FINAL CHAPTER
I can't believe the end is finally here for my part of the challenge. It's been quite a busy few months and I'm glad I at least was able to writing something good-ish ^,^'
This challenge has been really helpful with getting me out of my writers block (one that has lasted nearly two years 0,0). I'm definitely doing this again, especially if I get another set of awesome artists like nerieners and matchpapers
For some clarification, the ending is meant to be smaller, erratic memories rather then the longer ones we've seen so far. Hope this all makes sense!
The realization that this complication in his life wasn't over hit hard. The two boys were still alive, still haunting him. With no end in sight to these memories, the question of how long Envy could continue to live like this hung over his shoulders, dragging him down further into this false reality.
"You're too forgiving." The sound of Dante's voice came before the scene around him could materialize. When it did it, however, neither one of Williams parents could be scene. In fact, the only thing he did see was that of a plain wall and a floor to match. "He knows better then to act in such a way." Still only a voice, no body to go along with it. He darted his gaze back and forth between the boys peripheral vision with no such luck.
"This wasn't exactly an easy thing to swallow." Now Boeheim's voice could be detected. A small shift of his head, however, showed that there was a reason no one could be found. Standing directly next to a slightly ajar door, William had a front row seat to their conversation.
Scoffing, he could hear Dante move about and cause the floors to creek. "I still don't understand why he's so upset. How many people in the world even get the chance to be immortal?"
"He's so young, we just need to give him time to understand."
"What's there to understand?" A familiar coldness was in her voice, one Envy had grown to know. "He's being a stubborn brat about this entire thing."
"Trust me, I know I can convince him."
"And if you don't?" She paused, "if he insists on staying the way he is then I see no reason why we should bother trying to convince him otherwise."
Gasping slightly, Hohenheim took a few steps away. "He is our son! Can you really live in this world knowing that we let him die?!"
She didn't say anything.
. . .
Once more his vison blurred and for a moment Envy believed that he was coming back up to reality. However, as if there was a weight pulling him back down to William, another memory began to materialize right before him.
The first thing he saw was Hohenheim, or rather his reflection in the window.
"Father I've already given you my answer," the book in William's snapped shut with a frustrated sigh. "I'm not changing my mind on this."
The study they currently resided in showed the hours they had already put into research. Bookshelves were only half full as the rest of its contents where either lying on desks and tables or on the ground and out of their way. Overflowing trash bins spewed the excess contents everywhere within distance, creating piles of crumbled paper balls in random sections of the room. The dark spots and stained fingers from inkwells seemed to be in every area, including the floor and ceiling.
"I understand that you don't want to give up your form but I just want you to understand that you might not get everything you want," he sighed "Your body is a small price to pay for immortality."
"There is another way, father." Placing the book onto the table in front of him, William rose up from his seat. "Mother likes my idea better anyways."
Hohenheim wasn't quite sure why Dante of all people would agree to such an idea, as his mother he always guessed that she would want her son to take the easiest way to immortality. "I just hope you would at least think about it before coming to a decision."
"I've already told you," he said with a smile "there's no one else I want to be then me." His father sighed, it was more like talking with a stubborn brick wall then with a child.
"Just try to keep it in mind."
Shaking his head, letting the golden locks swish around Envy's line of vison, he continued. "I won't need to, mother already gave me a great idea."
Blinking, Hohenheim took a step forward. "What kind of idea."
The book in front of him was pushed forward with a prod of his finger, inviting the other man to look at the page Envy had not bothered or cared to glance at. "It's truly ingenious, I can't wait to try it out."
Knowing far too well what he meant, the sin was more than happy when the vision began to fade.
. . .
The moment the vision began Envy's gaze met that of a celling. Normally he would have thought this was the beginning of a new day but there were some obvious factors that completely refuted that idea. First of all, his vision was even blurry than before. He could tell that William's eyes were glossy and strained. Secondly, he didn't move at all from his spot. Minutes went by and still his eyes were forced to look up at a celling. Thirdly, this hadn't been the first or even second time he had seen this memory.
The room was nearly silent, the only real sound being the rise and fall of each labored breath. What William felt was certainly nothing that Envy could imagine at that moment. Without even moving an inch his heart was racing at an impossible speed. If he hadn't been so weak he would have removed some of the covers but even that what do little to stop the sweat that trickled out of his skin and onto the sheets. What was worse, however, was the burning.
He didn't want to look at the spots where his skin was on fire, he knew very well what little of it was left in those areas. Afraid that even turning on his side would cause more of his burning skin to peel, he just laid there and prayed that it would stop. What Envy was unware of was just how long he had stayed laying like this. How long since he had first felt the effects of pain.
"Son?" Spoken in a hoarse tone, Envy felt a wave of disgust and resentment wash over him. Unable to look at his father, William moaned in an attempt to say something to indicate his consciousness.
Expecting to hear the heavy footsteps of his father coming closer towards him, William was surprised to hear nothing of the sort. There was a few moments of uncomfortable silence and before he knew it, Hohenheim had turned around and left the room.
Leaving him alone in this miserable state.
. . .
He couldn't remember much at this point.
There were some flashes of light but that was it. Just a couple fleeting colors and some barely audible words. In all honesty, it actually felt as if he was dreaming. He couldn't possibly be dreaming though, up until a few minute ago he was fully awake on board a train heading straight to his 'brothers'. Then, in a blink of an eye, everything went pitch black.
It took him a moment before he realized that these colors where merely the light trying to get through the narrow cracks in his eye lids. The words he heard though, the only sound amongst this strange memory, could only be detected as miserable. Some sort of gloomy, despair filled pleas that he couldn't make out.
After such a brief time, the lights and words ended. For a few minutes he heard and saw nothing.
It wasn't until after the fact that he realized that this mess of things before the darkness was just as much a memory as everything else.
Finally, Envy realized that he come to the end of William's memories.
. . .
Of the many things Envy didn't know about Hohenheim that Dante did was the period between death and life (if you could call it that). Out of the years spent without him, the first and last day had been the most memorable.
It was sunny on the day after her son's death, weirdly. Hohenheim wouldn't have known though, he didn't bother leaving the confines of the basement of the house. Dante was the only one who bothered going outside on such a day.
The day had started off on a sour note when she realized that her husband had never come to bed. For an hour she had laid there, believing that he had only left to go to the bathroom or check on something. She still believed it even when she grew bored and got up. In fact, she only stopped when he told later that evening.
She actually didn't really decide to leave the house until noon, feeling rather bored and indifferent. At first she wanted to find her lover and walk with him but decided against it before reaching the basement, realizing that he might have preferred some time alone. As much as she wanted to deny it, her lover's reclusion into the depths of their home left Dante feeling absolutely miserable.
Despite how she felt she still had a neutral face throughout the day. Something she was glad she did when she realized that she and her husband where not alone in these woods at the moment.
"OH!" The sudden sound had the alchemist jump slightly, not sure from where it came from. Scanning the scene, Dante almost immediately locked eyes with a girl no older than nineteen standing at the base of the porch stairs. "Forgive me, ma'am." The little girl looked down as her cheeks began to grow pink.
Eyeing the girl, Dante asked, "What are you doing here?"
Flinching at the tone, the girl began to back away. "I—I didn't mean to startle you."
She narrowed her gaze at her, frightening the poor child even more than before. "You didn't," she stated simply with a cold demeanor. "I would very much like it if you could answer my question."
"Oh . . . yeah," absentmindedly, the girl continued to slowly step away from Dante and her home. "I just wanted to—to," unable to find the right words, she pointed towards the porch steps. All sorts of flowers and other appropriate items had been left there, waiting for her to find. Given the amount, Dante guessed that this little girl wasn't the only one who had come by today. "My family wanted me to leave these here as a way of expressing our condolences," her eyes met the ground. "We thought you and your husband would prefer to be left alone."
"I didn't know my son was so popular."
With an awkward and rather forced smile, the girl looked down at her feet and away from the cold stare of the mistress of the house. "He was very kind a-and charming."
Raising an eyebrow at the ever reddening cheeks of the other female, Dante laughed. "Yes . . . I'm sure he was very charming."
With wide eyes and her mouth in the shape of an 'o', she exclaimed "I didn't mean—". Looking amused, the older woman shook her head at the other as an ever-present smirk tugged at her lips. "I . . . I," looking away again, she took a deep breath. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for you lose."
Nodding towards her, Dante signaled the girl to leave with a slight hand gesture. A suggestion the girl took without even thinking twice.
. . .
Once the sun had set, Dante realized that she could no longer leave her lover to his sorrows. Being left alone was an awful thing on its own, the last thing she needed was to spend another night without him by her side. Besides, she told herself, William would have wanted his parents to move on.
Now if only her husband could realize that.
The journey from the brighter upstairs to the basement had taken longer than she expected. With stops at every corner that made her rethink this whole idea. She didn't want to see him like this, didn't want to see how badly the death of their only son affected them. At the same time she wanted to be there for him, seeing as he definitely needed her.
Maybe, she though, she could convince him that this wasn't so bad. Yes they lost William, the boy they had become used to for almost eighteen years. However, at the same time there was many opportunity's to have more children. This body was still young and fertile despite the years and with their swapping it would remain that way for a long time.
. . .
Before Envy was unable to feel things like that, seeing and hearing had been the only senses that remained during these memories. Now he could feel everything and unfortunately 'everything' was not as pleasant as he wished. Being a homunculus, pain tended to last for only a few moments. Regardless of the severity of the injury, they tended to not feel the agonizing bulk of it.
Unfortunately what he felt now was relentless. A sharp, throbbing sensation pumped through every nerve and screamed. His vision was blurry, unable to truly make out the extent of the damage done upon him. Wherever he was it was obvious that everything was dark. The only thing that kept everything from being pitch black was a few sources of light that seemed like fuzzy orbs from his position.
Envy couldn't necessary hear anyone speaking at moment. It wasn't silent though, not by a long shot. What he could make out was grunting and some heavy, labored breathing. To him, it sounded a lot like someone was slowly dying.
Dying . . . that word reverberated through him and suddenly it all made sense. The blurriness, the breathing, and the pain he shouldn't be able to feel. This memory wasn't like the rest, not at all. The visions he had been forced to watch over and over for the past four hundred years had belonged to William, the perfect son.
This memory, however, belonged only to him.
Through the huffs he began to hear something else. A tapping of sorts that became louder with each moment. It didn't take him long to realize that the tapping was the sound of someone's shoes on the ground. Someone he knew all too well.
His heart began to beat fast as his vision made its way slowly upwards to come face to face with a mess of colors that seemed to resemble a person. The more he stared up the more the person's image began to come together, making them easy to identify. What he saw completely ruined him.
His father was standing right there, looking down on the mess of blood and guts he called a son.
He could feel himself choking as his mutilated lungs prevented him from saying something understandable. It had been so long since this had happened but yet Envy knew everything that was about to happen, all in vivid detail. Now he would have to literally replay this, one of his worst memories, over as if it was all happening again.
It was hard to read his face, given the darkness and the extreme pain. What he could make out was nothing short of horror. There was disappointment too, something that hurt Envy more than he wanted to admit. As hurt as he was he was also angry. Completely and utterly enraged. Here he was, his Father, staring down at him, his creation and was doing nothing.
For the second time Envy was forced relive the pain, the pain of being born. The type of pain that could kill him if nothing was done. Maybe that's what he secretly wanted, Envy thought bitterly, maybe part of Hohenheim just wanted him to die. After all, he was nothing more of a mistake and mockery of his real son's memory.
His vision started to blur again when Hohenheim began to kneel down towards him. It was then that Envy was thankful that this was finally going to end, that he didn't have to been painfully reminded of the day his existence became the greatest disappointment and mistake of his father.
Before the total darkness his father reached out towards him. Spots of blood and chalk were obvious on his hand and sleeve.
"William?"
All Envy could think of at that moment was the word 'no'.
. . .
It was obvious from the moment he shut his eyes and the world once again changed around him. There wasn't blurred visions this time or memories that didn't necessarily belong to him. Although this was also an early memory like the one before, it was memorable for the fact that it was the first time in his life that he wasn't in agonizing pain.
No longer in a dark room in the basement, Envy found himself sitting up in a much lighter guest room. The pleasant white wallpaper and open windows almost made this interaction look normal, or at least to someone else. Blonde hair blocked part of his left eye as he squinted to focus on the person sitting on his bedside.
"William?" Blinking, Envy waited for a response to Dante's question. She looked a little different from when he last saw her. She was still stressed, even more than before, but her shorter height, brunette hair, and darker skin made him realize that she wasn't completely the same person that watched her son die.
"Huh?" That was the only thing that left his lips.
She stared at him for a second. Chocolate brown narrowed slightly as they scrutinized the look alike in her son's bed. At the time Envy thought she had been angry at him for such a weak response. This woman who he didn't know looked at him with such cold, judgmental eyes.
Then, as if nothing at happened, she smiled at him. "Oh William," He shuddered at the artificially sweet tone. "Your fathe— I mean we, both have missed you so much."
Envy internally laughed at that. "I-I?" He didn't know how to respond. The woman in front of him looked so strange. She looked like she meant well as far as caring about him went. However, at the same time he felt as though something was . . . off about her.
Not caring one bit about his lack of confusion, Dante stood up quickly and headed towards the door. "You relax, I'll be back with your Father in just a moment."
"Okay." He said blankly.
Envy remembered feeling slightly comforted after this. Remembered thinking that this state of confusion was only temporary and that his 'parents', whoever they were, would remind him who he was and how he got here. He also remembered believing that this woman, who called herself his mother, truly cared for his wellbeing.
. . .
"William?" The man in front of him asked.
Tilting his head to the side, the boy pointed to himself. A nod of the woman, Dante's, head gave him all the answer he needed. "Yes?" There unsureness in his voice went easily unnoticed to the woman.
"Isn't this wonderful, darling." Hohenheim briefly glanced towards her, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Thanks to our work, our son is with us once again." He didn't look at her, choosing to stare at the boys features more and she continued on. "We can be a family again."
"A family?" The boy asked, his gaze darting between the two of them. "We're a family?"
"I—"
"Of course, my son." She interrupted. Keeping her eyes on her lover, Dante smiled lovingly. "Always have, always will."
After so long Envy had gotten to the point that remembering William was something only thought of briefly. Sure he thought a lot about his hatred of his father and the years leading up to his abandonment but William had grown less and less important in his life. When the memories began to die down a century or so ago he stopped thinking about that time before his life as often.
It was better that way anyways. He didn't want to think of the Golden hair child whose life he saw through his very eyes. Didn't want to think of the disappointment in his creators eyes when they realized that he wasn't who they thought he was. Didn't want to think of what he wasn't and would never be. If he had actually been William then his father would have never left.
. . .
"William?" He didn't turn around "William!"
"Huh?" Looking rather surprised and somewhat bothered, Envy turned around to face his mother.
"Ugh, you've been extremely unobservant these past few days." Stepping into the plain bedroom, Dante slowly sauntered towards her son. "It's beginning to upset your father and me."
Hesitating, Envy looked away from her and out the window. "Sorry." The simple statement left a thin line of disappointment on her lips.
"It's been over two weeks and you still haven't gotten any better." There was a brief flash of sadness in his eyes, something Dante didn't really see. "I'm beginning to wonder if you're not even trying to remember things."
"I don't know what to say" He said with a newfound irritation in his voice. "How is one supposed to just up and remember something?"
Narrowing her eyes towards him, she found herself losing patience. "I would have thought that getting a new chance at life would have made you the slightest bit grateful."
He sighed. "Of course I'm grateful towards Father, I just wish you didn't expect everything to be . . ." He stopped himself.
"To be what, William?"
Even without even knowing much about anything, Envy had always had this feeling that something was out of place. Dante, on the other hand, acted like nothing was ever wrong. Whether she was just pretending that it was or truly believed that everything was fine was another story.
"I'm trying, I just wish you'd see that." He spoke lowly.
Frustrated and unable to pick up on his feelings, she responded with "try harder."
"How am I supposed to do that? You're acting if remembering is something I can just learn with some simple studying."
"Just," she examined exasperated "try to remember. If not for me then for your father."
"Mhmm-hum," he mumbled.
"What did you say, I couldn't hear you."
Rolling his eyes at her, William continued. "You say he's my father yet at the same time I don't remember either of you being my parents. It's almost as if one day I woke up and you two decided to make me call you that."
"Make no mistake," Crossing the room in furry, Dante was quick in shortening the distance between them. "I am your mother and Hohenheim is your father."
. . .
Everything was normal that was what he kept telling himself. Nothing out of the ordinary on this particular night. Besides, it wasn't as if he was doing anything different than his regular routine. It wasn't uncommon for him to read for a little bit before bed, especially in the quiet confines of the parlor room. Candles flickered all throughout the place as the fire before them had died not too long ago. Other than the candles only a few scarce pieces of furniture and other things occupied the room. Such other objects included a grandfather clock, one that provided the only noise for the past couple hours.
With his lover tucked away in bed since retiring an hour ago and his son quietly engaging in a compelling book, Hohenheim was rather convinced that there was nothing out of place with this picture. It wasn't like this night was different than any other one, right?
The only thing that he could possibly say was out of place at the moment was the page he was currently on. Between looking up at his son, the clock, and the book, he was quite certain that he hadn't changed the page for over an hour now.
It was the twenty-second time, at eleven-thirty four P.M., did Hohenheim realize that William had caught onto his stares.
"Father?" Flinching at the sound, Hohenheim hesitantly lifted his face away from the unread page.
"Yes?"
A silence filled the air. "Do you hate me?"
He could feel a lump forming in his throat as the boy stared him down, looking too neutral for the situation. "What do you mean?"
"I was just asking if you hate me."
Shaking his head, Hohenheim turned away from the boy. "No, of course not." William could hear the reluctance in his voice, a degree of fear that controlled him.
"Then you love me, right?"
He couldn't respond, the lump from before now tightened up and filled his throat to the point of not letting anything come forth. He was forced to stare at his son who only grew more concerned with every unanswered second.
"Yes, of course I love my son." William, or rather the new William, smiled softly at the words before looking back at his own work.
"Good . . . I'm glad." It seemed so weird to see himself act in such a . . . naïve way. It was one thing to see William acting like this, he wasn't William anyway, and another to remember what he was like in the beginning.
Closing the book with a loud thud, Hohenheim stood up from his spot. "Goodnight." He left before William had the chance to wish him one as well.
. . .
"Darling are you alright?" It took a second for Hohenheim to process what had been said. He had been so transfixed in his mind that Dante's statement had almost been inaudible to his ears. He hadn't even heard her come into his study.
"Yes, of course." Without looking up from the papers sprawled out on the desk, he mumbled out the only response that would warrant silence once again.
"Well," she purred, placing a hand delicately on his back, "you don't seem like it."
"I've just been a little busy these past few days, nothing I want you worrying about."
A genuine smile brightened her face at his words of compassion. "Maybe you should stay home instead of leaving if you're having a hard time." He stiffened, "I'm sure your friend would understand if you cancelled the trip."
"No," he exclaimed without any hesitation. "It's been so long and I really do need to get out for a bit."
"Then maybe I should come to—"
"William needs you here," his voice stern, Hohenheim finally met her eyes. "As much as I would like for you to come, he needs you to be here for him."
Huffing at his stubbornness, Dante narrowed her gaze towards him. "He's an adult, Hohenheim. He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself."
"His age has nothing to do with it. You know he's still out of sorts since the transmutation, he shouldn't be left alone during this time."
Disappointed and dejected, she crossed her arms harshly against her chest. "At least promise to come back as soon as possible."
Hesitantly, he replied. "I understand, my love."
. . .
He liked to avoid Dante, especially now that his father had left for some trip. Maybe before all this they had been on better terms. Part of him wanted to believe that her actions towards him were merely a sign of stress. In the end, he found being around her more tiring than the sleepless nights he spent wondering who he was.
Because of this, he was reluctant to go looking for her when something around the house seemed . . . out of place. Walking softly through the corridors, his eyes really took in the place that he felt he had been born into. Being as late as it was, the walls seemed much darker than they should have. Maybe it was him but the cream color only looked off putting with just a singular moving candle light to illuminate them.
The floor, despite his attempts at being quiet, creaked under each foot. The sound had him flinching as it reverberated through the emptiness and came back to him. This place, he thought, felt all too lonely. With just him and his mother, the world around him just fell flat and silent. Maybe it had been his role in his creation but being with Hohenheim had never been a lonely or tiring ordeal.
In fact, sometimes he wondered if it was Hohenheim who felt more stressed around him than the other way around.
By the time he came to her bedroom, he had every intention of turning around. With one hand balled up at his side and the other hanging limply in midair, he truly felt as if bothering her was more trouble than it was worth.
"Are you there?" He gasped slightly at her sudden statement.
"Yes, it's me."
Silence filled the void. "Can you come in for a moment?"
"Yes . . . but why?"
"Let's just say, my son," flinching at the venom in her voice at the words, he took a few steps back. "That there's something you need to know."