Full Metal Alchemist (Ed/Al, Mother)
on a writer's block roll, as weird as that may sound. fma, hehe. more dialogue than usual, but the style i started out with didn't really allow for char introspect. i still suck. :cries: written for fic_on_demand.
title: Shell
pairing: faint ed/al, if you squint
rating: pg
notes: she asks for light-hearted. i made a non-angst ending? XD;; oops.
The summer before their mother dies, Ed finds some old hooks in the attic. One thing must lead to another, give and take and moving on, for Al finds the poles to go with them and Mother packs the lunch and then they all go fishing.
"Summer is going to end soon," Ed comments matter-of-factly when he and Al are by the bank, five feet away from their mother and short legs in the cool lake. Al nods. "It'll be winter." Al jerks his pole a little viciously; Ed has to duck to flying hook.
"Is something wrong?" their mother asks. Both boys say no.
"Summer is going to end soon," Ed repeats, though he is not quite sure why. "We'll have to stay inside, Al."
Al mutters something incomprehensible.
Ed wonders if it is summer ending or the hot sun that is driving the fish away. They don't seem to feel like biting today.
Lunch is delicious, though Mother spends a few minutes assuring Ed that she hadn't expected them to catch anything - not that there wasn't enough food as it were. Ed goes back to the lake after the meal, wading in up to his waist and casting as far as his small arms can throw. "He's very determined," their mother murmurs as she runs her fingers through Al's hair - he had been awake a few minutes ago, but it's been a beautiful morning and a beautiful day, and the sound of wind through reeds is more than any lullaby.
Ed finally gives up at sundown; the sky is streaked as red and pink as Ed himself, and Al has a good laugh at his brother's expense. Mother smiles and tells Ed they will apply some ointment when they get home. Ed sulks, but that is to be expected. "Summer is ending," Al remarks suddenly, in a nonchalant voice that is perhaps too much so, before he turns to look at the sun.
"Really now?" their mother says.
"Really." Al replies.
"And are you excited?" she asks.
"No." he says. Ed laughs. There is a light scratch where Al's hook brushed his face, though the look on Al's face and his adamant explanation makes everything clear. "Winter kills the trees. And the flowers. And the animals. I don't like it."
Mother looks thoughtful and leads them towards a tree. Bending down, she shuffles among the grass and closes her hand around something small, holding it up to Al's face.
"It's a cicada shell," Ed says, since Al doesn't seem to want to.
"It's winter," Mother says, holding it up to the sun. "It's just a little shell."
"It's evil." says Al.
"It's important," says Mother. "What would the cicada be, if it could not shed its shell or grow?"
"It'd be a nymph." Ed says in an authoritative manner.
"Ed!" Mother laughs, though he has just undermined her lesson. They walk home; there isn't fish for dinner, but they do have red meat and carnivorous boys, and the entire family watches the summer leave through their kitchen window. "Summer's almost gone," Ed says.
"I know," Al replies.
-----
The summer after their mother dies, Ed finds some matches in the attic. One thing must lead to another, give and take and moving on, for Al finds the gas to go along with them and they visit Mother's grave before they start.
"Summer is ending," Ed says in a flat voice as they circle the house, the sharp smell of gasoline trailing behind him. It has been a hot day that trailed into a hot night, musty and weighty with no sign of rain.
"The cicadas are gone," says Al absently, clanking behind his brother.
It only takes a few minutes, but they stand and watch their house go up in flames. "Your body is cool," Ed says, leaning close and pressing into Al's metal chest like he could hear a heartbeat, if he really tried. Al says nothing when rivulets of water run down his armor; "I'm sorry," Ed says when the fire heats the metal and the flames are reflected in his eyes.
"There's nothing to be sorry for, oniisan." says Al.
"Your hand is cool," says Ed, holding fast.
"Summer is ending."
"I know."
"Are you sad?"
"Not really."
Timbers fall down. Al watches Ed watch the house, a funny sort of smile on his lips and a strange sort of look in his eyes.
"Let's go to the lake," Ed says. It is bitter irony and sheer delight when Ed and Al catch three fish each.
title: Shell
pairing: faint ed/al, if you squint
rating: pg
notes: she asks for light-hearted. i made a non-angst ending? XD;; oops.
The summer before their mother dies, Ed finds some old hooks in the attic. One thing must lead to another, give and take and moving on, for Al finds the poles to go with them and Mother packs the lunch and then they all go fishing.
"Summer is going to end soon," Ed comments matter-of-factly when he and Al are by the bank, five feet away from their mother and short legs in the cool lake. Al nods. "It'll be winter." Al jerks his pole a little viciously; Ed has to duck to flying hook.
"Is something wrong?" their mother asks. Both boys say no.
"Summer is going to end soon," Ed repeats, though he is not quite sure why. "We'll have to stay inside, Al."
Al mutters something incomprehensible.
Ed wonders if it is summer ending or the hot sun that is driving the fish away. They don't seem to feel like biting today.
Lunch is delicious, though Mother spends a few minutes assuring Ed that she hadn't expected them to catch anything - not that there wasn't enough food as it were. Ed goes back to the lake after the meal, wading in up to his waist and casting as far as his small arms can throw. "He's very determined," their mother murmurs as she runs her fingers through Al's hair - he had been awake a few minutes ago, but it's been a beautiful morning and a beautiful day, and the sound of wind through reeds is more than any lullaby.
Ed finally gives up at sundown; the sky is streaked as red and pink as Ed himself, and Al has a good laugh at his brother's expense. Mother smiles and tells Ed they will apply some ointment when they get home. Ed sulks, but that is to be expected. "Summer is ending," Al remarks suddenly, in a nonchalant voice that is perhaps too much so, before he turns to look at the sun.
"Really now?" their mother says.
"Really." Al replies.
"And are you excited?" she asks.
"No." he says. Ed laughs. There is a light scratch where Al's hook brushed his face, though the look on Al's face and his adamant explanation makes everything clear. "Winter kills the trees. And the flowers. And the animals. I don't like it."
Mother looks thoughtful and leads them towards a tree. Bending down, she shuffles among the grass and closes her hand around something small, holding it up to Al's face.
"It's a cicada shell," Ed says, since Al doesn't seem to want to.
"It's winter," Mother says, holding it up to the sun. "It's just a little shell."
"It's evil." says Al.
"It's important," says Mother. "What would the cicada be, if it could not shed its shell or grow?"
"It'd be a nymph." Ed says in an authoritative manner.
"Ed!" Mother laughs, though he has just undermined her lesson. They walk home; there isn't fish for dinner, but they do have red meat and carnivorous boys, and the entire family watches the summer leave through their kitchen window. "Summer's almost gone," Ed says.
"I know," Al replies.
-----
The summer after their mother dies, Ed finds some matches in the attic. One thing must lead to another, give and take and moving on, for Al finds the gas to go along with them and they visit Mother's grave before they start.
"Summer is ending," Ed says in a flat voice as they circle the house, the sharp smell of gasoline trailing behind him. It has been a hot day that trailed into a hot night, musty and weighty with no sign of rain.
"The cicadas are gone," says Al absently, clanking behind his brother.
It only takes a few minutes, but they stand and watch their house go up in flames. "Your body is cool," Ed says, leaning close and pressing into Al's metal chest like he could hear a heartbeat, if he really tried. Al says nothing when rivulets of water run down his armor; "I'm sorry," Ed says when the fire heats the metal and the flames are reflected in his eyes.
"There's nothing to be sorry for, oniisan." says Al.
"Your hand is cool," says Ed, holding fast.
"Summer is ending."
"I know."
"Are you sad?"
"Not really."
Timbers fall down. Al watches Ed watch the house, a funny sort of smile on his lips and a strange sort of look in his eyes.
"Let's go to the lake," Ed says. It is bitter irony and sheer delight when Ed and Al catch three fish each.