A/N: I've just started on the concept of drabbles and impulsive writing, so this is the little brainchild of all that. Sorry if it's bad, it's just a random idea of Ed's relationship with his father that popped in my head on the way home on the bus. Some of it is also taken from chapter 42 in the manga, where Ed meets his dad at his mother's grave.

Other from that…yup that's it. Just tell me what you think!

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Let's just say that I had a dysfunctional father. I barely remember him, considering he spent most of his time inside his lab doing his alchemy research.

I used to admire him.

I used to want to be just like him, an alchemist, when I grew up. I always wondered what it felt like to change objects into what you wanted them to be, change coal into gold, water into wine, maybe even give life to death.

At least that's what he talked about. Mom hated it when he talked like that. She said that it was wrong, that he should try to use his alchemy to help people, not to chase impossible dreams.

Impossible dreams? Like the Philosopher's Stone? What does mom think of Al and I now, after all we've done?

People who knew my dad sometimes say I act like him.

It makes gives me a bad feeling in my gut.

I don't want to be like dad anymore. I hate him more than anything. I don't want to resemble him in any way.

And here I am, dog of the military, with a steel leg and arm as a souvenir of a failed human transmutation.

What would mom say?

I only started studying alchemy when dad left. I figured that if I started practicing good alchemy, like dad used to, mom would be happier. She cried so much when dad left. Alphonse and I hated it when she would cry. I thought, maybe I could be like dad, and study alchemy, she'd be happy. That she'd be the same, smiling mom that she had always been.

It was always for mom.

I saw dad a few days ago. He was at mom's grave. The Bastard at mom's grave.

I yelled at him to go. He doesn't belong here, not after what he had done. Leaving mom, leaving us, Alphonse and I.

Alphonse says I shouldn't hate dad so much. He says it's unhealthy. How could he know, he barely even remembers dad's face. He can't understand the grudge I have for him. He would say that dad has every right to be at mom's grave as I do. I still haven't told Al that I saw him.

Dad left, but not before pointing out that I copied his hairstyle.

God how I would like to punch that bastard.

Though somewhere in the back of my mind it would leave a bad taste in my mouth if I did. He's still my father, though bastard that he is.

Dysfunctional. Like how my automail can sometimes be. Or my head, as Winry often likes to point out.

Sometimes I wish that I didn't have to hate him.

That he hadn't left.

That mom hadn't died.

That Al and I had our old bodies back.

And it gets to around this point in thought that my head starts to hurt along with my heart.

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