Definition of Soul: Feeling Like Home
Title: Feeling Like Home
Genre: drabble
Rating: G
Pairing: Al/Wrath
Warnings: series spoilers!
Previous: 1, 2
Feeling Like Home
“You know,” Al says, relaxing in the grass with his head on my flesh knee, “I always thought I was going to marry Winry when we grow up. Now she’s too old.”
I frown, not sure how to take his statement. “Why are you so hung up on your age?” I ask him, genuinely curious. “I told you age doesn’t matter for people like us.”
He doesn’t understand what I mean, but he answers anyway. “It matters to people like her,” he said sadly. “She thinks of me like a little brother now, probably always will.”
“I thought she always thought of you both like brothers?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. I guess Brother and I both hoped for more.”
I lay back in the grass. “Well,” I offer, “now you won’t have to share her.”
He jerks his head up, flashing angry eyes at me. “Why would you say something like that?” he demands fiercely, and his usual gentle look is replaced by something far more suited to the older Elric.
I’m not concerned. I stay where I am, back to the cool grass, and look up at him through half closed eyes. I know him by now, I know this Elric, this boy who has offered me a home, would never hurt a fly, let alone an inhuman creature who tried to kill his beloved older brother. “I’m sorry,” I say, but the word has no meaning to me. Perhaps it does to him.
He doesn’t say anything, he’s still angry, and he sits, arms around his knees, not speaking to me. The dog comes bounding towards us, avoiding me as usual and jumping on him, and his expression breaks, the smile taking over. The girl isn’t far behind, waving her hand and calling our names. “Hey you two,” she calls. “We’re making cinnamon rolls for tonight, you should come help. It’ll be fun,” she coaxes, but she doesn’t have to, he’s already springing up from the ground to follow her. But I’m not Envy and I don’t mind sharing, besides, she will never understand what he really is. And if I’m the only other homunculus left, well, then no one else will ever understand either.
“You too, Wrath,” she adds, and I raise an eyebrow at her. “Come on,” she directs, and watches how I stand up, still favoring my flesh leg but getting better every day. She told me, when she made me the limbs, that she didn’t know if my body would accept them. My body, apparently, will take anything it’s offered. “Al, help him,” she orders, but he glares over his shoulder at me.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “See, I’m all right.”
They walk to the house in a trio, with the dog following at their heels and me following at his. She can’t tell that Alphonse was ever upset; she thinks we’re going to have a fun afternoon of baking. I don’t know the first thing about baking anything.
“I can’t do this,” I say once the ingredients are spread out, and it’s the girl who looks up from the recipe to see what’s the matter with me. Alphonse is still angry, and is still ignoring me. I hold up my metal palm, her own creation. “You said to keep stuff out of the joints.” I gesture to the flour and milk and eggs and yeast that she has set out. “This is a lot of stuff.”
She shrugs. “Wear a glove,” she suggests. “Ed always did.” She turns, opening another drawer and pulling out a single rubber glove and tossing it at me.
I don’t catch it and have to bend down to pick it up. Al reaches for it too, and our eyes meet above the ground, both of our hands on the glove. “I said I was sorry,” I tell him quietly, and I know eventually I will win him over. I move to stand up again, but he’s about to say something.
“I always forget how much you hated my brother,” he says quietly. “And every time I remember I understand why everyone is so surprised that I want anything to do with you.”
“Al,” I say, but I’m hesitant, not sure how he will take my offer. “If you want, I will try to tell you what happened between your brother and me. I know we aren’t supposed to tell you things, but if you want to know… if you think it will help…” I trail off, and realize my eyes are widened unconsciously. This isn’t an act, for once. It seems it is possible for me to be sincere after all.
He stands up, says something to the girl, and they begin to combine ingredients. She gives me little jobs to do, she tries to include me, and I admire her strength. If Al accepts me, then she is determined to do so as well. “Crack the eggs,” she instructs, and I pick up the first fragile brown shape and smash it into the counter, looking with confusion at the mess under my hand.
Al laughs. “Not like that!” he exclaims, “You’ve never cracked an egg before, have you?”
I shrug. “Why would I have?”
And Al puts his warm (why so warm?) hand over my cool one, guiding me in the delicate business of cracking an egg without destroying it. “See?” he says, his eyes twinkling at me, and I think he is no longer upset. Perhaps my offer has been accepted. I try another egg, the way he showed me, and am rewarded with a running, dripping mass that slides from the shell, taking only a few fragments with it that I set to work picking out.
When the rolls come out of the oven, Alphonse and the girl sneak a pair of steaming cinnamon delights off the tray, pulling them apart with their fingers and laughing. Alphonse offers me a bite of his, and I shake my head, uninterested in food, but he is holding it to my mouth, smiling and watching me, and a take a bite to satisfy him. The flaky roll melts into sweet-spiciness on my tongue, and I let myself smile back. Food is a human necessity that I normally ignore, but this is more than sustenance.
In the evening, when I am in my bed, the covers kicked to the floor as usual, I see him in my doorway. The light is dim and he looks different, older almost. “Wrath,” he whispers. “Tell me what you know.”
So I tell him about the island; he remembers that much because he was human then. I tell him that the monster he thought was following them was really just a man, a man who had been sent there to torment them by someone who was supposed to care, and he has a moment of rage and another of relief, that even if they had not succeeded their Sensei would never have let any real harm come to them.
I tell him about them returning to the island and I tell him about Izumi bringing me home with her. I don’t tell him about my own confusion about my true nature, and I don’t tell him how I hoped she would be my Mother. I show him the ourobouros on the sole of my foot, and I tell him I could do alchemy with my body because I had taken his brother’s limbs from the gate. He looks at me in horror; perhaps until this point he never really understood what a homunculus is.
I tell him about Sloth, the unwanted mother, and I, the unwanted son. I don’t tell him how she never cared for me, but I do tell him how I helped to kill her by trying to save her, and he looks at me like someone struck him. It’s pity, I realize belatedly. The little non-human is feeling sorry for me! “You know what she said when your brother finally defeated her?” I tell him roughly. “She said ‘take care of each other.’ Her last words were for you two. She was your mother!” and I’m trying to upset him again, because his sympathy has upset me. This is how humans do things, I think.
But he’s shaking his head. “Mom would never hurt us. She wasn’t our mother.”
“You didn’t understand that at the time,” I push on. “You thought she was your mother, but she was mine, and your brother killed her!”
“Well I understand it now,” he said flatly, looking at me with burning eyes. Then he sighed, the fire leaving his expression. “They never tell me anything,” he says, almost wistfully, and I can’t help but scoff at that.
“If they tell you what they know,” I tell him, “they would loose their illusions.” He looks at me, puzzled, and here, in my room, in the dark, I think maybe I can tell him what no one else seems to realize. “That you’re Alphonse Elric.”
He had been sitting on the edge of my bed with me next to him, our feet tucked under ourselves, side by side on the mattress, but now he is on his feet. “I am Alphonse Elric!” he cries, but I’m shaking my head.
“You’re no more Alphonse Elric than I am your Sensei’s child,” I tell him quietly, and he’s listening intently. “You’re just like me. You’re a created human. Your genius of a brother may have been able to create you a body, but no one can create a soul.”
“I have a soul!” he screams at me, face suddenly red, eyes suddenly wet. “That’s impossible! Everyone has a soul!”
I lean back on my hands, watching him closely. “I don’t,” I say, and I’m not sure if he’s been told this before.
“I’m not like you,” he says, and he’s crying now. “I’m nothing like you! I’m a human boy! I am Alphonse Elric!”
I’m shaking my head again. “That’s what you said before, when you didn’t even have a body,” I tell him.
He isn’t going to listen to me, I can tell that now. “But I had a soul,” he insists, and I don’t push it. He won’t believe me when I tell him that’s impossible.
He walks up to me, his face very close to mine, and says to me, quietly, “If you ever say that to me again, I will throw you out on your own, I don’t care what Aunty and Winry say,” and I know he means it, for now. But someday, before I leave, I will tell him the rest of what I know. He deserves at least that much.
Next: Like Humans Do
Genre: drabble
Rating: G
Pairing: Al/Wrath
Warnings: series spoilers!
Previous: 1, 2
Feeling Like Home
“You know,” Al says, relaxing in the grass with his head on my flesh knee, “I always thought I was going to marry Winry when we grow up. Now she’s too old.”
I frown, not sure how to take his statement. “Why are you so hung up on your age?” I ask him, genuinely curious. “I told you age doesn’t matter for people like us.”
He doesn’t understand what I mean, but he answers anyway. “It matters to people like her,” he said sadly. “She thinks of me like a little brother now, probably always will.”
“I thought she always thought of you both like brothers?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. I guess Brother and I both hoped for more.”
I lay back in the grass. “Well,” I offer, “now you won’t have to share her.”
He jerks his head up, flashing angry eyes at me. “Why would you say something like that?” he demands fiercely, and his usual gentle look is replaced by something far more suited to the older Elric.
I’m not concerned. I stay where I am, back to the cool grass, and look up at him through half closed eyes. I know him by now, I know this Elric, this boy who has offered me a home, would never hurt a fly, let alone an inhuman creature who tried to kill his beloved older brother. “I’m sorry,” I say, but the word has no meaning to me. Perhaps it does to him.
He doesn’t say anything, he’s still angry, and he sits, arms around his knees, not speaking to me. The dog comes bounding towards us, avoiding me as usual and jumping on him, and his expression breaks, the smile taking over. The girl isn’t far behind, waving her hand and calling our names. “Hey you two,” she calls. “We’re making cinnamon rolls for tonight, you should come help. It’ll be fun,” she coaxes, but she doesn’t have to, he’s already springing up from the ground to follow her. But I’m not Envy and I don’t mind sharing, besides, she will never understand what he really is. And if I’m the only other homunculus left, well, then no one else will ever understand either.
“You too, Wrath,” she adds, and I raise an eyebrow at her. “Come on,” she directs, and watches how I stand up, still favoring my flesh leg but getting better every day. She told me, when she made me the limbs, that she didn’t know if my body would accept them. My body, apparently, will take anything it’s offered. “Al, help him,” she orders, but he glares over his shoulder at me.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “See, I’m all right.”
They walk to the house in a trio, with the dog following at their heels and me following at his. She can’t tell that Alphonse was ever upset; she thinks we’re going to have a fun afternoon of baking. I don’t know the first thing about baking anything.
“I can’t do this,” I say once the ingredients are spread out, and it’s the girl who looks up from the recipe to see what’s the matter with me. Alphonse is still angry, and is still ignoring me. I hold up my metal palm, her own creation. “You said to keep stuff out of the joints.” I gesture to the flour and milk and eggs and yeast that she has set out. “This is a lot of stuff.”
She shrugs. “Wear a glove,” she suggests. “Ed always did.” She turns, opening another drawer and pulling out a single rubber glove and tossing it at me.
I don’t catch it and have to bend down to pick it up. Al reaches for it too, and our eyes meet above the ground, both of our hands on the glove. “I said I was sorry,” I tell him quietly, and I know eventually I will win him over. I move to stand up again, but he’s about to say something.
“I always forget how much you hated my brother,” he says quietly. “And every time I remember I understand why everyone is so surprised that I want anything to do with you.”
“Al,” I say, but I’m hesitant, not sure how he will take my offer. “If you want, I will try to tell you what happened between your brother and me. I know we aren’t supposed to tell you things, but if you want to know… if you think it will help…” I trail off, and realize my eyes are widened unconsciously. This isn’t an act, for once. It seems it is possible for me to be sincere after all.
He stands up, says something to the girl, and they begin to combine ingredients. She gives me little jobs to do, she tries to include me, and I admire her strength. If Al accepts me, then she is determined to do so as well. “Crack the eggs,” she instructs, and I pick up the first fragile brown shape and smash it into the counter, looking with confusion at the mess under my hand.
Al laughs. “Not like that!” he exclaims, “You’ve never cracked an egg before, have you?”
I shrug. “Why would I have?”
And Al puts his warm (why so warm?) hand over my cool one, guiding me in the delicate business of cracking an egg without destroying it. “See?” he says, his eyes twinkling at me, and I think he is no longer upset. Perhaps my offer has been accepted. I try another egg, the way he showed me, and am rewarded with a running, dripping mass that slides from the shell, taking only a few fragments with it that I set to work picking out.
When the rolls come out of the oven, Alphonse and the girl sneak a pair of steaming cinnamon delights off the tray, pulling them apart with their fingers and laughing. Alphonse offers me a bite of his, and I shake my head, uninterested in food, but he is holding it to my mouth, smiling and watching me, and a take a bite to satisfy him. The flaky roll melts into sweet-spiciness on my tongue, and I let myself smile back. Food is a human necessity that I normally ignore, but this is more than sustenance.
In the evening, when I am in my bed, the covers kicked to the floor as usual, I see him in my doorway. The light is dim and he looks different, older almost. “Wrath,” he whispers. “Tell me what you know.”
So I tell him about the island; he remembers that much because he was human then. I tell him that the monster he thought was following them was really just a man, a man who had been sent there to torment them by someone who was supposed to care, and he has a moment of rage and another of relief, that even if they had not succeeded their Sensei would never have let any real harm come to them.
I tell him about them returning to the island and I tell him about Izumi bringing me home with her. I don’t tell him about my own confusion about my true nature, and I don’t tell him how I hoped she would be my Mother. I show him the ourobouros on the sole of my foot, and I tell him I could do alchemy with my body because I had taken his brother’s limbs from the gate. He looks at me in horror; perhaps until this point he never really understood what a homunculus is.
I tell him about Sloth, the unwanted mother, and I, the unwanted son. I don’t tell him how she never cared for me, but I do tell him how I helped to kill her by trying to save her, and he looks at me like someone struck him. It’s pity, I realize belatedly. The little non-human is feeling sorry for me! “You know what she said when your brother finally defeated her?” I tell him roughly. “She said ‘take care of each other.’ Her last words were for you two. She was your mother!” and I’m trying to upset him again, because his sympathy has upset me. This is how humans do things, I think.
But he’s shaking his head. “Mom would never hurt us. She wasn’t our mother.”
“You didn’t understand that at the time,” I push on. “You thought she was your mother, but she was mine, and your brother killed her!”
“Well I understand it now,” he said flatly, looking at me with burning eyes. Then he sighed, the fire leaving his expression. “They never tell me anything,” he says, almost wistfully, and I can’t help but scoff at that.
“If they tell you what they know,” I tell him, “they would loose their illusions.” He looks at me, puzzled, and here, in my room, in the dark, I think maybe I can tell him what no one else seems to realize. “That you’re Alphonse Elric.”
He had been sitting on the edge of my bed with me next to him, our feet tucked under ourselves, side by side on the mattress, but now he is on his feet. “I am Alphonse Elric!” he cries, but I’m shaking my head.
“You’re no more Alphonse Elric than I am your Sensei’s child,” I tell him quietly, and he’s listening intently. “You’re just like me. You’re a created human. Your genius of a brother may have been able to create you a body, but no one can create a soul.”
“I have a soul!” he screams at me, face suddenly red, eyes suddenly wet. “That’s impossible! Everyone has a soul!”
I lean back on my hands, watching him closely. “I don’t,” I say, and I’m not sure if he’s been told this before.
“I’m not like you,” he says, and he’s crying now. “I’m nothing like you! I’m a human boy! I am Alphonse Elric!”
I’m shaking my head again. “That’s what you said before, when you didn’t even have a body,” I tell him.
He isn’t going to listen to me, I can tell that now. “But I had a soul,” he insists, and I don’t push it. He won’t believe me when I tell him that’s impossible.
He walks up to me, his face very close to mine, and says to me, quietly, “If you ever say that to me again, I will throw you out on your own, I don’t care what Aunty and Winry say,” and I know he means it, for now. But someday, before I leave, I will tell him the rest of what I know. He deserves at least that much.
Next: Like Humans Do