Chapter Text
“That,” Al declared, pointing a forkful of cake at the happy newlyweds, “has to be the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Right, Brother?” Ed could feel his little brother’s eyes on him as he beamed over at the two bickering fondly over their cake, vision blurring from happy tears, before shooting him a pout as he snickered. “Oh, right. Biggest romantic in the whole city.”
“Shu’dup.” He smacked his brother’s shoulder lightly with his automail, scrubbing at his eyes to no avail before leaning against him. “Winry’s w-worse.”
“Which is why she has to live in Resembool. Only way to contain her chaotic energy.”
“What’d you say about me, Alphonse Elric?”
Ed giggled when Al jolted at the threatening tone and braced for a wrench to the head, before bolting out of his seat and launching himself into her arms. Winry caught him with a yelp (just like she always had, always would), before spinning him in a circle again. “I was literally gone for five seconds, Ed, did you really miss me that much?” she teased.
Ed buried his face in her shoulder in response, winding his arms around her shoulders as she shifted him into a bridal carry, heart pounding a steady beat of safe-safe-safe, safe and home at last. “Y-you’re both m-mean to me,” he whined, before letting out a squeal as Winry cackled and tickled him mercilessly. He clung tighter, shaking with laughter, even though it would’ve been easier to let go and wriggle free. “S-stop it!”
One year. It had been one year since Lucen Richards was put away (and died under mysterious circumstances in prison—a riot, they said, but Ed had seen the look in Al’s eyes when it came on the news and wondered), since the human trafficking ring that had taken him was broken up, and Ed hadn’t ever thought he could be this happy. That he would ever feel this good, this whole again. But he was, and he was…healing. He wasn’t perfect, never would be, but he felt alive and real and like he deserved to be for the first time in a very, very long while.
He didn’t feel like that every day. Some days he fell so far back that he couldn’t speak, that all he could do was hold on tight to anyone who would listen and cry until the world righted itself again. But a good sixty percent of the time, he felt right. He felt good.
It wasn’t because he’d turned back into Before-Ed, either. He still couldn’t really kick the stutter, and he didn’t like fighting much anymore. He sparred with Al for part of their physical therapy, but beyond that…well, he preferred drawing. He’d formally resigned from the military, much to the chagrin of the higher-ups—which had been scary, and he’d cried a tiny bit because those disapproving glares hurt even though he knew they shouldn’t, but he’d walked out anyway. He’d even gotten the city to grant him a little spot on the side of a building so he could start working on a mural. He planned on doing some for the walls of his room, too—painting a real night sky around the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, a golden ocean stretching across the walls as sea-serpents wound through it all.
He hadn’t changed his room much beyond his plans to paint. It was still a little childish, with the curtains and the wine-red bedspread and his bookshelf full of shiny things he hoarded like a magpie, but he wasn’t ashamed of it anymore. He’d gone through hell to feel like he deserved so much as a blanket after what Richards and the rest of Them had done to his mind. He could decorate his room however the hell he wanted and fill it with stuffed animals and beanbags if he pleased (which he did, thank you very much).
Equivalent exchange. He’d suffered and suffered and suffered, and now the world was in shades of shining gold and blue and silver, and the road ahead only promised joy for years and years to come. Alchemy was still hard for him, but he had started practicing little things, mending the locks on Roy’s door after Havoc accidentally snapped one or fixing a hole along Lavender’s seams. No weapons, nothing big, but it was a start.
He’d even gotten in touch with some of Their other victims—the few who’d escaped, the tiny handful that recovered enough to speak clearly. He hadn’t met any of them in person, but Ed had gotten a call out of nowhere six months ago, from a number he didn’t recognize. There was a soft voice on the other end, and then someone had come on and stammered through an introduction. Their words were even more badly slurred than his had been at the very, very beginning, their voice teeny-tiny and oh-so unsteady, before that little voice said, The police say they’re gone now. Forever. ‘Cause you were brave.
Thank you.
He’d cried for a long, long time after that—from joy and from fear and from the thought that They had all hurt so many people (innocent people, not people like him, people who deserved to be happy without having to suffer for it like he had). Dad had held him, and rocked him back and forth for as long as he’d needed to cry, without a hint of judgement or resentment. The same way he had when every time Ed had been upset. He’d cried a little bit, too, but Ed knew he’d never admit it, and he’d never make him.
Everything else seemed to be getting better, too. Al had gone on to take the State Alchemist’s exam. Ed had panicked at first (being a State Alchemist was what got Them to take him, what if some other bad group attacked Al?), but Al had told him that while he knew it was scary and dangerous, they’d been able to do a lot of good. He worked mostly in Investigations instead of in Research or Defense—solving crimes in East City and stuff, which Ed had to admit was really, really cool, and the Polaris Alchemist was nearly as cool a name as Fullmetal! It made sense, too—Al had always been his North Star, after all.
Winry had an apprenticeship in Eastern, which meant Ed got to see her as often as he wanted without having to ride on a train (which he still didn’t like—they were loud and smokey and crowds were still terrifying, even if he could function a little better in them). She picked him up lots and lots, too, which was nice—proof that he was cozy, and safe. He camped out on her couch when she worked and Dad and Mama had to go into the office, and they talked…a lot. He’d missed doing that with her. He’d missed being with her.
Dad sometimes teased him about having a crush on her, and—well, he maybe did! Maybe. But who wouldn’t? Winry was the nicest, kindest, toughest person he’d ever met and she’d put up with all sorts of crazy stuff because of him and Al. So maybe his heart skipped every now and then when she was near, or he felt really happy and floaty when she held his hand or just held him, but he was content with being her friend.
As for the office, well, it was still chaos. He was glad, in a way, that it remained so constant throughout everything. Everyone there sort-of spoiled him, which was a tiny bit embarrassing, but the positive reinforcement helped loads and sometimes it was nice to just curl up in a chair and listen to the sounds of his old workplace go on around him. Breda snuck him food when Mama wasn’t looking, and Falman gave him book recommendations and Fuery kept showing up with bundles of colored pencils, which was awesome, and Havoc finally gave him the recipe for that soup he’d made when Dad first brought him home. Everything had reached a new standard of normal, and it felt…good. Like a better, lighter normal than it had been before.
He was convinced Al must have done something, though, because six months ago, the Fuhrer had announced that the anti-fraternization laws were no longer in place and Al had gotten that same cold, vicious look of satisfaction that came whenever one of his schemes worked out. Five months ago, Dad had finally, finally proposed to Mama, though not without a bit of nudging from pretty much everyone who’d ever met them.
And now they were here. At some old country estate that had apparently been willed to Mama a long, long time ago, one that made her look sad at first, before she’d hugged Ed and Al closer. This place has seen enough sadness, she told them firmly. It’s time we make it something better. Somewhere joy can thrive.
Ed didn’t know if they’d succeeded at that, but joy was certainly thriving today. There was a big willow tree over the pond Mama had pushed Dad into, years and years ago, one that he and Al had strewn with flower garlands and streamers. Winry had pitched in with building the beautiful iron-and-steel archway they had exchanged vows under, threatening them both with her wrench when they protested. He’d nearly died when Dad laughed and said, That’s our future daughter-in-law, which had made Al cackle even more. Somewhere between the dance and the cake, Mama had abandoned her shoes and Dad’s tie was gone, and the cake didn’t look nearly as pristine as when it had been brought out, but Ed thought it was the best, prettiest wedding he’d ever seen.
“Did you give them your gift yet?” Winry asked, finally relenting with the tickling. Ed sighed with relief, before resting his chin on her shoulder with a hum—and yelping as his ponytail was tugged, startled tears stinging his eyes for a moment. “Ed…”
“Didn’t w-wanna interrupt,” he muttered, before twisting out of her arms and plopping down in the chair next to Al, who gave him the same look Winry was giving him—amusement and exasperation and a sort of firm urging to go. “S’b-been years since they could—” he gestured at his parents with a sigh, unaware of the black and amber eyes now gazing at him with quiet fondness. “Be t-together like that. W-wanna give ‘em time. Not m-make it about m-me or somethin’.” It had been about him for years now, no matter how much he’d needed their protection and love. But they needed their own time too, right?
Winry sighed, setting her chin atop his head as she wound her arms around his shoulders. He leaned back into her, relishing the contact as Al squeezed his hand for a brief moment. “It’s not selfish, Ed. You’re giving them something that’s for them.”
He scrunched up his nose, before shaking his head with a huff. “No. Gonna w-wait.”
“Brother,” Al started exasperatedly, before yelping. Ed opened his eyes and glanced up before beaming shyly as Dad’s hand mussed up his brother’s hair, letting out a squeal of his own as Mama lifted him effortlessly despite being in her wedding dress. “H-hey, Dad, what’s going on?”
“We’re just gonna steal you two for a second is all,” Dad said cheerfully, before throwing Al over his shoulder. Ed giggled, looping his arms around Mama’s shoulders for a better grip as Al pouted momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt, Miss Rockbell.”
“It’s Winry, Colonel Mustang. I’ve been coming over to your house for dinner every week for what, a year?” She waved at them as they were marched off by their parents, eyes mischievous. Give them the gift! she mouthed at Ed. He stuck his tongue out at her in return, before leaning against Mama with a yawn. They’d been out here for hours and the stars were visible now, but he wasn’t tired! He wasn’t! He could totally stay awake!
“Someone’s sleepy,” he heard Mama tease, and whined wordlessly, squirming closer despite himself. When he lifted his head, they were on the other side of the pond, the reception still visible from the other side but much, much quieter. They were sitting down, too, and he was worried for a moment that he’d crumple Mama’s dress, but her hold was firm and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere even if he tried.
“N-not sleepy, Mama,” he mumbled, even though it was starting to become obvious that he was. He heard Al giggle and flapped a hand at him, opening one eye a slit to see him curled up against Dad, who was pressed against Mama, the four of them all connected under the starlight. Some sort of peace settled over him and he closed his eyes again with another yawn. “C-can stay up l-longer.”
“Mm-hm. I’m sure you could, baby.” Clearly a lie, but Ed didn’t care, cozy and safe in her lap. She rubbed his back gently, and he leaned against her chest with a soft sigh. “How are our sweet boys doing, hm?”
Our. Because Riza Hawkeye was now lawfully their step-mom, even if she’d always been Mama, and nobody could ever take him and Al away from her and Dad. “G-good,” he murmured, shifting in her lap until he could hear her heartbeat against his ear. “Happy.”
He could hear Dad’s chuckle as Al quietly repeated something along those lines, and he couldn’t help letting out a soft, pleased noise as a broad hand ruffled his hair gently. “Us too, kiddo. Us too.”
He opened his eyes, searching both their faces briefly. They seemed…happier. So much happier than when Colonel Mustang had first stormed into his house after the transmutation and shook him out of giving up. So much lighter than when Roy had first pulled him out of a phone booth, crying and hurt and sick to death of being strong and brave. Ed couldn’t help but hope that he might have had a tiny, tiny part of that happiness.
“…H-have a present for y-you,” he volunteered shyly, before glancing back at the gift table. “I…u-uh…” Where did it go?
Dad laughed softly, and Ed glanced over, gasping in surprise as the carefully wrapped object was laid between the four of them. “Figured you might not want us to open it with a huge audience,” he teased. Ed shot Al a wide-eyed look, earning a smug one in return, before his gaze whipped back to his parents as he was shifted out of Mama’s lap and moved between them. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard a ribbon being unwound, paper tearing—
Before hesitantly opening them as Mama sucked in a shuddering breath, one hand covering her mouth as the present—the painting—was revealed. Dad’s arm found its way around her waist, squishing Ed and Al between them; when Ed hazarded a look up at him, his eyes were suspiciously glossy. Worry started to rise in his chest—do they not like it, is it bad, I knew I should have gotten something else—before it was dispelled with a gasp as a kiss was pressed to the top of his head.
His gaze fell on his gift again—a canvas painted like a galaxy, with a path of light carving through it…and four figures on it. Four people. Two adults, walking side by side, each of them holding the hand of a child as they walked that path of stars toward a future as bright as a sun. Three people with distinct features that marked them as the three people Ed loved best, and one painted to look like himself.
And on the bottom, in a remarkably steady hand, he’d titled it: FAMILY.
“What did we ever do,” came the low rumble of Dad’s voice as Ed wriggled closer and pressed against him and Al, “to deserve two treasures like you?”
Mama’s hand stroked gently over his hair, tears gliding down her cheeks as she kissed his brow. “Thank you, darlings. My malen'kiy svet, my malen’kaya ten.”
Ed stared up at them, awed, before resting his head against a warm chest as he closed his eyes. “N-no,” he mumbled, and snuggled closer, ready to let sleep carry him away. “T-thank you.” For giving him a home. For teaching him that he didn’t have to be strong, or tough, or brave to be a good person. That he deserved to be loved, that he didn’t deserve his pain. For loving him and supporting him and being his family.
Whatever came next, he wouldn’t face it alone. There were dark clouds on the horizon, but Ed knew that they’d be okay. They’d all be okay.
Edward Elric tilted his head back, letting starlight bathe his face as his heart swelled with so much light and love he thought it might burst, and smiled.