Work Text:
Alphonse was cooking.
It wasn’t an uncommon sight; Alphonse jumped at every opportunity to cook. Normally, since he was still healing, Pinako, Winry or Edward would be helping him. Chopping vegetables, boiling water; doing something so he wouldn’t have to brunt the load.
Today though, Pinako was making a house call, Edward was taking a nap, and Winry was working on an arm for a client. Pinako had started dinner already but the call sounded urgent, especially coming from an old friend of hers. Alphonse said he’d take care of dinner while she was gone and that he’d keep it hot until she came home. Pinako had chuckled while walking out the door.
Alphonse hummed to himself while he rinsed the potatoes and carrots. Stew was on his mind with the meat Pinako had prepared hours earlier. His stomach growled everytime he thought about being done with cooking and ready to serve out bowls.
It was nice. He liked being pleasantly hungry. The reminders of being alive were always welcome. He finished rinsing the carrots, placing the last one on the side of the sink. Al opened a drawer and pulled out a peeler, taking off the skin with slow movements.
He didn’t miss being a suit of armor, but it did have some perks. He wasn’t as swift anymore; years ago when his brother was still recovering from his automail surgery, Alphonse had helped cook dinner every night. Chopping and peeling vegetables would go quickly when he wasn’t scared of hurting himself; without the paranoia that he’d take off a finger if he went too fast like they had when they were younger. Pinako had him chop everytime they came by for Edward’s maintenance.
The last potato was heavy in his hand as he carved out the last knot. The cutting board was already set up on the counter along with a knife. Alphonse laid out the carrots, lining them up carefully.
Cutting was easy. The carrots weren’t very slick; they chopped with a nice sound that stuck in his head while his mind drifted. Al lined up the second batch, cutting them into halves and then chunks before setting them to the side, reaching for the potatoes to his right.
He turned one in his hand. It was slippery. He set it onto the board, holding it with his palm as the knife took a moment to cut through the entire thing. He sliced two more in half before lining them together.
Halfway through, the knife slipped and hit his finger.
“Shit!” Alphonse flinched, pulling his hand away and shaking it. Tears pricked at his eyes as he grabbed his finger to look at it.
Blood dribbled from the cut. Pain shot from his finger, up his arms, all the way to his head and ricocheted all the way to his legs. Alphonse looked at the doorway, hoping that there was a slime chance she had heard. Tears dripped down his cheeks as a thick lump in his throat formed. He glanced back down at the finger he was nursing, watching his hand softly tremble.
Al took to slinking through the house, towards Winry’s work room. He found himself in the doorway as the sound of gears turning softly echoed through the room.
He swallowed, catching the last of the blood that was dripping down his finger. “Uhm.”He wavedered, trying to keep his voice steady. “Winry?”
She pulled her work goggles to the top of her head, setting down one of her tools and trading it for another. “Hm?” She said softly, blowing dust off a piece.
Alphonse shifted for a moment, blinking the blurriness out of his vision. “I cut myself.” He said with a waver in his voice. Winry pushed out her chair, staring at him with wide eyes. “Are you okay?” She asked with a concerned tone, standing up and grabbing the first aid kit propped up against the wall.
He shrugged, swallowing. “I think so. It just hurts.” The wobble in his voice started to level itself as she grabbed his hand, looking it over.
Winry shooed him over to her chair, sitting him down as the kit popped open. “How’d you do that?” She said while pouring alcohol onto a cotton swath. Alphonse shifted. “I was cutting potatoes for dinner. The knife slipped.” His eyes fell to the floor as he wiped away his drying tears.
She hummed. “You do know how to cut vegetables right?” Winry asked, cleaning the blood. He flinched, the cool alcohol digging into the cut.
“I mean, I can get them cut.” Alphonse said as she started wrapping his finger in a bandaid. She stood up, clicking the first aid case shut and peeling off her work gloves.
“C’mon. I’ll help with dinner. I bet you haven’t cut anything since you got out of that armor. You gotta take care of your fingers.” She said, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye. Alphonse smiled, standing up. “Okay.” He breathed, watching Winry wipe her hands off on a dirty rag. “Let me wash up, and I’ll be down. Don’t start cutting things without me!” She said, sauntering out of the room.
Alphonse looked at the bandage on his hand as she left.
It didn’t hurt anymore. The pain was replaced by an unpleasant hum that pulsed, slowly dying away. How could he have cried over something as simple, and small as that?
It felt nice though. His eyes had a tiredness that didn’t hurt; they felt clean, even. Has crying always felt like this? Was it another thing he had forgotten?
Alphonse made his way back down to the kitchen, the gas stove hissing as it burned.
Winry met him soon after, beckoning him over as she walked him through how to properly cut vegetables. The pain in his finger faded away by the time Pinako got home.
Edward lazily found his way into the kitchen, called by the smell of warm food. Yawning and cracking a stupid joke as Al dished out a bowl of stew for everyone, and even left a small scoop in Den’s bowl which he happily chowed down.
Dinners were always nice; they always laughed and yelled, and every other meal Alphonse would burn his tongue on something. This time he got overzealous with dipping his bread in hot stew.
By the time Alphonse went to bed that night, he had cried twice. Obviously from cutting potatoes, but the second time was when Edward had done a bit that went on long enough for his brother’s stomach to hurt from laughing, and tears started running down his cheeks until he could catch his breath.
His eyes felt sore as he nestled into his bed, pulling the blanket over himself. They were tired, but not in a bad way. They ached in a way that was comforting; like shedding a suit of tight armor that didn’t need to protect anymore.
Overall, it was a good day. A good day for rain.