Ed punched Hohenheim with his automail fist when they met again. “You bastard,” he yelled, all hoarse and ragged like he had a habit of screaming his throat raw. “You absolute fucking bastard, I will kill you.”
Hohenheim took the blow even though it broke his jaw. The pain was temporary after all, his body healing only seconds after, bone grinding against bone as red sparks of alchemy fused it back together. “Edward,” Hohenheim said. He dodged the next blow, but only because it had been a fatal shot and he hated recovering from fatal wounds.
“Brother no!” a large suit of armor yelled. A very familiar suit of armor from Trisha’s study that she’d bought because it ‘reminded her of him’ for some reason. Hohenheim felt his stomach turn as the armor clanged hollowly with his younger son’s voice. Ed struggled and spat like a cat doused with water.
“You left! You fucking left us alone!” Ed’s voice broke and Hohenheim ached inside.
He had no defense. He let Ed’s anger and vitriol spill over him and bleed out until he was limp in Al’s arms. Ed had grown. He looked like Hohenheim had at his age. Al had always had more of Trisha in his face. He didn’t need to look in Al’s armor to know that he wouldn’t be seeing how his son’s face had aged. Clearly he had no body at all.
What had he missed over the years? What mistakes had he failed to prevent?
When Ed had run out of energy, Hohenheim drew his sons into a hug that he knew he had no right to claim. Ed went tense as a violin string, but when Al let him go to hug back, he didn’t try to get away.
“You left us,” Ed said one last time, voice small and broken like he was still the child Hohenheim remembered.
Hohenheim closed his eyes. Because there was nothing else to say, he said, “I know.”
*
Ed and Al were every bit as brilliant as Trisha had been, maybe even more so. Their alchemy was as magical as hers had been, made more so with the lack of circles.
“We found Mom’s notes,” Al said once when Ed slept. “We know what she was trying to do.”
“Was there ever any hope in it working?” Hohenheim asked.
“I don’t know.” Al watched Ed sleep with Hohenheim. Ed still sprawled like he did when he was three. It was unsettling to see metal limbs and scars sticking out from between the blankets instead of whole and hale limbs. “Maybe she could have done it. Maybe she would have lived a long life trying for it.”
“I always wondered if it was the alchemy that killed her.”
Al was silent a long time. “I don’t think it was,” he said finally. “I think she must have known she was sick but she didn’t want anyone to worry. That was a lot more like her you know?”
Hohenheim smiled. It would be like Trisha to hide her health. “If you know what she was trying to do, you’d know what it is that I am,” he said after a while lost in memories of Trisha pouring over research notes. They didn’t hurt to think of as much as they used to. “You don’t have to keep looking for a philosopher’s stone.”
“…Brother and I want to find a solution without using the stone,” Al said.
“If I could turn back time—”
“You wouldn’t change time even if you could,” Al said. “You would probably do everything exactly the same.”
If Hohenheim had left sooner, Al probably wouldn’t have known him well enough to say that. Al had made him a cat out of scraps of tin and iron once long ago. He still had it in his bag along with the paper bird Ed had given him. He’d kept all the things they’d made for him over the years, hoarded like his memories. He’d never been good at showing his affection even though he’d treasured each moment his children showed theirs. “I’d have said goodbye,” Hohenheim said. “To you two and to Trisha.”
Al leaned his empty metal body against him with its hum of alchemy that tingled against his own alchemical body. He had failed to be a parent once. Maybe he would be able to make up for that in the future. Trisha was the alchemist, but even he could do something to help his children. Somehow.
no subject
*
Ed punched Hohenheim with his automail fist when they met again. “You bastard,” he yelled, all hoarse and ragged like he had a habit of screaming his throat raw. “You absolute fucking bastard, I will kill you.”
Hohenheim took the blow even though it broke his jaw. The pain was temporary after all, his body healing only seconds after, bone grinding against bone as red sparks of alchemy fused it back together. “Edward,” Hohenheim said. He dodged the next blow, but only because it had been a fatal shot and he hated recovering from fatal wounds.
“Brother no!” a large suit of armor yelled. A very familiar suit of armor from Trisha’s study that she’d bought because it ‘reminded her of him’ for some reason. Hohenheim felt his stomach turn as the armor clanged hollowly with his younger son’s voice. Ed struggled and spat like a cat doused with water.
“You left! You fucking left us alone!” Ed’s voice broke and Hohenheim ached inside.
He had no defense. He let Ed’s anger and vitriol spill over him and bleed out until he was limp in Al’s arms. Ed had grown. He looked like Hohenheim had at his age. Al had always had more of Trisha in his face. He didn’t need to look in Al’s armor to know that he wouldn’t be seeing how his son’s face had aged. Clearly he had no body at all.
What had he missed over the years? What mistakes had he failed to prevent?
When Ed had run out of energy, Hohenheim drew his sons into a hug that he knew he had no right to claim. Ed went tense as a violin string, but when Al let him go to hug back, he didn’t try to get away.
“You left us,” Ed said one last time, voice small and broken like he was still the child Hohenheim remembered.
Hohenheim closed his eyes. Because there was nothing else to say, he said, “I know.”
*
Ed and Al were every bit as brilliant as Trisha had been, maybe even more so. Their alchemy was as magical as hers had been, made more so with the lack of circles.
“We found Mom’s notes,” Al said once when Ed slept. “We know what she was trying to do.”
“Was there ever any hope in it working?” Hohenheim asked.
“I don’t know.” Al watched Ed sleep with Hohenheim. Ed still sprawled like he did when he was three. It was unsettling to see metal limbs and scars sticking out from between the blankets instead of whole and hale limbs. “Maybe she could have done it. Maybe she would have lived a long life trying for it.”
“I always wondered if it was the alchemy that killed her.”
Al was silent a long time. “I don’t think it was,” he said finally. “I think she must have known she was sick but she didn’t want anyone to worry. That was a lot more like her you know?”
Hohenheim smiled. It would be like Trisha to hide her health. “If you know what she was trying to do, you’d know what it is that I am,” he said after a while lost in memories of Trisha pouring over research notes. They didn’t hurt to think of as much as they used to. “You don’t have to keep looking for a philosopher’s stone.”
“…Brother and I want to find a solution without using the stone,” Al said.
“If I could turn back time—”
“You wouldn’t change time even if you could,” Al said. “You would probably do everything exactly the same.”
If Hohenheim had left sooner, Al probably wouldn’t have known him well enough to say that. Al had made him a cat out of scraps of tin and iron once long ago. He still had it in his bag along with the paper bird Ed had given him. He’d kept all the things they’d made for him over the years, hoarded like his memories. He’d never been good at showing his affection even though he’d treasured each moment his children showed theirs. “I’d have said goodbye,” Hohenheim said. “To you two and to Trisha.”
Al leaned his empty metal body against him with its hum of alchemy that tingled against his own alchemical body. He had failed to be a parent once. Maybe he would be able to make up for that in the future. Trisha was the alchemist, but even he could do something to help his children. Somehow.