. "You don't know him. If it were just Alphonse, then—then maybe, but with Edward's quirk? I just—I can't—" he breaks off, and Ed can hear the fridge open and then close again, followed by a faint pop-hiss.
"When was the last time you were sober?" Granny mutters. It sounds like a question, but Daddy doesn't respond, and Granny doesn't make him. "You're going to those sessions, Van. You need to get yourself together. If you don't, I'll call him up myself. I will not let you ruin those boys."
"He'll ruin them." Daddy whispers brokenly. He sighs, defeated. "I'll go, Pinako."
"You better," she says, and it sounds like an ending.
The power doesn't go out again.