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Rain smatters against the earth. The harsh water stabbing the fertile ground. The weather makes Al uneasy. It’s only a matter of time before thunder shakes the ground and risks igniting the ground. Besides that, one can barely see the lights from the houses in the distance.
It’s in this downpour that he sees his brother, wearing that red coat which he had apparently worn nearly every day starting some time after his memory cuts off. He’s standing in the middle of the downpour with his arms stretched out. Letting the water whip across his long, untied hair.
“Brother, what are you doing out here?” Alphonse says, stepping onto the front porch, but not daring to get soaked like his brother currently was.
He whips around, startled at the boy’s sudden appearance. The homunculus wasn’t expecting to be interrupted in this weather.
“Standing.” Sloth replies. Al was the boy’s name; the homunculus had picked that up when Winry talked about him. “The weather’s nice, want to join me?”
Al shakes his head. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“I’ll be fine.” The homunculus rolls his eyes. An easy smile rests on his face. His grins widens when Al narrows his eyes at him. The boy doesn’t know he’s a homunculus, and he’d rather keep it that way. Whoever this Edward guy was, he hasn’t come home yet, and Sloth quite enjoys Al's company.
“Brother.” Al shoots him a disappointed frown. Why did Brother have to be so difficult? Maybe it’s the sudden difference in age, but ever since his leap in continuity, Ed’s been strangely aloof and distant from him. Nothing like they were before the transmutation. Winry said their journey to get their bodies back has been hard on Ed, but that’s hardly a comfort.
Edward spins in place. The gesture surprises Ed. As if he was a little kid experiencing rain for the first time. Ed’s goofy grin is what makes Al surrender. Maybe like this they can begin to patch whatever rift formed between them.
“I’ll get a raincoat.” Al offers. “Then we can play in the rain together, like we did when we were kids.”
“You’re still a kid.” The homunculus teases, but he considers the offer. He had been hoping to get to know Al. He laughs when Al scrunches his face indignantly. “Go ahead, just don’t blame me if you catch a cold yourself.”
Al nods eagerly. A minute later, he returns with a heavy jacket and some boots. Sloth rolls his eyes at the outfit. How’s Al supposed to enjoy the downpour in that? If the homunculus had it his way, he’d rid himself of the flashy red jacket and roll in the mud for hours. But Al and Winry would never approve of that. Besides, doing so would mean revealing the red Ouroboros tattooed to his right arm.
“I’ll race you to that tree.” Sloth declares, pointing to a far-off tree. He surprises himself at the proposition, but the concept somehow feels nostalgic to the homunculus.
“But Brother, you have longer legs than me, it wouldn’t be fair.”
“I’ll give you a head start.”
“Fine.” Al concedes. Not that he’d give up the chance to spend time with his brother. Ed waits until he’s a few paces ahead before darting past him. Not one to let his older brother get the best of him so easily, Al picks up his pace, breaking into a sprint. He manages to arrive just behind Ed, out of breath.
“I win.” His brother grins.
“Like I said, your legs are too long.” Al pants. Stupid Ed with his stupid legs didn’t look even a little exhausted from the mad dash. Al frowns at the sopping wet ground. “And I can’t even sit down to catch my breath.”
“Sure you can.” He replies. Al yelps when his brother knocks him over. Ed’s already lying down next to him when he sits up.
“Now I’ll definitely catch a cold.” Al complains.
“I told you not to blame me if you do.” Sloth smirks. He lets the mud scrunch around him. It’s cold but malleable, in a comforting way. The rain that dances across his face amuses the homunculus. “I wonder why there aren’t more people out today.”
“The weather is pretty terrible.” Al says. The homunculus frowns at the comment. How could anyone call this terrible when the sky is so alive? A nice distraction that lets him feel the same.
“Well, whoever says that doesn’t know what they’re missing.” Edward retorts. Al smiles, noting that maybe his brother isn’t so different from his memories. A memory comes to the surface of his mind. An eight-year-old Edward staring outside restlessly at the storm, complaining that the damn rain wouldn’t let him play. “I thought you hated this kind of weather?”
“Nah.” Ed says, easily. Another opinion that must have changed since the last four years. The disconnect often frustrates Al, knowing that he no longer knows his brother as well as he used to.
The homunculus notices the frown on the kid’s face, which dampens his own mood a little. That remise expression is familiar. His mind flashes to an unfamiliar scene of that same kid wearing that expression staring at a grave. Sloth shakes his head, ridding the image from his mind.
“Have you ever considered braiding your hair?” Al asks. The question catches the homunculus off guard.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I just thought it might look good on you.” Al says. Truthfully, it had been on the back of his mind for a while, but he couldn’t find the time to bring it up to his brother. “I was thinking about growing my hair out myself and tying it up. Then we could be matching.”
The homunculus considers the proposition. He’d never paid much mind to his hair. That’s not entirely true, he enjoyed the sensation of the rain weighing it down and water flicking everywhere as he spun his head. He likes the idea of matching Al.
“Could you braid it now?” Sloth asks, eagerly. Al smiles.
“Sure, just give me a moment.” The younger blonde scooches behind him. He stays still as Al plays with his hair. The kid runs his fingers through it, letting the rain help him do the work in brushing the mud from it. Al then separates the hair into three clumps and twists them around each other in a rhythmic pattern. The kid finishes by pulling out a hair tie and knotting it. Sloth wonders if the kid normally carried those around or if he was planning this from the beginning.
“How do I look?” He asks. Al inspects his work, satisfied at his accomplishment.
“You look just like brother.” Al says. He can’t explain it, but this look, with the red coat and braided hair just screams Edward in a way it didn’t with his hair down. Ed frowns.
“Did I not look like that before?”
“You’ll always look like yourself.” Al amends. “But this look somehow just feels right.”
“If you say so.” Sloth says. The way his hair is dressed feels weirdly familiar, and he wonders briefly if he’s about to be assaulted with another strange vision. When none come, he elects to consider it another strange Al thing and not to think any further on the matter.
“You should see it for yourself. I think you’ll like it.” Al offers. But that would mean going inside and leaving the rain behind. Whatever, Sloth’s already fallen for the kid’s trickery, and he can slip out when the kid isn’t looking.
“Alright, fine.”
The response makes the kid beam. Sloth follows him to the house bemusedly. Winry mutters something about how wet they are while Al practically drags him upstairs.
The homunculus freezes when he sees the man in the mirror. He recognizes that guy. His mind flashes to a scene of a twelve-year-old with his face sitting in front of a mirror. A massive suit of armor is behind him braiding his hair. The kid is wearing a black tank top and pants, similar to Sloth’s own attire but without the red bindings or the Ouroboros.
Sloth tears himself away from the memory. But it couldn’t be a memory, could it? He doesn’t remember looking twelve. Or his hair being braided by a suit of armor. Still, the memory fills him with a sense of warmth that only Al and occasionally Winry have managed to draw from him.
“Brother?”
“I like it.” Sloth says, though the smile he gives Al fails to reach his ears. The curiosity over the twelve-year-old and suit of armor clashing with the understanding that such knowledge would likely only be painful. Still, braiding his hair made Al happy. “Can you braid it again tomorrow?”
“Of course!” Al smiles, happy that he and his brother finally have something they can do together. Even if it’s only for tomorrow, the gesture means a lot to Al. Because it means that he’s one step closer to getting his brother back.
Sloth waits until long after Al’s breathing evens out before taking off the hair tie and jacket. The homunculus lets his hair loosen into its untouched form. He glances at Al one more time to double check that the boy is asleep before he risks exposing his Ouroboros. There’s still rain outside, and the homunculus isn’t about to miss it.
Without so much as a gesture, Sloth allows the light to pass through his body, creating the illusion of disappearance. Using his invisibility to his advantage, he checks the house for any signs of life, only to find the Rockbells and Den fast asleep. He smiles.
Darkness only serves to intensify the pattering of rain and rush of mud. Bright flashes of light followed by a harsh crackling noise tear through the sky where they hadn’t just a few hours ago. The heart pounding sensation excites the invisible boy, and he wonders what would happen if he were to touch the beautiful flashes. It’s a silly thought, and Sloth knows deep down that touching lightning would only hurt.
Sloth sneaks back indoors come sunrise. He’s satisfied to find everyone still fast asleep. His eyes linger on Al for a moment before he once more materializes and slips on a long-sleeved shirt over his black tank top.