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parallel line.

Summary:

when you’re stuck in the same house as the person you’re in love with, things happen to get interesting.

or, edward and winry navigate their feelings for one another after the elric brothers return home.

set during the two years the brothers spent in resembool.

Notes:

hello! this is a project i’ve been toying with for awhile. i’ve only seen oneshots discussing the two years before ed and al depart resembool, and i thought it would be fun to portray the idea in a multi-chapter fic. it’s definitely a commitment, but i’m excited to share my writing with you all. i hope you all enjoy!

also big shoutout to vilelac and esgaril for beta reading!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It’s time to break the chains that held me back from you — Keith Urban, Parallel Line


Den’s barking rouses her from her sleep.

 

She lifts her head from the table, a trail of drool beginning to crust down her chin. She wipes it away with the back of her hand, squinting as her eyes adjust to the sunlight. The scent of a freshly baked apple pie wafts through the air; she had fallen asleep while letting it cool, having worked straight through the previous night. Sleep was difficult to come by since the defeat of the homunculus, Father. Amestris had slowly begun to rebuild, instating General Grumman as its new führer in the place of King Bradley. To those uninvolved, the blame fell upon the upper echelon of the military, with Bradley having been caught in the crossfire. Roy Mustang had been promoted to Brigadier General for his efforts during the Promised Day; he and Major General Armstrong were credited with leading the coup d’etat, saving humanity from the wide scale alchemical experiment being planned by Central soldiers. The news was welcome in the Rockbell household—the country had been saved; Edward and Alphonse had succeeded. Unfortunately, they hadn’t so much as called to say they were alright, that they were alive. Pinako had discovered Hohenheim’s lifeless body at Trisha Elric’s grave shortly after the day of reckoning, making it impossible to ask of the boys’ well-being. Members of the military failed to contact them, receiving much grumbling and further dislike towards the military from Pinako. Winry had grown eager, baking apple pies daily, looking out the window for that familiar head of golden hair.

 

Two months had passed. Sixty apple pies had been baked, with many distributed amongst Resembool’s residents. Still, Winry continued to bake, continued to wait for her boys to arrive on her doorstep, even as the days began to drag on.

 

Den’s barking grows more frequent, to which Winry groans. “What’s that dog barking at now?”

 

She pushes her chair back from the table and stands. A yawn escapes her as she exits the kitchen. More than likely, Den was causing a ruckus over the squirrels that often scurried through the yard. It left her with the task of shooing them to safety, lest Den sunk his teeth into one.

 

“Ha! Stop it, Den! That tickles!”

 

Winry stops in her tracks, her hand hovering over the front doorknob. The voice was familiar, if slightly deeper, and lacked the echo provided by a hollow suit of armor. It had urged the dog to stop whatever it was doing, the tickling sensation too much for its owner to bear. Could her mind be playing tricks on her? Was she sleepwalking? She’d surely wake from this hopeful dream, soon, to silence and an empty home.

 

The doorknob is cold in her palm, fingers wrapping around its form. She hesitates, screaming internally to wake up, wake up, wake up! But nothing happens. The laughter and barking continues behind the door, and Winry’s heart begins to race. She contemplates pinching herself, just to see if this was real, but the cool temperature of the doorknob served as enough. She turns it, pushing open the door, and squints as the sunlight rushes into the home.

 

She discovers Den atop a young man, eagerly licking his face. Beside him stands Edward, a proud smile on his face, his hand on his hip. The automail arm, a constant for years, has been replaced by flesh. The young man beside him finally gets Den to cease his licking. His golden eyes lock with Winry’s, and a grin spreads across his face.

 

It’s Alphonse.

 

Whole, human Alphonse.

 

Her eyes widen. The boy stands.

 

Her throat begins to tighten, her breathing growing rapid. Tears begin to well in her eyes. She balls her hands into fists at her sides.

 

They did it. They finally did it.

 

And they were home.

 

She takes off running down the porch steps, launching herself at the brothers when her feet touch the grass. Her arms wrap around the two of them, both Ed and Al returning the embrace. The trio fall to the ground with a thud, and Winry worries that she’s hurt Alphonse; his laughter, however, reassures her.

 

She pulls back, smiling down at them. The tears stream down her face, droplets landing on Alphonse’s neck and Edward’s cheek. “Dummies,” her voice breaks, though her smile never falters. “Welcome home!”

 

“Thanks,” Ed offers a nod.

 

Al grins. “Good to be back!”

 


 

Den’s tail thumps against the floor, wagging in excitement. He hasn’t left Alphonse’s side, following him around the bottom floor of the Rockbell home. He sits at Al’s feet, now, within the kitchen, the scent of apple pie not enough to grab his attention. Winry giggles at the old dog. “You’ve certainly made Den’s day, Al.” She sets a plate in front of the youngest Elric brother, a hearty serving of pie on it.

 

Al’s eyes widen at the sight. He licks his lips and digs the prongs of his fork through the crust, tearing a bite-sized piece away. He brings the fork to his mouth and takes a bite. He chews slowly, and Winry watches eagerly for his reaction. Through his mouthful, he grins, “Oh, gosh, Winry. This is even better than I’d hoped for!” He cuts a larger piece off and shoves it into his mouth, chewing much more quickly. While Winry is pleased, Edward nearly jumps out of his chair. His hand rests against Al’s chest, and he gently pushes him back against the chair.

 

“Slow down, stupid!” His voice is riddled with worry. “Don’t you remember what happened at the hospital?!”

 

Winry blinks. “The hospital?”

 

“Yeah,” Ed grumbles. He sits back down and grabs his fork, cutting into his own slice of pie. He lets his fork hang in the air for a moment, watching Al swallow his food. He takes a bite of pie at last, speaking with a mouthful. “The hospital food looked like shit, so I snuck him some sausage and potatoes. He was so excited that he ate the damn thing too fast and puked.”

 

“That’s more your fault than mine!” Al frowns. “You shouldn’t have brought me food in the first place! I was on a strict diet.”

 

Edward waves his fork in the air. “Yeah, yeah.” He cuts away another piece. “This is amazing, by the way. You sure had some incredible timing.”

 

Rather than ruin the mood, she changes the topic. “So, how does it feel to have your bodies back? How did it happen? Tell me everything!”

 

“This moron,” Edward jabs his thumb towards Alphonse, “thought it would be a great idea to exchange his soul for my arm.”

 

“Your automail was destroyed!” Al stabs his fork into his pie slice. The prongs make contact with the ceramic. “You would’ve died without it.”

 

Ed rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

 

Alphonse clears his throat, looking to his brother. Edward’s eyes are narrowed, arms folded tightly across his chest. The subject is clearly difficult to discuss. “Brother was responsible for getting me back.” He takes another bite, chews, and swallows. “He… performed human transmutation.”

 

Winry’s eyes widen. Human transmutation? The thing responsible for destroying their lives? “He what?”

 

“No, no! It wasn’t anything bad!” Al waves his hands in front of him. It’s clear that he’s distraught over his explanation. “He didn’t lose any body parts, and he didn’t offer anyone in exchange!”

 

“Then what…?” She looks to Edward who chews on his food. Wasn’t alchemy all about equivalent exchange? Wasn’t that principle why Al had lost his body and Ed had lost his limbs?

 

“Alchemy,” Ed answers nonchalantly. “Everyone has the capability to perform alchemy, right? Some people just choose not to, or aren’t interested. I traded my ability to perform alchemy to get Alphonse back.” He shrugs. “Simple as that.”

 

Winry slumps in her seat. Her brow furrows, thoughts flooding her mind. They’d done what they’d set out to do at the cost of Edward’s alchemy, something he treasured, something that was part of him from a young age. She feels conflicted—on one hand, Alphonse was returned to them, safe and sound; on the other, what helped make Ed Ed had been stripped from him. She knows better than to wonder if he regrets his decision. He would do anything for his little brother. But she can’t help but to mourn the loss for him. Surely he hadn’t done it himself.

 

“Hey.” Ed’s voice tears her out of the depths of her mind. She looks to him and blinks. “We’re home, right? You aren’t allowed to look all sad.”

 

He flashes a toothy grin, something that once was rarely found on him. It helps to put her at ease. And besides, he was right. They were home. That’s all that mattered.

 

Alphonse sets his fork atop his plate and sighs happily. One hand rests atop his belly, the other atop Den’s head. “That was great, Winry! I’d love to have seconds, but I don’t think my stomach would appreciate it as much as my tastebuds would.”

 

“It’s okay, Al,” she smiles. “I’m sure it’s nice to be able to taste things again.”

 

He nods. “Mhm! It’s nice to be able to smell and feel things, too! I’d forgotten just how soft Den’s fur is.”

 

“You also forgot how awful Resembool smells.” Ed adds. He pushes his chair from the table and collects his and Al’s plates.

 

“I don’t mind the smell of sheep waste too much. It’s the smell of home.”

 

To her left, Winry hears the faucet turn on. “You threw up the moment we stepped off the train.” 

 

“It’s still the smell of home, brother.”

 

He grumbles. Out of her peripheral vision, Winry watches Ed scrub the plates clean. Silence encompasses the kitchen, the only sounds being the clanking of plates set out to dry, and Alphonse’s kind words to Den as he scratches his head. The scene is surreal to her, having been without her boys for so long. The sound of Al’s armor is absent as he stands from the table, clutching his cane for assistance. Den begins to bark, again, and Al laughs. He travels the short distance to the counter and retrieves a biscuit from a jar. He orders Den to sit and rewards him with the treat and another pat on the head.

 

She could cry again, watching this. For four years, the boy was but a hollow suit of armor, incapable of eating, sleeping, smelling, feeling… Though he still had weight to gain, he seemed to have adjusted to his body quite well. She can’t even begin to imagine the sensory overload he must have felt upon returning…

 

“By the way, Winry,” Edward’s voice grabs her attention. She looks in his direction, catching him as he shuts the faucet off. He angles his head in her direction, kicking the heel of his left leg against the floorboards. “My leg could use some maintenance. The knee is starting to feel stiff.”

 

“Your leg?” The question falls from her lips before she can even think. Her brow furrows in concern, eyes settling on the leg in question. “You mean you still have it?”

 

He grabs his pant leg at the knee and pulls up, exposing the metal beneath. “Yep. Luckily it didn’t get destroyed in the fight. I wouldn’t have let anyone touch it.”

 

Alphonse holds his index finger in the air. “Actually, he was very adamant that no one could so much as oil it.” Alphonse lowers her voice to imitate his brother. “Only my mechanic can touch it.”

 

“Yeah, because she’d beat my ass otherwise.” Edward releases his pant leg and walks to his brother. He kneels beside him and rubs Den’s sides. The old dog lies down and rolls over, and Edward begins rubbing his belly. “We can do it after dinner or whatever.”

 

Winry feels dizzy. The amount of information the boys were tossing her way was becoming too much to handle. She’d need time to process it, or time to pick their brains about what exactly happened that day. Perhaps maintaining Edward’s automail was a good method to clear her mind. She shakes her head. “Let’s do it now. You’ve waited two months; I’d hate to see my automail fall apart because you couldn’t be bothered to oil it.”

 

He flashes her a grin, and her heart skips a beat.

 

It had been a long time since she’d seen him act so carefree.

 

“By the way,” Al begins, looking around, “where’s Granny?”

 

“Jeremy needed a tuneup. She should be back soon.”

 

Al nods. He pokes his brother’s left foot with the butt of his cane. “You two go into the workshop; I’ll wait outside with Den and surprise Granny.”

 

Her eyes could be playing tricks on her, but Winry swears she sees Alphonse waggle his brows.

 

Edward gives Den one last pat on his belly before standing. He rests his hands on his lower back and bends backward, smiling at the cracks his spine makes. He rolls his neck to do the same. “Alright, little brother,” he jabs his finger into Al’s side, causing the younger Elric to giggle. “Just don’t give the old hag a heart attack, alright?”

 

The brothers walk side-by-side towards the kitchen door, Den following at their heels. Edward pushes through the door first. Alphonse takes a moment to smile at Winry. She returns the smile and embraces him. He wraps his arms around her in return.

 

In the yard, when she’d tackled them to the ground, Winry hadn’t taken notice to how skinny Alphonse was. His shoulder blades poke out beneath his vest; the vertebra making up his spinal column digs into her hands the tighter she holds him. Wherever his body had been, it hadn’t maintained its weight as it grew, even with Edward eating for two. Winry closes her eyes, attempting to stop the tears before they fell. Holding Alphonse in her arms was surreal. She laughs, sniffles, and pulls back to look at him. “You’re so much warmer than you used to be.”

 

She’s surprised to see his eyes wet with tears.

 

“Don’t cry, dummy.” Her hands rest upon his face, thumbs wiping away his tears.

 

“You’re the only one allowed to cry happy tears?” He smiles. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to cry. Just let me have this!”

 

She kisses his cheek and ruffles his golden hair, earning joyous laughter from the boy. “Okay, go wait for Granny. I need to check Ed’s leg before he does something stupid.”

 

“Right!”

 

The two separate. Winry holds the door for Alphonse, Den still at his heels as he exits the kitchen. She lingers in the hallway as he makes way for the front door. Only after he and Den step outside, Winry enters the workshop.

 

Edward sits in the chair, his pants already discarded, and his white sweatshirt hanging off of the back. He rests his cheek in his palm, lips pursed as his eyes wander around the room. They land on Winry, and he rolls them. “Took you long enough.”

 

She shuts the door behind her and makes her way to her workbench. “I wanted to give Al a proper hug,” she explains. She sifts through her assortment of tools, retrieving a screwdriver and wrench. She turns and approaches Edward, who is leant back in his chair. His legs are spread apart, his automail heel tapping impatiently. He’s grown more since they last spoke. Gone is his round baby face, replaced with a proper jawline; his shoulders have broadened even more; he no longer wears his hair in a braid, opting instead for a simple ponytail; he appears to have filled out further, even, from what she can see. His arms have more definition to them, as does his right leg. He must have kept up with his workouts while Al recovered.

 

She kneels at his left and places a hand behind his knee. “Okay, lift your leg and bend it back down for me.”

 

He does as asked. The metal squeaks in protest as the knee joint straightens. She takes note of the effort he has to put in in order to bend it back down. She grabs her screwdriver and begins to unscrew the screws holding the plating in place.

 

“Geez, why is it so hard for you to at least oil it?”

 

“I’m not some crazy gearhead like you,” he grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not gonna stuff a can of oil in my pocket everywhere I go.”

 

The plating comes off rather easily, revealing the intricate work within. Winry peers inside, leaning forward for a closer look. There’s dirt and dried blood caked inside, most likely the source of his stiffness. She frowns. “You bled a lot that day, didn’t you?”

 

Worry flashes in his eyes. She suspects that he is concerned that she may begin crying. The tears, however, don’t come, and Edward instead furrows his brow. “Not really. I mean, I guess. Probably.”

 

Getting a straight answer from him was like pulling teeth. Winry isn’t quite sure why she even bothers. “This isn’t anyone else’s… is it?”

 

His jaw clenches. She grabs a rag and spray bottle from the table beside him and begins to clean out the joint.

 

“Teacher’s, maybe.” His voice is low and clearly pained. She can’t even begin to imagine what he and Al must have went through. “It’s mostly mine, though, I’m sure.”

 

A silence befalls them. Winry continues to remove the debris, and Edward stares at the wall. Neither make an effort to speak. Perhaps he is waiting to join his brother in surprising Granny. Perhaps she couldn’t handle knowing that the boys could have lost their lives.

 

She returns the spray bottle and rag to the table and stands. She produces a can of oil from a cupboard and returns to her spot on the floor. As she oils the joint, a thought crosses her mind. “Why didn’t you get your leg back?”

 

If the question bothers him, he’s good at hiding it. He breathes in, holding it for a moment, and breathes out. “I couldn’t. My leg was the price I paid when Al and I tried to bring Mom back.”

 

That was all she’d ever heard from him. He and Alphonse had each paid a price that fateful night—Ed, his leg, and Al, his body. It had something to do with equivalent exchange, though she never quite understood it.

 

She places the plating over the exposed knee and begins screwing it in place.

 

“My arm,” he murmurs out of nowhere, repeatedly making a fist with his right hand. “I only got it back because Al transmuted himself. My automail had gotten destroyed in the fight, and I was as good as dead without it. My arm was the price I paid to bind Al’s soul to the armor. I only got it back because he sacrificed himself for it. ‘Left screws and bolts where my port was. Those were a bitch to have removed in the hospital.”

 

She hangs on to every word he utters. She had been aware of the possibility of the brothers losing their lives to save the country, but she had chosen to believe in them. Edward had promised they would return, after all. But hearing just how close the two came to losing their lives hits her like a train.

 

“Hey, I kept my promise, didn’t I?”

 

Her emotions must be all over her face. Edward speaks softly, and her head snaps up to meet his gaze. He wears a soft smile, uncharacteristic of him. She can feel her face begin to heat up. She looks away and tightens the last screw. “Yeah,” she answers, voice shaking, betraying her. Her throat tightens, and she can feel the tears forming. She gathers her tools and stands, scurrying back to her workbench. She sniffles.

 

“Still tears of joy?”

 

That idiot.

 

She turns to face him, her hands gripping the edge of the workbench. “Of course. I’m just happy you two weren’t killed.”

 

He rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, a light dusting of pink spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah. Me, too.”

 


 

“Now, Ed—let me get a good look at you.”

 

Winry sits opposite her grandmother at the dinner table, Ed and Al at her sides, opposite each other. Alphonse digs his fork into his plate of meatballs, taking careful bites and munching away slowly. Edward eats tentatively, his eyes glued on his younger brother. Winry can’t help but watch him, as well, Ed’s earlier story of Al in the hospital kept in the back of her mind. Pinako adjusts her glasses and leans closer to Ed. She squints at the flesh where metal once was.

 

“It’s just an arm, Granny.” He stretches it above his head, his fork splattering tomato sauce behind him. Winry and Al collectively groan. “Same as my left. It’s Al you should be looking at.”

 

“Believe me,” the old woman smiles at Alphonse, “I got a great look at him when I walked up the street. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

 

Alphonse chews his current bite and swallows. “I don’t think she believed it was me until I said hi.”

 

“Winry and I were worried about you boys.” Uncharacteristically, Pinako pushes her meatballs around her plate with her fork. “We listened to Radio Central for weeks, hoping to hear something of you two. We didn’t get so much as a phone call from you, Edward. Poor Winry exhausted herself baking pies each day, just for you not to show up.”

 

Winry feels her cheeks warm. She ducks her head, hiding behind her bangs, and eats silently. There was no use making the brothers feel guilty, not when they’d accomplished their goal and returned home.

 

“I was with Al in his hospital room every day,” Ed offers an explanation, though his tone is soft, remorseful. “Well, every day they allowed me. I had to have my wounds treated. Calling just wasn’t on my mind. I’m sorry.”

 

Through her blonde hair, Winry watches her grandmother take her first bite of dinner. Al’s fork scrapes against his plate as he gathers up the crumbs he’d left behind. To her right, Edward shoves a large bite into his mouth.

 

“I think Winry truly perfected her pie during those two months.” Pinako breaks the silence, and Winry is surprised to find her grandmother smiling. “We ate so much that I got damn near sick of it. I had her start giving them to people in town. These meatballs Jeremy made are a sort of repayment for that.”

 

“He makes really good ones, too!” Al grins. He sets his fork upon his cleaned plate and rests a hand on his belly. “I wish I could eat more.”

 

“Keep the leftovers. Eat ‘em for lunch tomorrow.” Ed suggests.

 

Alphonse hums and nods in agreement.

 

“To think that after four years, you boys finally did it…”

 

Winry lifts her head. Her grandmother’s eyes are closed, a smile on her face. Though she and Edward often bickered, the old woman has grown to love the brothers as though they were family.

 

“And what are your plans, now? You do plan to stay put, now, I’d hope.”

 

The familiar tightening in Winry’s chest takes her by surprise. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of the boys leaving once Alphonse grew stronger. The world was huge, and their curiosity even larger. She takes a bite of her food and eyes Edward. He nods, and the anxiety fades.

 

“Yep, we’re here to stay, aren’t we, little brother?”

 

“Yep! We’ve been gone a long time. We deserve a bit of rest.”

 

The remainder of the dinner is filled with laughter, banter, and light conversation. Winry paints the tale of the brothers' return home, how Den had stirred her awake, how the two boys ended up on the ground in her arms. Alphonse shares details of his two month stint in Central Hospital, of the first moment he’d tasted good, and of the first time he’d seen himself in a mirror. Edward recounts bits and pieces of his battle with Father, of saying goodbye to Ling, Lan Fan, and Mei, and of Al’s first handshake being with Hohenheim. Al talks of the lengths Hohenheim went to stop Father’s plan, and of the warmth of his father’s hand with a smile. The atmosphere, however, shifts dramatically. Ed is the first to notice, looking to Winry in question. She can only stare back at him, brow knit together in worry.

 

The smile on Alphonse’s face falls as he processes what’s going on. He looks to Edward for answers, only to come up empty. His gaze shifts to Winry, who cannot look at him, and to Pinako, who sighs in defeat.

 

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Did something happen?”

 

Winry braces for impact.

 

“Hohenheim… your father, he…” Pinako struggles to find the words.

 

“He what? What happened?”

 

Pinako’s glasses catch the light, hiding her eyes behind the lenses. “I found him not long after the Promised Day at your mother’s grave. He died with a smile on his face.”

 

Winry isn’t sure where to look.

 

To her left, Alphonse’s eyes widen, his face contorting in disbelief. Tears well in his eyes, but he refuses to let them spill down his cheeks.

 

To her right, Edward bares his teeth. A vein bulges beneath his skin on the side of his head, his brow furrowed in anger.

 

“No,” Al’s voice quivers. “No. He can’t… he didn’t—

 

“That bastard!”

 

The table rattles as Ed’s fist makes contact with his plate, splintering the ceramic. He runs his hands through his hair, pushing his bangs out of the way, and begins pacing the length of the kitchen. He mumbles incoherently under his breath.

 

“That goddamn son of a bitch!”

 

Winry flinches, having never seen Edward so angry. Pinako reaches a hand out to Al, who grasps it. His body shakes as he fights back his sobs.

 

Edward vacates the kitchen, and before she can even think, Winry follows him. He’s stringing together curses under his breath, practically steaming from his anger. He forcefully opens the front door and exits the home, traveling down the stairs and starting down the dirt road. Winry follows close behind, but chooses to stay on the porch. Not a moment later, Ed turns on his heel and paces the front yard.

 

“I can’t believe… ARGH!”

 

He grips his hair at the roots, threatening to pull it out. Seeing Edward in such a raw state of emotion is like a punch to the gut for Winry. She knows the pain he is going through well, having lost both of her parents at a young age. She’s always known the grief he and Alphonse shared over their mother, but this grief was different. This grief was fueled with rage and resentment for a father who had abandoned his family. Edward had never talked highly of Hohenheim, going as far as to shoot down any kind words Alphonse had for the man; but the two had grown to know one another in their efforts to stop Father. On some level, he had to be experiencing pain. He just wasn’t an expert when it came to handling his emotions.

 

Winry sits on the porch steps and continues watching Ed. His pacing has come to a halt, as has his ranting. He mumbles incoherently and stands with his back towards her, staring out towards the road. She plays with her fingers.

 

The mumbling stops, and he turns on his heel, walking back to sit beside her. He buries his face in his hands.

 

“That fucker.” Winry swears she hears his voice break. “That absolute asshole.” He lifts his head, face red with anger, though his expression has softened. He looks to Winry. “Al kept asking about him, you know? Where he went, if anyone had seen him. Never would’ve imagined that old fuck would walk out on us again without even saying goodbye.” He leans back, supporting his weight with his hands. He looks to the darkening sky. “Selfish prick.”

 

Winry is patient with him. It wasn’t often that the young man expressed his emotions. She listens to him curse Hohenheim’s name, listens to him curse the man for disappointing his youngest child, until he can’t take it anymore. A silence blankets them, the only sound to grace their ears being the distant chirping of crickets and the nightly mating call of a mockingbird.

 

“Was he injured?” Her voice is soft, lost to the wind. She won’t repeat herself if she wasn’t heard; the question might anger him. But she can’t help her curiosity. Had the man suffered fatal wounds in the fight, desperately making his way to Resembool, to Trisha Elric’s resting place, to essentially die by her side?

 

His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, face expressionless. He’s in deep thought, and Winry can’t help but think she’s struck a cord. He surprises her, however, when he clears his throat and speaks. “In a way, I guess. He took the brunt of most of the attacks to keep the rest of us safe.”

 

Now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t recall her grandmother mentioning Hohenheim being badly beaten. Edward’s words only serve to confuse her. It must be written on her face, for when he glances out of the sides of his eyes, he screws his face up.

 

“I’m guessing Al didn’t tell you.”

 

“Tell me what?”

 

He looks to the sky, again, worrying at his bottom lip. “It’s gonna sound crazy.”

 

She stifles a laugh. “Like I haven’t heard enough crazy this past year.”

 

He hums in agreement. “Fair.”

 

Another bout of silence. She guesses he’s finding the right words.

 

“Hohenheim was basically a living, breathing Philosopher’s Stone,” Edward grits his teeth after the words leave his lips. There is another pause. He stretches his automail leg out before continuing. “And that bearded bastard—Father—was created from his own blood.”

 

He’s correct—it does sound crazy, but, then again, their country had been ruled by a homunculus for years, carefully crafting a plan with the others to steal the lives of the Amestrians. But she’d met Hohenheim briefly, back in Liore. He’d never struck her as a man that would create something so vile, only to be desperate to stop it.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he utters into the silence. “Hohenheim didn’t willingly create the freak.”

 

“Then what happened?” she presses, a frown on her face. “You’re beating around the bush. Just spit it out.”

 

He worries his lip some more. “Alright, well, do you remember when we learned about Xerxes in school? The country that fell in a single night?”

 

Winry nods.

 

“Hohenheim… he was a slave in Xerxes. His master used his blood to create a homunculus. I guess it used to live in a flask or something, I don’t know.” He shrugs, speaking as though the story was the most normal thing in the world. It was just beginning, and Winry can hardly believe his words. “That homunculus is who gave him the name Van Hohenheim, ‘basically taught him to read and to write, and everything there was to know about alchemy.

 

“The Xerxian king wanted to use the homunculus to his advantage—he wanted to use it to gain immortality. It took years, but under the advising of the homunculus, a nationwide transmutation circle was constructed around Xerxes without revealing the truth to its people. The king sacrificed several towns to carve crests of blood. When the day finally came, the homunculus had tricked the king, sacrificing him along with the country’s population. Half of a million souls were transferred into Hohenheim, and the other half to the homunculus and his new vessel. He created two living Philosopher’s Stones that day, at the cost of an entire nation.

 

Fast forward a few hundred years, and the bastard leaves his family behind so he could find a way to grow old with us.” Edward spits into the grass. “He was a living Philosopher’s Stone! He could’ve… he could’ve…”

 

…saved my mom, Winry can hear the unspoken words as clear as day. She mimics his pose, leaning back on her hands. However, her left fingertips brush along his right hand. She swallows the lump in her throat—anger, grief, worry—and places her hand atop his. She can feel her cheeks burning, and she swears they’re glowing bright red in the moonlight, but she looks straight ahead. No matter her feelings, Edward was still her best-friend, and she would always be there for him in his times of need.

 

She would be lying if she said that Hohenheim’s past hadn’t sent her spinning, however. The tragedy of Xerxes, the nation that fell with no apparent cause, had been due to a homunculus born of Hohenheim’s blood. She wouldn’t have believed it a year ago. She would have laughed in Edward’s face, urging him to tell her the truth. But Edward and Alphonse kept her in the loop for the most part, not to mention her meeting with Greed in Ling’s body, and the true form of the homunculus known as Envy. She’d fallen with the rest of Amestris on the Promised Day, Ed’s name the last word on her lips. She’d met Alphonse, nothing but a voice in a hollowed suit of armor, with a bleeding out Edward in his arms, pleading for her and her grandmother’s help the night they’d performed human transmutation. Nothing was too far-fetched for her, anymore.

 

If anything, she feels sympathetic towards Van Hohenheim.

 

Beside her, Edward takes a few deep breaths, a method to compose himself. Her fingers wrap around the back of his hand, and, to her surprise, he turns it over and grips hers back. He gives it a solid squeeze before continuing.

 

“…The battle with Father used up the souls stored inside himself. He wasn’t physically injured—he could regenerate similar to a homunculus—but he was on his last leg. ‘Guess it makes sense that he’d just… die like that.” The moon begins to rise, bringing the stars with it; the light catches Ed’s golden eyes, and Winry swears she spots a flicker of sadness. The fire burns it away, the anger taking control. He flexes his jaw. “But to leave us without saying goodbye? Al wanted so badly to show that old fuck how much he’d progressed. All he did was crush my little brother all over again, and for what? To die in front of Mom’s grave? He was selfish! He’s always been selfish!”

 

His head falls forward, his bangs covering his face. His palm sweats in her hand, though she is unbothered. The emotions he feels towards his father are complex. She believes that she understands them more than he does, more than he cares to admit. It’s a conversation for another time. For now, the best move is to change the subject, a classic Edward Elric move.

 

“Tell me about getting Al back,” she says, looking away from the night sky. “Tell me about your arm, your leg, your alchemy… All of it.”

 

This, at least, causes him to perk up. He lifts his head, the ghost of a smile peeking out behind his bangs. “Getting my arm back… surreal, y’know? Al gambled his soul in order to save me. Can you believe that idiot?” He chuckles and shakes his head. Winry smiles. “I was so scared after Father was defeated. I had to figure out how to get him back—I needed something of equal value to a human life. Hohenheim… he offered his life to get Al back, but I couldn’t… Al and I got ourselves into that mess, and we had to get ourselves out.

 

“Everyone has a gate within them that enables them to perform alchemy. The gate stores all of the alchemical knowledge known to man; therefore, it’s extremely valuable. I knew that that was my ticket to getting Al back, so I performed my final transmutation without a second thought.”

 

Alchemy was everything to Edward and Alphonse. The two had discovered it in their father’s study, in notes and books he had left behind. Winry recalls the countless gifts they had made their mother just to see her smile. She recalls the snowman the boys transmuted the winter it snowed in Resembool, and how stupid she thought it was because it took the fun out of making one by hand. Alchemy was also the thing that had brought them the worst pain imaginable.

 

The tapping of metal against the step brings her back to the present. “And, before you ask, I don’t think getting my leg back was possible. It’s what was taken from me when we tried to bring Mom back; I couldn’t exchange anything for it like Al did for my arm. ‘Sides,” he grins in her direction, “I like having it. It’s like a reminder of everything we’ve been through. Not to mention, it gives you one more customer.”

 

He’s always had the strangest comedic timing, inserting humor into otherwise serious conversations. It had to do with his difficulty to discuss emotions, she thinks. Nevertheless, Winry rolls her eyes and bumps him with her shoulder. “Oh, shut it. You know I would have loved to see you with your leg back.”

 

Their hands remain interlocked, neither of them willing to separate from the other. The silence that befalls them leads her to think about it—was it a friendly gesture, or did it have something more buried within? She glances between them; her hand looked so tiny clutched in his. She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks, again. She looks away and clears her throat.

 

“So, do you miss it?” Besides the desperate need to break the silence, Winry is genuinely curious. “I mean, you love it, don’t you?”

 

His lips purse as he contemplates her question. She can almost see the gears turning in his head, thinking of the right way to answer her question. He stares at his bare feet and curls his toes. “In a way, I guess. It’s been two months, but I know better than to attempt to transmute something. But I’m sort of glad it’s gone. I’ve seen the good and the bad of alchemy over the years. On one hand, it can bring people joy, or be used in ways that aid others. On the other, it can bring about destruction and suffering. Alchemy is what tore Al and I apart, but it’s also what made us whole again.”

 

What mattered most to Edward was that he’d fulfilled his promises to Alphonse, to Winry, and to himself. Whether he could use alchemy or not didn’t matter to him. He was selfless for the sake of others, even if he hid behind an egotistical mask. He’d made countless friends during his journey, and he had a family to come home to. Ed wasn’t sad when he discussed his decision. For that, Winry was grateful.

 

“Oh! I almost forgot.” His free hand digs into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He holds his palm out to her, the moonlight bouncing off of metal. “Your earrings.”

 

She blinks, her hand moving to take the metal jewelry from him. “You actually kept them all this time?”

 

“I promised I’d give them back to you, didn’t I?” He flashes a rare toothy grin, and Winry hopes that she will see it more often. He points to himself with his thumb. “I keep my promises.”

 

She closes her hand around the earrings. Their eyes meet—gold and blue, shining beneath the moon’s light. Edward is still smiling, while Winry can only stare back at him. It suddenly hits her that finally—finally, her sleepless nights, worried sick over the brothers, and constant waiting by the phone and mailbox for calls and letters that would never come, had come to an end. Just as Edward had promised, he’d gotten Al’s body back, and his own arm to boot, and returned to Resembool. The pair would live their lives free of harm in the Amestrian countryside.

 

It’s now that she has a proper view of his face that she notices the golden hairs growing along his jawline. His eyes lack the worry of a scared child, his boyish charm returning to him. He looks older than he had during their last encounter. He was a proper sixteen-year-old, free of fear and regret.

 

At some point in their lives, Winry had fallen for her best-friend. She’d known it for awhile, now, content to let her feelings go unspoken as Edward traversed the country on his mission. Her face warms in his presence, and it is then that she realizes that this will be a common occurrence. The boys were here to stay—Edward hadn’t dropped in with broken automail, placing a rush order so he could get back on the road. He would live in the Rockbell household, sharing Winry’s space, bothering her whenever possible. It would be impossible to ignore him, impossible not to notice the muscles he’d developed, impossible not to laugh at some stupid joke he’d say at the dinner table, impossible not to find even the most trivial things about him attractive.

 

She swallows the lump in her throat.

 

Winry watches his eyes travel to their hands; a light shade of red sprinkles itself across his face. His eyes grow wide, as though he’s just now realizing what’s going on. He retracts his hand, untangling it from her grasp, leaving her palm clammy. He quickly jumps to his feet, his metal foot stomping loudly against the porch. Her eyes follow him as he stumbles backward, grabbing the railing to keep his balance. He splutters.

 

“I need to g-get Al t-to bed!” His face is bright red, golden eyes looking at everything but her. “He’s probably still upset o-over that old f-fuck, y’know? Gotta talk to him, too! I’ll s-see you in the morning, Winry!”

 

The front door practically slams behind him.

 

Winry sighs.

 

This is what she had to look forward to, now that he was home.