Chapter Text
"Hey Al, what are you gonna do when you get your real body back? I mean, afterwards? "
"Well, let's see, first thing… I really wanna eat some of Winry's apple pie! And the other things in my list…"
"You got a list for that?"
"Good morning, Winry," Alphonse greeted with a yawn as he left the hallway and entered their house kitchen, smoothly hobbling on his crutches. He blinked as the morning sun reached his eyes, against it shined the silhouette of the girl. She was taking away her dirty plate from the table in the center, turning around to wash it.
"Good morning, Al! How are you doing? Do your legs still hurt?" She turned her head slightly towards him, not taking her eyes from the dishes.
"Not as much as yesterday. I was able to sleep better this night." he said as he pulled a chair from the table, opening a bigger space than he needed to enter, and sat down; only then he noticed his body was too far away from the table and pushed his seat closer, the crutches placed by his side. Sitting by the corner was Edward, focused reading a book whilst mindlessly chewing on a toast. The book, to Alphonse's surprise, was a novel, The Modern Prometheus; it was probably the first time he'd ever seen his brother read a book that wasn't related to alchemy. The boy seemed so hooked in its plot that only after a few seconds he looked up and greeted a low "morning" to Alphonse.
"That's good, isn't it, Ed?" Winry prompted, but he didn't respond. She huffed and repeated with a sharp tone, "Ed! It's good, isn't it?"
This time Edward looked up slightly startled and nodded rapidly, "What? Huh, yeah, yeah, that's good." He turned to Alphonse, who was snorting, and snickered, "sorry, this book is really interesting." With another bite to his toast, he continued his reading, to which Winry just rolled her eyes.
Alphonse's stomach suddenly grumbled and his attention was shifted to the breakfast table. It was adorned with a fresh bread, shiny cheese, a bottle of milk, a jar of strawberry jam and a can of butter. He reached out for two slices of bread and brought them close to his nose; the crumbles jumped on his palms as he held the soft dough, the warm scent filling his nostrils, the texture and the warmth of the bread caressing his skin. He had missed being able to feel things so much, hence he would try to feel everything he could.
He grabbed a knife and passed some jam on one slice and butter on the other. The first bite was overwhelming to his rusty senses, in a nice way; the bittersweet jam tickled his tongue together with the softness of the bread — so simple, yet so tasteful. After he was done eating them, he enjoyed a glass of milk. This was his tenth breakfast since he came back to Resembool; it still felt uncanny but at the same time so good, so good to be able to eat again. He wanted to make every meal worth it.
The hospital meals after the Promised Day, in the two months they'd spent there, were far from the meals Alphonse would've chosen to be his first ones with his body back. They were usually tasteless, even for him, but he ate them grateful to have his mouth, his throat, his stomach and the like again. Now that they were back to Resembool, the food was much, much better.
It had been almost five years, and his body was still getting used to be alive again, thus the crutches and the care, besides all his excitement over such mundane things as biting a piece of bread or going to the bathroom or being able to sleep. At the same time, Alphonse felt like a kid that, once reaching a certain age, has a sudden growth spurt and has to adapt to their new and bigger size, resulting in many clumsy accidents; simultaneously, he's having to get used to a smaller size, after not being as large as the armor anymore. It was confusing.
After finishing the dishes, Winry leaned over the table and grabbed Edward's book from his hands, clasping it shut. Steaming, he quickly got up, ready to argue and curse, but she spoke first and interrupted his angry wave. "I have a plan for today and I'll need you boys help!"
Edward exhaled annoyed, "I can't, I have already scheduled my day."
"Oh, what are your plans? Be inside all day reading my novels?" The boy crossed his arms with a pout and stubbornly accepted defeat.
"What is your plan?" Alphonse asked, leaning back on his chair.
"Since we've got some apples close to going bad, we're doing an apple pie!" She clapped her hands together excitedly. "And not just any pie. I'll be using Gracia's recipe. You'll finally be able to taste it, Al."
The memory filled the boy's mind with nostalgia. It seemed so long ago when they had visited that family. After all that had happened, especially Hughes' death, it was nice to remember how things were before they got complicated, especially now that he would be utterly included in them.
"Can't you do it alone?" Edward refuted, looking at his nails.
"I can. Can you?" She teased, putting her hands on her hips, then pinched the boy's arm. He flinched and hissed, like a scared cat. "I thought it would be more fun if we did it together."
Alphonse reached for his crutches and rose from his seat. "I think it's a great idea. It will be fun to properly work this body," he smiled.
***
"400 grams of flour, 200 grams of butter, three spoons of sugar, two eggs, one kilo of apples, a spoon of cinnamon and some cups of water. All ready!"
"Okay, how do we start?" Edward stretched his hands on front of his body. It was funny how his right, scrawnier arm twisted at the elbow with the movement, whilst the left arm's muscles flexed with familiarity. "It must be easier than alchemy!"
Winry giggled at the boy's attitude, studying him with her eyes. "It's practically the same thing," she shrugged, then tied her hair in a ponytail, the noon sunlight making her blond locks glow. "Firstly, we need to work on the dough. I'll mix the flour and the sugar. Ed, grease the pan. Al, break two eggs inside a cup and mix them."
The boys nodded obediently and headed for their chores. Edward looked inside the cabinets for a pan and took out a square one, only for Winry to scold him and ask for a round one. He mumbled a few curses under his breath as he grudgingly passed butter on the pan. Meanwhile, Alphonse got two eggs from the basket and a cup. He hit the first egg slowly against the counter top, but it did nothing. He tried again, hitting it harder; yet again, not a single crack.
"You should hit harder than that, Al," Winry noticed, not taking her eyes away from the bowl in which the ingredients were mixed with a whisk.
Adjusting the egg in his hand, he focused his strength and lifted his arm, then hit it on the surface. The egg didn't break, it exploded on the counter, painting the nearby kitchen and the trio's clothes yellow. The yolk felt slimy on his hand and it sent shivers up his spine, along with the warmth taking over his cheeks. Edward and Winry both looked at the scene in shock and, after a few seconds, burst into laughter.
"I guess you're body is getting really stronger," Edward laughed while grabbing a towel to clean their clothes. After cleaning his own, he handed it to Alphonse.
Despite cleaning his hands with the soft textile, it still didn't manage to free them from the disgusting slimy sticky feeling. "Sorry, I'm not used to my strength yet," he giggled, scratching his arm nervously.
"It's okay, Al. If you want, you can mix the dough and I break the eggs." Winry cleaned her clothes and her hair with a paper towel, then offered him the whisk. "My arms are already weary from mixing."
The lad nodded and turned to the bowl. "Do I need to add anything else?"
"Yes, butter and five spoons of water."
As he added the ingredients, the dough started to get harder to mix with the whisk, so he changed it for his hands, massaging the mash slowly. It was an oddly relaxing thing to do, even if the butter glued to his fingers while doing so. With every movement, the mush continued to turn into a loose dough, like a bunch of dry dirt, but tasty and greasy.
By his side, Winry had broken the eggs and was mixing them with a fork. Once finished, she turned around to add it to the bowl. The yolk fell over Alphonse's hands as it dripped down until reaching the mush, while he kept mixing. The texture was very unpleasant and his arms shivered with discomfort. Hence, after massaging a few more times, he took his hands off the bowl so he could wash them and then continue with the whisk. However, as he did, the movement was brusque and his elbow hit the sack of sugar that was open close, making it fall off the counter and spreading its white flocks all over the kitchen floor.
The trio stopped their duties and stared at the floor.
All the culprit could do was dig his face inside his hands embarrassed, immediately regretting as the disgusting yolk and dough mix glued to his face.
"Oh, that's a mess," Edward snickered, trying to break the tense mood that rose.
"Hey, it's everything alright, Al," Winry reassured him, noticing his nervousness. He lifted his face from his hands and watched as she left to fetch a broom.
A sigh left his lungs; he couldn't do anything right. He couldn't even control his arms properly. His mind knew that it was expected, after all it had been only a little over two months since he got his body back; his heart, however, insisted in feeling the sharp pain of guilty. Again he was giving other people work because his body wouldn't work the way he wanted, like countless times before; he thought that, once free from the armor, that wouldn't happen anymore, but it seemed like this old new body wouldn't be so easy to deal with as well.
Edward pulled him out of his thoughts with a firm grasp to his shirt. Alphonse turned to face his stern but tender look, as though he could read his mind, which wouldn't be surprising considering their bound. He let out a long breath and headed to the sink to wash his besmirched hands.
When Winry came back with a broom, Alphonse was fast to apologize, "I'm so sorry Winry. Let me clean for you."
"Don't bother, it's fine, I'll do it," she smiled.
"Alright, then," his legs shifted weight awkwardly. "I think I'll go to my room, then. I'm feeling a little drowsy."
With an forced smile, he left, head down as he paced with his crutches away.
"Wait, Al…" Winry started to reach for him, but Edward held her shoulder.
"Can you finish the pie by yourself?" He asked, to which she responded with a warm, understanding smile and a nod. Leaving her on the kitchen, he went after his younger brother.
***
In his room, Alphonse sat on his bed, bent forward, yet couldn't keep quiet. His arms, lean as twigs, were slightly twitching, so he pinched them with his nails, as to see what they were made of. They flinched under the touch; a natural reaction, however it bothered him. His legs were no different, they couldn't stay in the same position for more than a few seconds before hurting, so he kept bending and spreading them back and forth.
He sighed, his mind full of whatever was bothering him. Was it guilty? He began to wonder. Was he disappointed with himself? Probably. He still was having trouble to readapt, obviously, but it felt like he wasn't doing enough — waiting until he got better wasn't enough.
Suddenly, his line of thought was broken with a shout coming from the door to the hallway. "You are not useless!" Edward declared, leaning against the doorframe as he rubbed his chin smugly.
"What?"
His brother trotted inside the room and jumped on the mattress by his side, visually relieved to be able to fit in the same bed as his brother. He spread his legs forward and leaned on the bed frame so to face Alphonse. Catching his breath, he repeated, "I said you're not useless, so stop thinking that."
"And since when am I thinking that?" the youngest retracted his legs to his chest.
"Since whatever happened back at the kitchen," Edward shrugged. "Not the usual Alphonse I know."
"I just don't want to get in the way," he murmured, turning his eyes to the wall.
The golden-haired boy chuckled. "What makes you think you're getting in the way?"
"I made a mess in the kitchen!" His sudden brusque gesture, pointing to the floor, made his arm hurt, and faded all acted nonchalance away.
"And? I've done worse!" Edward howled playfully, quickly changing his modes however, seen that Alphonse seemed uncomfortable. With a calmer tone, he continued, "look, Winry's not mad at you, nor am I. You're important, Al. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't got our bodies back, remember?"
Alphonse nodded thoughtfully and looked down at his thin legs. After a moment pause, he confessed, breath heavy. "It's just been harder than I thought, to get used to my body again. I dreamed way too much with the joy to getting back to my natural form that I completely forgot that it would come with so many challenges."
"We faced infinitely more challenges already, it would be kind of boring if we didn't get another one after we got our bodies back, huh?" Edward joked, poking his brother's thigh with his foot. It managed to rip out a small smile from him.
"It's only my challenge now, though." As he opened his posture — crossing his legs, leaning his weight on his arms —, he took a long breath. "I guess I just don't want to get in the way and…"
"… Be a burden." The other boy's warm voice finished the sentence.
"Yeah," Alphonse smirked awkwardly. "How do you manage to read my mind like that?"
"Al, your head has always been pretty easy to look inside, especially when you were in the armor," Edward giggled, looking at his nails with his registered rascal glance. The amber-haired boy pushed him jokingly against the bed frame with his left foot, unleashing more giggles from the other. They kept fighting and poking each other with their feet until Alphonse got tired, which didn't take long; taking the opportunity, Edward resumed his talking in a matter-of-fact way. "The thing is: you have to stop being so harsh on yourself."
Alphonse rolled his eyes. "Rich coming from you."
"Of course! I'm older therefore more experienced."
"One year and a half."
"One year and a half of more experience on being harsh on oneself!" Alphonse laughed at the way the blonde rubbed his chin proudly. Then, he continued in a more serious tone. "Listen, it hasn't been barely over two months since we got our bodies back, so don't let your mind expect something from your traumatized body that it can't give yet. You have no control over this, so don't blame yourself."
As much as he hated to admit something so obvious, Edward was right. He couldn't control his re-adaptation and his body recovery, so there was no need to feel guilty if he still wasn't able to work the way he used to, or was still struggling with his movements. These words were somewhat comforting, but deep inside his heart a little nettle insisted on poking his soul with guilty and his mind didn't know the right technique to take it out yet — it was so easy to think the right way and talk it out, convince your conscience of one reason and superficially believe in it. Truly convincing the heart and the deepest parts of his soul, however, was much more difficult and would take time, months, years, maybe. So, he decided he would do what he could at the moment; wait. He would wait. Not idly — he'd try some muscle recovery exercises he saw in a book, since the hospital back in Central wasn't able to offer that to him, do his chores slower and calmer, sort his thoughts out every day —, nor absent minded, but wait. As much as the body needed time to recover, so did his mental health.
A long sigh escaped his chest as the thoughts landed inside his mind; it helped to lessen the sting pain a bit, giving it hope to be healed once and for all someday, as well as setting up a goal which was more than he had a few minutes ago.
"I still feel a little like a burden to you guys, though." He admitted at last.
"Well, you're right. You are."
The response was so sharp and sudden that Alphonse's eyes went wide. He turned to his brother, expecting a typical brat smirk, but there was only a warm atmosphere emanating from his far, thoughtful gaze; the same gaze from when they were kids and kept up all night long staring at their room roof thinking of new ways to transmute things, or when, during their travels, he watched the train surpass countless landscapes, busy mind with whatever crazy plans he was willing to do to reach their goal.
"I guess when we love someone, they become a burden. A burden we carry inside our hearts. We don't want to see them sad, much less in suffering, so we do what we can to relieve them from the things that might hurt them. And that becomes a burden, a responsibility to help that person." He smiled towards Alphonse, the familiar gaze softening with compassion. "Though, I don't think 'burden' is the right word. I'll transmute it to 'valuable'. You're valuable to me, so I'll do everything in my hands to keep your well-being and your value intact."
It sounded nice.
With the last strength he had gathered, Alphonse sprang on his knees and fell over his brother with a thigh hug, stealing all the air from both lungs. Edward hugged him back and adjusted their position so that he wouldn't be squashed under the other. After what felt like an eternity — a good and warm one —, they broke apart from the embrace. Full of life, the blonde boy got up from the bed and looked towards the door.
"So, what do you think we go help Winry finish the pie?" He stretched his arms up, releasing a typical noon yawn.
Alphonse nodded an agreement and extended his arm towards Edward, silently asking for his help to get up. Edward held his hand and, driving his weight backwards, pulled his brother and offered his shoulder so that he could stabilize his legs. However, before he managed to do so, Alphonse's legs flinched and bent, causing him to fall on his knees. The boy breathed out, unprepared for the shock. His brother knelt by his side to offer help, but he dismissed it with a weak hand movement.
"It's fine, big brother. I'll stay in bed. My body's worked enough today." With pained moans, the lad crawled his body back to the mattress and sat up, rubbing his scrawny and twitching thighs.
"Are you sure?" The other boy asked, getting up from the floor.
"Yeah. I'll rest, take a nap. Wake me for lunch, will you?"
Edward hummed in acknowledgement. He helped the youngest settle down on the bed as he lied on his back and tucked himself in the cotton sheets, releasing a few pain murmurs as he did so.
Before closing his eyes, Alphonse asked, "tell Winry I'll wash the dishes later, okay?"
"As if she'll let you." Edward giggled and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Gratefulness filled the boy's heart as slumber embraced him.
***
Edward did not wake Alphonse for lunch. In fact, it was only on late afternoon that the boy woke up.
Feeling groggy, he slowly sat up on his bed and instinctively turned to the direction of his bedside table, leaning his side on his left elbow.
The setting orange light, through the barely open curtains, inflicted a strong individual ray over the table, making the ceramic plate over it shine. On it, besides a little portion of chicken stew, was a piece of apple pie, somehow still releasing a little bit of steam, the light yellow insides pouring from the cracks in the crumbled dough.
Excitement took over his body and it was surely a challenge to not just swallow down the stew as fast as he could.
It was the first time he'd tasted Winry's apple pie since he got his body back.
It tasted like love, like home; it was valuable.
One item less on his list.