Chapter Text
It started with a journal.
“From your fathers things,” Pinako explained as she pushed the old leather-bound thing across the table, just within reach.
Ed and Al stopped eating their dessert to look at each other.
Al was the first to grab it because, frankly? Ed wanted to touch Hohenheim’s things about as much as he wanted to hug the guy’s corpse. Watching Al turn the thick, compact book in his hands (his hands! His brother’s beautiful, if-slightly-emaciated hands!) over and over, examining the soft edges of the paper and the small lock on the front like they were precious jewels, was more than enough for him.
He looked up when Pinako cleared her throat. “I thought you boys might like to have it. Seems like it’s rather private, so Winry and I haven't really touched it.”
“But it was really, very tempting,” Winry sighed.
“Really?” Ed half-asked, suddenly occupying himself with pushing a piece of pie around on his plate, really just selling the image of uncaring that a night that was supposed to be about them returning-- once again, whole and happy, just like he promised, thank you very much!-- was turning into Mourning Hohenheim, Part II: This Time With Souvenirs. “If it was that tempting, you could have just read it. It’s not like you can’t pick a dinky little diary lock.”
She smiled at him. “Well… yeah, sure. But I like to think I've learned a thing or two about privacy when it comes to your family and things that are locked, you know?”
Yeah, he knew. And he was mad that this attempt to diffuse him, to soothe the impending tirade that was boiling inside him, was working. His tongue felt heavy and he was starting to feel stupid for being upset at all that everyone but him was interested in his absent father.
“Which is more than I can say about you and privacy,” Winry added, taking a sly sip of her milk.
Ed opened his mouth for a retort that was sure to make their first night home one to remember, but Al, thankfully, cut him off. “Thank you, Pinako,” he said, holding the journal to his chest. “It means a lot, since we couldn’t come down for the…”
Al’s brow furrowed as he struggled for the word, but Pinako shook her head with a smile. “I know, dear.” She took a thoughtful drag of her pipe, smoke lingering in the air. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded one bit, considering the state he last saw you in. And I would have punted you clear back to Central myself if you’d showed up! It was nothing more than burying a body. You can visit him in your own time, and I’m sure he would prefer it. The man was loathe to inconvenience anyone.”
“R-right,” Al stammered, tucking his chin down. “Still… thank you.”
Ed felt his throat freeze at the reverence in Al’s voice. Everyone’s throat at the table seemed to, really. God, what kind of asshole was he to ruin any of this, this thing that was so important to Al, for a spotlight that wasn't his?
Cowed, he ate the rest of his pie in silence, the journal feeling far too close to him in the hands of his brother.
“So what do you think’s in it?” Winry asked, combing her fingers through Ed’s loose strands as he laid his head against her hip, sprawled out on the blanket they’d brought to the balcony. He shrugged.
“Don't know. It could just be notes. Measurements for the array he used on the Promised Day. Or letters to mom and us,” he guessed. “Hey Al, you got that thing open yet?”
“Noooo,” Al groaned, leaning closer to the oil lamp on the balcony floor next to him, trying to get a better angle of light on the mangled paper clip he was carefully running along the inside of the lock. “Are you sure there wasn't a key, Winry?”
“Positive. We went through all of his pockets and everything, and I couldn't find any hidden ones, and well… He got buried in them anyway, so unless you want to dig up your dad tonight, we can't check.”
“He could have swallowed it,” Ed supplied, very helpfully.
Winry shoved a pillow in his face for it. “You sure you don’t want me to do that, Al?” She asked, her voice like sweet tea even through the pillow fluff.
“I’m sure,” Al replied, brows stitched together as he concentrated. “I’m starting to think that if Dad wanted us to open this using a key, he would have left one. Which means we have to open this ourselves.”
“Or,” Ed started, pulling the pillow away from his face, “You're looking way too deep. He was like a billion years old, the key probably just got lost. Fell into a river, got stuck between the cushions on a train, was eaten by a dog. He was an alchemist, not a puzzlemaker. Use alchemy. Ask Winry to open it. Be done. Eat another slice of pie.”
“No.” Al didn't even flinch as he said it, just continued to fiddle with the damn lock. “I refuse to use alchemy for something that could be done by hand, as you must do now because of me. Besides, alchemists may not be puzzlemakers, but one skill does lend itself readily to the other. How many ciphers and diagrams made by alchemists have we solved together, brother?”
Ed looked off to the side, surly.
“He's got a point, you guys have solved things way more difficult than the Sunday paper,” Winry spoke into her hand, stifling a yawn.
Sure, he did have a point, but it didn't make it any less time consuming or annoying. The pillows and blankets they'd brought out didn't do much but take the edge off resting your bones on hard wood, and at 16 (and a half,) Ed’s joints were somehow already beginning to lose their youthful springiness. He wished he had a book to pass the time with. A real book, not some old man’s locked-up journal.
Al looked up from some old man’s locked-up journal and frowned at them.
“You know you don't have to stay up with me,” Al said softly. “I can get back down the stairs myself. I know this waiting must be pretty boring for you, Winry, and Ed…” He winced, and Ed huffed.
“Can it, Al.” The words came out angrier than Ed intended, but he couldn't stand that embarrassed grimace that Al got whenever he felt like he was doing something Ed didn't like. “Didn't we say the first thing we’d do when we got home was stay up all night and party?”
Al laughed hesitantly. “Uh, no? The first thing we said we’d do was eat Winry’s apple pie,” he corrected. Ed shrugged.
“Right, so we've already done that-- kickass pie, by the way, Winry--”
“Oh, thanks?”
“--so now all we have left on the Homecoming Day schedule is, drumroll please, staying up all night with my brother and my best friend and partying. And I, Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, Scientist of Steel, Golden Star of the East, Amestrian Revolutionary, Savior of Mankind, the Fist in God’s Face, plan to do exactly that." He turned to Winry. "Granny Pinako still keep the booze above the fridge?”
Al’s good-humored but concerned groan was all he needed to know that it worked. Winry looked a bit skeptical, though. “Yeah, why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Because it's a really bad place for her to keep it and I'm worried about her safety. The heat-waste from the fridge is gonna make those bottles blow one of these summers,” he explained, hauling himself to his feet with only a minor grunt. “Thought I’d relocate some of them for her.”
“Riiight. How thoughtful of you. Need a stool?” She taunted, resting her chin in her hand.
He turned his back to her, opening the door to the house even as he rudely gestured behind him.
He had needed a stool. Not because he was short (which he was not), but because honestly, who the fuck keeps their booze in the cabinets above the fridge? Your name would have to be Armstrong to be able to get up there without climbing on the counter!
For all his bluster, he did actually end up relocating the half-full bottles of liquor to someplace safer, once he was sure jostling them wouldn't make them blow in his face. Stinking like alcohol and needing a midnight shower was somewhere near the bottom of his bucket-list, if it was on there at all. Probably not on there at all, right?
Well, maybe as like, a consequence, but not in and of itself--
“Really? Only one glass?” Winry asked upon his return, eyeing the somehow unopened jug of whiskey and the glass he'd brought with him as payment for the life-saving (or at least cabinet-saving) gesture he'd bestowed upon Pinako, who was sure to be nothing but appreciative in the morning.
“Yeah. I'm not shy about sharing, I just didn't want to assume. Want me to go grab another glass?” He asked back, setting the jug down next to her as he settled back down in the throne of pillows.
She shrugged. “I think I can manage some Elric cooties just fine, if you're not disgusted by mine.”
“Never. Al, you want some too?” He called to the other side of the balcony, where Al was now sitting with the lock up to his ear, working away at it, pausing only to sternly look at Ed and press his finger to his lip.
“Right, sorry!” Ed stage-whispered, turning to open the whiskey and fill up the glass between him and Winry instead.
Helpfully, she held up the glass to the light so he didn't overfill, and since they were both young, inexperienced drinkers, and he was aiming for maybe a pleasant buzz rather than to be drunk off his shit (after all, alcohol, by all accounts he had read, was just a poison that put you to sleep, and he was still planning on making it to morning with plenty of energy left,) he decided that maybe half a glass would be enough for the both of them, mathing out the alcohol content.
He turned to cap the jug of whiskey, and looked back to see Winry downing the entire half glass, no more than a few mouthfuls, and offering the emptied glass back to him.
Flabbergasted, he took the glass, whispering, “Holy shit.”
Winry snorted, admirably reigning in her laughter. “Wait, did you mean that for the both of us?” She whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Uh, yeah, a little??” He said, straining to keep it at a whisper. “I've never done this before, have you!?”
“Yes? Edward, I'm a girl from a small town with nothing going on, Melly and I have snuck out with a bottle dozens of times! Not to mention the strong line of heavy drinkers I come from-- have you seen my grandma drink? I think she might be part fish.”
“Yeah, I just, I guess I didn't…” he paused, something about it chewing at his heart. “Whatever, just hold the glass up.”
Winry bit her lip to keep herself from laughing more, and Ed made a point of filling the glass to the brim this time, so he wouldn't have to uncap the jug again anytime soon. He took a small sip himself and, once he could force himself to swallow, wondering why anyone on God’s green earth would put this in their mouth, much less ingest it, took another. It wasn't quite as revolting the second time.
Winry, notably, didn't take any more drinks after the half-glass stunt, and Ed suspected it was actually her limit with the way she was curling in on herself and dazedly staring at the lamp’s flame. She wouldn't be having more for a while. The two sips he had taken, however, hit him harder and faster than he had ever anticipated. His face felt hot and unpleasant, and he was becoming aware of a new emotion that could only be described as “I want to wrap myself in this blanket and become a caterpillar.”
He tugged at the blanket a little bit, the realization that he could not wrap himself in it because Winry was also sitting on it hitting him only a half-second later. Against his better judgement, he took another sip from the glass, swallowing his embarrassment, and turned his gaze toward Al.
“He’s still going for it,” he observed quietly, leaning in to whisper to Winry.
She leaned into him as well. “Mmhm. It's probably really important to him, Ed. You know how precious memories of your mom and dad are, especially for Al.”
“Yeah. He doesn't have as many as I do, I don't think. And we don't have any other family. Probably why he liked that bastard so much more than I ever did. To Al, he was the only family we had left. To me, he was never family in the first place. Not once he walked out.”
There was a pause, Winry deliberately considering her next few words. “How can you still say that about him, even after everything you told me he did?” She asked, managing to sound curious instead of accusatory.
“Easily.” Ed said, stopping for just a moment to look up at the sky. “He was an amazing mathematician, theorist, chemist, astronomer-- alchemist. He was helping save this country years before anyone else caught on.” He took a breath. “But he was a shit-ass father. Too scared of his own kids to ever interact with them. Total bastard.”
Winry hummed thoughtfully. “He didn't really seem like a people-person. Granny always chased me out of the kitchen when he came to visit,” she whispered, combing her fingers through Ed’s hair again. “Maybe he just didn't know how to say ‘I love you,’ besides the things he did. Leaving to make sure you were safe and stuff.” She hit a snag just then, tugging gently at his scalp, and started to pull it apart with her fingers.
He couldn't tell if the bile burning his throat was the alcohol, or Winry’s words. He wanted to tell her, wanted her to know that he knew his grudge was stupid as hell, but also that maybe it was justified, that he didn't owe a dead man an apology for years of hatred born from years of hurt, because even if he hadn't meant it it didn't change the effect, didn't change the amount of time he spent believing he had a father that didn't even care to think about him, like he wasn't anything more than the footprints he left in the dust--
“Your hair really is so pretty,” she said absently, filling up the silence, smoothing the section she’d just untangled. “Like spun gold. I've never seen it on anyone else but you and Al.”
Hohenheim’s hair, he thought bitterly, gently pulling it away from her. “Thanks.”
He was a little startled when the journal was slammed down next to him. Al had gotten up at some point, because now he was slumping down against the railing next to Ed, pulling a pillow to his face and muffling a long, rage-filled cry.
Ed raised his eyebrows. “That's a weird reaction for getting it open.”
“That’s because I didn't get it open,” Al mumbled into the pillow. “I've tried every combination I can think of, and it still won't budge! I don't know what I'm doing wrong.” He looked up, resting his cheek on the pillow and scowling. “This sucks. This whole night sucks.”
“Maybe you just don't have the heart for larceny,” Winry suggested. “You’re too kind and caring to pick the lock of someone’s private things.”
Al curled up on himself a little more, and something in Ed’s heart broke. Al wasn't supposed to look like this, not on their first night home. This was a happy day, and now it was a suckass night all because of Hohenheim, leaving behind a stupid lock without a stupid key, fucking things up even from beyond the grave.
He groaned, already resigned to what he was about to do.
“Where’s those paper clips you were using,” Ed asked, kind of.
Bewildered, Al opened up his hand, the slightly-sweaty scraps of metal glittering in the lamp light. Ed snatched them up, and the journal beside him, and set to work.
“Brother, what are you--” Al began to ask, but Ed forced the lock open within seconds with a tiny click, and he was already handing it over.
“Counts if I solve it, right? That bastard’s ghost won't haunt me forever for doing my brother a favor?” He drawled.
Al accepted the journal gently, running his fingers over the old, flaking leather, the strap with the lock dangling freely from it. “Nah, I think Dad’s going to haunt you for forever anyway. Family obligation.”
“Riiight. I hope he haunts you too, then. You're his favorite.” Ed reached down for another small sip of whiskey. Al chuckled.
“No, I get to be haunted by Mom.”
Ed sputtered. “You can't just claim a ghost!! What if I want to be haunted by Mom?!”
“Oh nooo, it's too late… I can already feel her hovering over my shoulder… She’s… She’s saying something, brother…”
“Bullshit!”
“She’s saying… Edward… you would never have turned to so many criminal acts to solve your problems…. If only you'd drank your milk…”
Winry erupted with laughter, and Ed glared. “She's not saying that! She'd never say that!”
“She's totally saying that,” Al responded, smirking.
“Drinking milk doesn't prevent a loss of moral perspec--!”
“Alright, alright, both of you! You can fight over it some other time. We're going to wake up Granny like this,” Winry chided, wiping a tear from her eye. “Al, come on. What's in it? I reeeaally gotta know. I'm gonna die if I don't. Seriously. I've been waiting so good.”
“Oh! Uh, right, hold on, let me just…”
“Wait.” Ed interrupted, holding up his hand. “Five-hundred on it being his diary. I'm talking what he had for dinner and who he met.”
Al rolled his eyes. “Brother, you can’t just bet on--”
“Fine. Ten-hundred that it’s letters he wrote to you and Al,” Winry added, to Al’s disdain.
“Any more bets before I open it?” He drawled.
“Yeah,” Ed started, “five-hundred on--”
“No, I'm cutting you off, it was a joke!” Al interrupted, waving a hand dismissively as he opened the journal with the other.
Even in the dim light, Ed could see the journal had been bound and rebound several times, and not all the paper was uniformly cut or even the same material. Winry’s bet was looking more likely by the second.
“... Well, Al?” He asked, after Al was too quiet for too long, just staring at the first few pages. “Am I wrong?”
“Uh… Well…”
Al’s eyebrows were up, his mouth parted in amazement, as he quickly flipped through the rest of the journal. “Yeah. It's not a diary,” he said, finally, and Winry just grinned.
“Looks like I'm the winner this time, Ed-waaard,” she sang, until Al cleared his throat.
“Actually,” he said, “You’re wrong too, technically?”
Winry took in a breath, surprised, and Ed shrugged. “Well, statistically, it was bound to happen. We only made two guesses in a whole sea of possibilities,” he said all-knowingly, and looked at Al. “So then… what is it, if we’re both wrong?”
“I think… You should take a look for yourself.” Al flipped back to the first page and held it out to Ed, his face serious. And damn him, that he was actually making Ed curious about what could possibly be in this book, enough that Ed swallowed his pride about the whole thing and took it, leaning forward to catch the page in the light.
To my dearest Trisha:
I am made eternally despondent by the circumstances of my departure from you, the one whom I have given the whole of my trust and love, my friend in all things, for all time. I hope to pass the things contained in this book, the things you wished to have and the things that every fiber of my being wished to share, to you with my own hands and say the words with my own voice. But such is the nature of my fate and my duty that it should be likely our sons will be well-grown by the time this reaches you, whether by my hands or some other, and I am afraid that just as so this is an attempt to fulfill a wish that may never truly be satisfied, a handful of water presented to one who wants for a whole ocean…
Ed looked up, cocking an eyebrow at Al, his lip raised. “Good grief, this guy is flowery. I think he's used about a hundred words to say three things. What am I looking for, the point?”
“Just keep reading,” Al urged, pointing down the page. “There's a section addressed to us, too.”
“So they are letters to you and Al!” Winry exclaimed, grinning like a cat with a mouse in paw. Al shook his head, placing his finger to his lips, and glanced at Ed.
Right. Reading the dumbass intro-letter to the world’s thickest diary. Al was so lucky Ed loved him enough to endure this. He found his place in the giant wall of cramped handwriting, and began to read again.
Yadda yadda yadda, I’m super sorry about everything I did, I love you even though I abandoned you and let my kids think I hated them, blah blah blah, some metaphor shit about our love, I'm five-hundred years old and still haven't figured out how to not be a douchebag, hugs and kisses, Big Jerkenstein.
He was fairly certain he got the gist of it. It was a letter meant for Mom after all, not them. So then, the section addressed to them...
He turned the page, and smiled. Of course it would be on another sheet of paper. Have it so Mom could rip out her extremely personal letter and give the rest to them afterward. Truthfully, he couldn't wait to see the piles of pitiful excuses this guy would make.
To Edward and Alphonse:
I am afraid that, by necessity, I must become a stranger to you. Your mother is good, the best I have ever known, and her care for you and the community around you will shape you into fine young men, of that I am certain. There lies within me a selfish man that hopes to meet those young men one day and even dare to call them his sons, but in the event of my life being extinguished before that day, I hope this letter makes it into your hands instead, that I may give you the full truth of the matter of your lineage.
Though it is difficult for me to outline that which I am to share with you, this confession is of great importance. The body of the man you know to be your father, that which is my own, is at once unaging and contains multitudes; the souls of those that were his kinsmen, some time ago. The process at which this came to be is lengthy and abominable, and I wish you would have no cause to know of it, therefore I shall leave it to be forgotten by the boughs of history, that such an atrocity may never be committed again.
Ed glanced at the sky, wishing for patience. This was shit they already knew, dammit. It must have been written before they met in person, where, without a pen in hand, he could at least say something concisely. He liked that Hohenheim more than this one.
He readjusted his legs beneath him and kept going.
Allow me to communicate with clarity. I, your father, am not of Amestris, though your mother may be. As a boy I was raised in the desert kingdom of Xerxes, now left to ruin by the sands of time, where I came unto myself as both man and alchemist, in service of my King and country. The soul-matter of a portion of that populace now resides within me, ever-present, their wants and desires accompanying my own, that I must even eat and drink their share to satisfy them! While I am my own man, I find myself in the constant company of my people.
This is to say, my sons, that the day the eldest of you was born, such was the celebration within me at the sight of the first newborn of our people in so many years, that I openly wept. Truly, you are sons so special, to have not only the unfathomable love of your father and mother, but also the love of so many who would willingly call you their own.
You are the last of us, the only living line of Xerxes, given the completeness of our annihilation. It is your privilege and your birthright, one with which we mean to gift, not burden.
Something twisted in Ed’s stomach.
As such, it would honor me, not only as your father but as a man of Xerxes, if you would accept the treasured memories of our people as they are recorded in this book, faithfully by my hand, for your enrichment. They are the last living words of our people, addressed to you with adoration, written with the purpose of sharing with you your heritage, and leaving a legacy that is more than legend.
In all that is Truth, some of the entries within this book were recorded long before you were born, and the while the whole of the record will always be woefully incomplete, but please do trust that they are gifted to you all the same.
Loving and undeserving,
Your Father
Van Hohenheim
Dad?
“... Holy shit. He actually just… Signed it ‘Dad’,” Ed marveled at the end of it all, ignoring his discomfort. “He probably spent an eternity figuring out what to say in the actual letter and then he just... signed it ‘Dad’.”
Al smiled, shaking his head. “He must have gone through so many rough drafts, but never considered how to end it…”
“Mmhm. Just like him. I wouldn't be surprised if he gave up on ever giving this to us. Like something he forgot to throw away.”
“But, brother, did you read the part about…?”
Ed nodded, catching the drift. “Yeah. It’s definitely… Something else. Here,” he said, offering the book back, desperate to have it away from him again, feeling like he was flying too close to something he didn't really want to think about. “This kind of thing is more your style. You should have it.”
“It's both of ours,” Al asserted as he took it, laying it in his lap and looking Ed directly in the eye.
“Right. So I'll just… Read it after you! And you can help me understand it,” he rushed to say, cursing that the alcohol was slowing him down, like his mind and body were bound in soft, silk rope. He started to rub at his neck. “You know me, I don't really do people and cultures so well. I'm so set in my ways, it'd probably all go over my head and then I wouldn't get anything from it...” Nice, Ed. Very convincing.
Al seemed to buy it, or at least put off pressing Ed about it for the night, and Winry stayed quiet about it too. “Alright. Then, I guess… Well. I'm not really planning on staying up until dawn, to be honest. I'm still a bit…” Al chewed his lip, and Ed suddenly understood.
“Oh. Shit, Al, I didn't think about that. Sorry,” he said, eyes wide. It had been, what, two, three months? And he had already forgotten about his brother’s condition from the past few years, the one that would make staying up all night this soon too much like that living hell. The caring big-brother points just keep racking up!
“It's fine! I'll just wake up early to watch the sun come up wiiihihithh yooouuu,” Al yawned, stretching. “I mean, if you could wake me up, if you guys are still planning on staying up all night…”
“Sunrise should be in about five hours,” Winry said, leaning back to take a peek at the clock on her wall.
Five hours? That was doable. “It's decided, then!” Ed grinned. “A slumber party, just like we used to. Al’s even going to be the first to fall asleep!”
“Hey! That only happened when we were really little--”
“You can even use my bed if you promise not to wet the sheets,” Winry added.
The kick Al delivered to her leg looked weak, and she burst into laughter. He and Ed joined in, the good humor of friendship heavy on their bones, until they all fell back to look at the sky.
“I’m fine out here. The nights are still warm. And it's nice to just be near you,” Al said, turning to gaze fondly out at the countryside as he fuddled with the journal again, trying to reattach the lock and the strap. After several fruitless clicks, he sat up and examined it, squinting at the tiny thing. He gasped. “Oh-- brother! You broke the lock!”
Ed shrugged. “Told you to ask Winry."
Ed waited silently, switching between staring at the sky and staring at the way his little brother’s shoulders rose and fell with each breath in his sleep. Al’s bony fingers were curled around his pillow and the journal, some of the pages still propped on his nose from where they fell when he passed out in the middle of reading the damn thing.
Even the lamp had run out of oil, leaving Ed in nothing but early morning starlight, the sky turning slowly above him. If he concentrated, he swore he could feel gravity holding onto him as the earth below spun lazily through space. Well, that and he'd had a little too much to drink. He was kind of beginning to accept he would feel like a cork fishing bobber for the rest of his life, whether or not he was looking up at the sky.
“Hey,” Winry said softly, startling him out of the haze of his own thoughts. He sat up against the wall, accepting the glass of water she handed him silently, and waited until she was settled in next to him to take a sip. She was warm and solid against his side, something he was thankful for in the coldest hours of the night, even during a warm summer like this.
He felt a basket bump up against his leg, and peered curiously through the darkness at it, like squinting his eyes would reveal which lumps of gray meant what in this darkness.
“I found some bread and cheese,” Winry clarified for him. “I figured it would help soak up some of the alcohol. You feeling any better?”
Ed shook his head, grabbing a hunk of stale bread and tearing into it. “Shtill feels like I’m being shpit-roasted. Like a rotissherie chickgen,” he replied through the mouthful, then swallowed. “You?”
Winry sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder dramatically. “My head’s already telling me I'm going to be in a good mood tomorrow morning. At least I don't have that much work tomorrow.”
“I could make more for you, if you want.”
She jabbed him in the side with her elbow. “Don't you dare, Ed.”
He smiled, just a little, when she kept her head on his shoulder anyway.
They fell into another comfortable silence, chewing tirelessly on stale bread and what was thankfully some pretty mild cheese, staring up at the stars again. The food really was helping, or at least it was creating a placebo effect just as good, Ed thought, when the world didn't feel quite as unsteady around him as before.
He nearly approached dozing off, his eyes already closing, when Winry spoke up. “So… You wanna talk about it?”
“Hmmn?”
“The book, Ed. You’ve been acting like it's going to come to life and attack you.”
He didn't have the energy to get upset, not truly. “No, I haven't. It's just a book.”
“Uh huh. So you've been avoiding it for no reason at all.”
“I haven't been avoiding it.”
“You practically shoved it at Al! You’ll barely even touch it yourself!” She hissed, grabbing his wrist.
“Winry…” Ed warned, pleading that every ounce of exhaustion and grouchiness had made its way through one word. He felt that tight ball of something in his chest relax as she let go of his wrist, and he could breathe again. Winry could be relentless about these things, and to be spared the conversation… Well, he wouldn't deny that not talking was the easier thing for him to do when it came to topics of the heart.
She held his hand in hers, gently rubbing the back of his thumb with her own. Stubbornly, he refused to react.
“Please, Ed,” she whispered. “I just want to know.”
The rubbing slowed to a stop, and she tilted her head downward.
This time she seemed, if not content, then willing to let him stay silent. She didn't say or even do anything more. No tears, no getting up and storming off… It made him feel guilty about getting his way, that she wasn't following the usual pattern. She just sat there, quietly, leaning against him.
He stewed in the silence for what felt like an age before he broke.
“I don't know what to think about it,” he finally said, his throat tight. He felt Winry shift beside him and hurried to say more before she could interject. “I’ve--I've known, for awhile now, for a few months, about who he was. Who he actually was. But I guess it just… Never really registered. He was from a fairy tale, and he had all those people inside him, for hundreds of years, and… And he talked to them and they were still alive, in a way, and they were experiencing things along with him and… It’s a lot. And then I guess I just never thought about what it meant for me and Al, either. I was too caught up in the science of it, about how our father was an actual, living philosopher’s stone. But we, we’re the sons of an… A guy that should have been dead hundreds of years ago. Literally, the blood of a people that all but died out hundreds of years ago is in me and Al, and I can't… I don't know.
“I was… I grew up Amestrian, with Amestrian traditions, with Amestrian values, always thinking of myself in relation to other people as an Amestrian. And now I'm offered this thing, this codex from an entire, dead civilization, meant for just me and Al, telling us we’re not just Amestrian, that we're one of them, that we’re different from you and Granny, and they're basically begging for us to not let them die out. But I don't know them, I’ve never heard their voices or sat at dinner with them, and it's not like I can go to Xerxes to find them. So how can I be like someone I've never met? And I mean, what does it matter to anyone if I’m this thing or not anyway? I was always so sure of who I was and now this… Incredibly minor part of me has been thrown into mayhem and I don't know what to think anymore. And I think that maybe I just want to not give a shit.”
Ed took a breath, relaxing. It sounded so simple when spoken out loud, like his whirlwind of confusion wasn't worth this. But maybe he felt lighter, having parsed it out. Now he had some words for what he was feeling.
“But… You do give a shit?” Winry asked, quiet and inquisitive.
“... Yeah,” he confirmed.
“So it… Bothers you that it bothers you so much.”
He didn't respond this time. Winry wasn't really asking the question as much as she was coming to understand it herself.
They sat there for awhile on her balcony, watching Al sleep beneath the stars as they winked one by one out of the night sky, until Ed finally croaked a quiet “Thank you.”
Winry acknowledged it with a squeeze of his palm, and turned her head up.
“The sun’s about to rise,” she whispered. “We should get Al up soon.”
He nodded and curled up into his knees, willing time to stop for just a few more minutes.