A/N: Fluff, laced with angst. I drew this one, and it struck me as adorable. Thought to make it a drabble, then I ended up liking it so much, I got carried away. It's long! (But don't run away! No! Where're you gooooing?)

Contains very mild shonen-ai and Wrath-liking. Don't like either? Nobody's forcing you to read.

Spoilers for Episode 51

Kitten

Cats are cute creatures. Anyone with eyes and any heart at all knows that. They're fuzzy, playful, energetic, and have an endearing stuborness that only adds to their list of attractively adorable features. But cats are also independent, often selfish. When they have no use for something, they flippantly discard it without second thought. Those who have fed strays have all known the crushing twist in their chest that they feel when they realize that their favorite charity case has decided to dine elsewhere, and abandoned their hospitable food bowl.

And even though Alphonse Elric knew this perfectly, his generous, almost tragic, compassion still compelled him to continue giving selflessly. Even when his cats would stray off and leave him forever, he, always the optimist, wasn't quite as sad as he supposed he should be. The thought that perhaps they had gone somewhere better, more exciting, appealed to him, and kept him from despair.

His instinct to nurture was probably what first intrigued him about the Rockbell's newest patient, the wild eyed, rebellious boy who had been called "Wrath". Judging from select expectant looks from Winry and Rose when the two boys were in the same room together, he could hazard a guess that they had known eachother during the four years he'd supposedly forgotten, and sensing the nervous tension, as well as the boy's blatant frustration at containing himself, there had probably been some sort of unpleasant friction between them. However, Alphonse, ever the peacemaker, was determined to rectify whatever wrongs had been done by he and his brother in the past, even if he couldn't remember them, and even if his brother couldn't be there to tell him.

He started at first with the most direct approach, simply talking to the boy, however generally as he would attempt to make conversation, he would be responded by a string of colorful profanities, and possibly submitted to the mercy of odd projectiles from Wrath, who, in spite of being temporarily disabled with only one arm, was an incredibly good shot.

He tried offering his help, as the boy, under Winry's insistance, feverishly practiced his reading, and couldn't seem to get past the frustration of I's and L's, which looked all the same to him. He only recieved an angry rant consisting mostly of "You're not that great just because you can use alchemy!". Al wondered what alchemy had to do with it, but declined to ask, seeing as his personal safety was on the line.

He considered inviting him to play a game of tag, like he an his brother used to always do when they had something frustrating to deal with, but reconsidered, remembering that Wrath had just undergone the unbearably painful process of having docks for automail installed on his shoulder and knee, and even if he could bear the pain enough for playing contact sports, would probably end up taking out his pent up agony on whomever he was playing with. He crossed the idea out of his mind.

So, he ended up settling for the way he knew best. Just as he always kept an empty pie pan and bottle of milk ready for emergency strays, he walked outside armed with a pocketful of cookies. Having seen the boy eat, he was amazed at his readiness to devor anything and everything with greed and gusto, so he couldn't possibly refuse one of Al & Winry's own world-famous chocolate chip delicacies.

Wrath was sitting, slumped over on the stone wall overlooking the neighboring valleys and farms, favoring his right shoulder. He nearly jumped when Al tapped his shoulder, and pouted at the sight of the ever persistant boy who never seemed to leave him alone. The younger Elric apologized and smiled warmly, holding up a cookie in offering for peace. The shaggy haired child frowned, clearly in the depths of a desperate indescision, and finally gave in, swiping the cookie and gobbling it down messily, allowing Al to seat himself at a comfortable distance beside him.

Al waited politely, as the boy beside him noisily chewed, swallowed and proceeded to lick the crumbs off his fingers enthusiastically, all while retaining his stubborn pout. When he was conviced that he had scoured every last remnant of pastry, he glanced toward Alphonse, and quickly back at his foot.

"So," Al began, tapping his finger pensively against the rocky surface, "Does it still hurt?"

"Yes," Wrath muttered, absently rubbing the sore flesh above his knee, "You should know, shouldn't you? It was your dumb brother who used these first, wasn't it?"

"That might be so," he replied, "But you know I wouldn't remember about that." He gazed at the metal plates and wire connectors, and tried to imagine his brother with them, but still found the thought to be something of an oddity.

"Hnph. So you say," Wrath snorted, eyeing his companion critically, then gazing elsewhere and muttering as though to himself, "They didn't say it would hurt so much..."

Al could remember they way the boy had screamed out that previous evening as the two skilled mechanics went through the painstaking process of connecting nerves. His heart sank in pity, but he remained with his back against the wall in the next room, listening to the horrid shrieks. He could hear Winry trying to comfort the child, speaking to him, reassuring him that he could bear with it. It wasn't until Edward was mentioned that the boy silenced himself. That child seemed to feel some shameful sense of divine justice, knowing he was going through the same pain as Edward had, and even felt more ashamed when he learned that Ed had been the only one of their patients not to cry out from the pain. After knowing that, he nearly passed out trying to bear it, biting his lip so hard that it drew a tiny stream of crimson blood.

"But it's better now, right?" Al offered, hopefully.

"Yeah, but they still have to connect the limbs," Wrath declared mournfully, "And that's just as painful," He huffed, "You'd think they want it to hurt more."

"Winry and Auntie are really nice people. You know that. I mean, they even bought you clothes."

"They got us matching clothes! That's not nice. That's cruel." Al couldn't help but stifle a giggle. Even after enduring mortal pain, he could still find the ability to complain about the most childish of things. It was a little embarassing, having to wear matching outfits, and having the all women fawn over how cute they were, but it was a little nostalgic too.

"Mom used to make Brother and me wear matching things too," he mused, "But it was worse. We had to wear sailor uniforms. Brother hated it. But I thought he looked so funny." A look of sheer horror washed over Wrath's face at the mere mention of sailor suits, and he decided to be grateful for his relatively minor woe.

Al smirked and offered his companion another cookie, and he snatched it greedily.

"It seems so far away now," He spoke, almost as though it was only a thought to himself, "Mom, Brother, all those memories," He grinned contendedly at Wrath, "You know, she was the one who taught Winry and me how to make those cookies. And somehow they only seem to come out right when we make them together. Funny, huh?"

"Why not Ed?" Wrath asked casually. Al got excited, seeing the other boy seeming to take interest.

"Brother didn't take much of an interest in cooking. And when he did help, he usually just ate all the dough. He got terrible stomach aches from that. But Mom was always there to make it better. She had a special way of making you better when you got sick, you know? She really was the best."

"I don't wanna hear about your stupid mom." Wrath spat, suddenly shifting moods as though a particularly painful nerve had just been touched.

"That's mean," Al said, "Even if you don't want to hear, she was our mother. Don't call her stupid."

"Mothers are stupid. All they ever do is leave. You should know, after all."

"Mom didn't leave us because she wanted to! She died. Things like that just happen. I don't know about your mom, but-"

"I don't have a Mom!" Wrath protested stubbornly, and defiantly added, "I don't want one, either."

Al held his tongue, and stared at the ground beneath them, thoughtfully. He didn't know anything about the child's past, so perhaps it was best just to leave the topic alone.

He hadn't been able to conclude much from listening to Winry and Pinako, who always kindly tried to keep whatever bitter details of his lost years that there were from his knowledge. He had heard Izumi mentioned in reference to the boy, but he knew that Sensei didn't have any children. Perhaps a student, but then again, Wrath seemed to be bitter about not being able to figure out alchemy from the beginning. He couldn't even read well. Sensei wouldn't have allowed that.

He had once even heard the term 'Homunculus' used, but dismissed it. From what he had learned, Homunculi were just legends, and even if they existed, they were heartless dolls. Wrath, however odd looking he was with his deathly pale skin and piercing violet eyes, couldn't be heartless. He had seen the boy cry, scream, become angry, even laugh once, when he didn't know Al was looking. The best he could conclude was that he was an orphan that the Rockbells had found and taken pity on.

A stray.

"Where do you think you'll go?" Al asked timidly, "When you get your automail finished, I mean." He was poking where he shouldn't once again, much like extending a hand toward a tempramental cat. You get scratched. His need to understand overrode his personal sense of safety, like usual, and his sympathy, always threatening to be his downfall drove him to inquire further.

"Wherever," Wrath shrugged.

"You don't know?"

"I'll find somewhere. It dosen't matter." He drew his left knee upwards and disinterestedly tapped at the spare prosthesis strapped at his thigh.

"You know," Al offered, his tone turning thoughtful, "You could stay here with Winry and Auntie. I'm sure they wouldn't mind. I know Winry really likes you."

"Why would I want to stick around here? I hate you people. You're all the same. You pretend to care, but you don't. You never do!"

"You people?" Al parroted softly. Wrath gave him an incredulous look, before flicking him on the forehead.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He scoffed and hopped off the wall, leaning against it and heaving a long sigh, "Maybe it's better that way."

"Well, it's true I don't remember anything. But, sometimes I can sense things. Just a little vague feeling once in a while, like dejas vu, or some sort of inborn memory. Like with you, I feel... sad. Very sad. Wrath, I don't know what my brother and I did to hurt you, but whatever happened, I just want to say I'm sorry. I just hope that you and I can-"

"Aaaw, forget it! Just shut up about it already!" Wrath snapped, leaning agitatedly on his elbows over the stone wall, "Besides, you never did anything, so stop acting like you have something you owe me. It was all your stupid brother's fault."

"You really need to stop insulting my family like that," Al protested firmly.

"Well he is stupid." The dark haired boy muttered, "Just dumb and useless." He was speaking the words, but there was no sincere bite behind them, almost a defeated attempt.

"That's not true. Brother is important to me, and he loves me. He does whatever he can for me. That may be selfish of me to think that way, but... that's the way things are. We're family. We need eachother."

"Then why did he leave you?" Wrath shot, his glare pained, deliberate. Al's expression jolted in the blunt shock of the thought. But it wasn't just the proposition; it was the knowing, the experience with which the boy accused. He spoke as someone who knew. Rejection, abandoment, scorn...

Loss...

Al shifted, folding his hands in his lap, sitting methodically neutrally.

"I don't remember everything about it. The last thing I remember after... well, you know... it was a dark place. It was cold... and lonely there," He could sense Wrath tensing at his words, "But while I was there, even though I couldn't see, I remember hearing brother's voice. He held my hand, and talked to me, and we promised we would find each other again..."

"Why?" came the feeble, barely audible reply, then growing louder, "Why? Why you?" Al turned his head quickly, shocked to see the boy's eyes brimming with tears, as he made an angry fist, "You made it out of there right away. Why did you get to even have him with you in that place? Why wasn't it hell for you?"

Al was silent for a moment, and he shifted, turning himself to face back towards the house. He was empathetic to a fault, and wasn't sure he could handle speaking while looking at that angered face. He swallowed hard.

"I don't know," He wavered, "All I know is that the only thing that's kept me alive most of this time was Brother. He loves me like nobody else does, and I love him. We swore to take care of each other. That's what I know. Don't you have anyone like that?"

"I don't!" Wrath protested loudly, pounding his flesh fist against the rocky surface, "I don't need anyone! I hate you people! All of you. You're all fake!" He huffed angrily, and impulsively hoisted himself back upon the shallow wall, and faced the open fields away from the Rockbell house. He stared at the vast expanse and finally spoke more evenly,

"I'm leaving," He said, guesturing outward, as Alphonse twisted his neck and shoulders to gaze in the same direction, "I'm going to go off and live on my own, without anybody's help. That'll prove that I don't need you."

Al paused and shifted back to his normal sitting position, considered this, and responded calmly,

"Well, I guess if that's how it is, there's no stopping it. But, you will write, won't you?" He looked up with contented eyes, and smiled amiably. Wrath, just frowned for a moment in confusion and frustration, then shook his head, and plopped down, facing the opposite direction from Al, just beside him.

"You're nothing like your brother, are you?" He exhaled in a way that could almost be interpreted as half a bemused laugh. The conversation stopped there, in a stilled silence, before Wrath broke it again.

"Do you have anymore of those cookie things?"

Al smirked and nodded, fishing one from his pocket and handing it to the boy beside him, who took it less urgently this time. He held it halfway to his mouth and paused.

"This the last one?" He asked. Al nodded again. Wrath gazed at it considerately, and finally after some mental debate, broke it in half between his fingers, spilling crumbs on his shorts. He handed the one half to Al, who accepted it gratefully.

They chewed in silence, facing their seperate directions. Al felt the rough skin of healing scar tissue against his left arm as Wrath had set his hand back down. Although it seemed to be getting better, there was still the remnant of a grievous wound on his body; like an acid burn. Feeling it sent a shiver down his spine, another flash of memory, just a shard, but he knew he'd seen this burn before. He got the distant feeling that he'd seen the pain this boy had been through, but not being able to retrieve it conjured a deep and remorseful empty spot deep within his chest that he was unable to shake. The knowledge that he could have known, could have made something better, could at least have some idea of sympathy, but that it was out of his reach was sad, almost unbearable.

But Alphonse was strong. He was resilient and always forward-looking. He knew that no matter what he'd been through, or may go through, he could do it. Perhaps that was the only reason he was still alive.

"It's difficult," Al said, gazing at an apple tree off to his right, "Having to bear such painful memories. Even now, I remember losing Mom, and it's hard to live with. And I know I lost many difficult memories that may never ever return. But while that ignorance may be better, it's still sad. I may have lost something painful, but I know I've also lost the good things too. My time with Brother, the people we met. Winry's all grown up now, our home is gone, I'm meeting all these people I once knew, but can't remember. Like Miss Rose, and Miss Sciezka, or all those military people who have been writing. Not knowing them..." He glanced over at Wrath, who seemed confused, and straightened up, trying to explain,

"What I mean to say is, your past can be painful, but it can be beautiful as well. I don't have the same memories that I'm supposed to have, but you do. Maybe I'm even a little envious... but even if you don't like what you had once, you can still change. You don't need to forget; Just move forward. You can't change what happened, but you can change who you'll become. I believe that."

"Really?" Wrath murmured, in soft monotone.

"I have to believe that. It's the only way I can go on living. I don't know what sorts of things we did, and I can't change them, but I can do my best to make things better," He paused, and laughed, waving it off, "Sorry. I know you don't want to hear all this. I just hope you find what you're looking for when you leave, and maybe someday... you're welcome to return."

With that, he moved as if to hop off the stone gate, but was stopped by a rough hand on his wrist. He turned to see Wrath, holding on to him, but looking the otherway, face downwards, almost ashamedly. He slid back, remaining at his spot, as he felt a calloused wall of pride and anger crumbling, decomposing, slowly, but surely.

"...-sorry..." came Wrath's voice so low, he could barely be sure it wasn't just the wind, "For you, your brother, for everything. I'm..." He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the task of trying to choke his words out.

"It's alright," Al reassured him, "You don't have to apologize for anything." The hand around his wrist gripped more tightly.

"It's not just... I didn't want to..." Wrath couldn't seem to make up his mind as to what he wanted to say, if anything, "I don't understand. Anything, really. None of this stupid world makes any sense at all. Nobody gets it. Not anybody. Not me, or you, or your brother, or-"

"You don't have to understand everything. Nor do you have to accept it. Just go on living as best as you can. I think you can do it, Wrath. I believe in you. I want you to keep going."

It was always Wrath's insatiable need, his impossible, unattainable desire to be loved and accepted. There is no more primal of a living creature's need, really. He lived, scorned and alone in the darkness, wanting, hating, never having. He searched day after day in his pathetic existance for a reason. Why couldn't he be loved just for being born as something he had no control over? Why was he abandoned? Why could humans have the only claim to love, yet only harbor wickedness for those like himself? He tried in every way he could to find his missing thing. He'd tried to impress Envy, the first homunculus he'd known by trying to become stronger, but only recieved scorn. He tried clinging to Sloth, but only recieved loss. Even with Dante, and all the others, he knew that merely accepting someone else's existance was not loving them. That was all he'd ever had. Acceptance, tolerance, expectance of usefulness. If he wasn't worth anything to them, he wasn't even worth keeping alive.

Then what was love? This sick human weakness that just makes them worse off in the end? Could it be this truly unconditional thing, like what Edward and Alphonse had? After having pursued it for so long, he was so terrified of it; terrified of finding it; terrified of losing it.

Yet there was a constance in Al's eyes, a deep trusting conviction that the sin could not help but feel relieved by, comforted and reassured, against all his mind's better ideas.

It stung him like poison to speak words such as "I'm sorry", "Help", "Thank you", "I need you", "I love you". He'd developed a shell of stubbornness and pride that he couldn't seem to bring himself through, so that when he tried to say those words, he just needed to retreat, back into himself, back into his wrath.

He couldn't use words, so he used his actions. He touched Al's chin, and drew him into a chaste, gentle kiss. It was so completely wrong, so against anything he'd been for all these years, he, the devil's child, the personification of anger; and yet, it was so perfectly right, so necessary, so much much better than trying to spew out his muddled thoughts, fears, apologies and needs. He broke away, and slid off the wall, turning up the garden path, and evenly, determinedly, walking away.

Even the mangiest, and lowliest of alleycats can somehow retain it's pride as it walks away, and in this manner, so too did Wrath, hobbling on his false leg, heading toward nowhere in particular, except for 'away'. Al watched him, his hand pressed to his lips in dazed confusion, and some small sense of revelation.

There was no stopping him in his need to simply get away. There were some things that just couldn't be helped. The friendliest of strays had the potential to suddenly leave, craving freedom, space, fearing permanence. But even then, the unlikliest of runaways also had the tendency to surprise, returning after their long journeys.

So even when Al sadly accepted their loss, and hoped for their better future, he still kept that hope tucked away in a small corner of his heart, that perhaps... someday they might return.

He remained on the garden wall for a long time, and silently prayed for the unlikely to happen.

(Fin)