Chapter Text
Al is five years old when mom dies.
Too young to really grasp the implication, maybe, but old enough to remember her. Old enough to remember her kind smile, her loving embrace, the way she would gently brush her fingers through their hair as she gave each of them a gentle kiss on their foreheads each night before bed.
And since he is old enough to remember her, he is old enough to miss her.
It's not surprising, then, that he goes along with his brother's plan of human transmutation so easily. It's lonely in their house now; quiet in a way that it never was before. They spend a lot of time with Winry and Granny Pinako, a lot of nights sleeping in their home, tucked up against his brother and Winry on the old ratty couch or a shared bed. It's nice, but it never lasts. They always return back to their too-quiet house, wrapped in memories of warmth that drag on him as he moves like a web.
But it's only a memory of warmth. The house feels as cold as ever.
They do their best to avoid dwelling on it. They spend most of their time these days in the study, surrounded by yellowing pages and their alchemical scrawlings. There's a surprising amount of research on human transmutation in their father's old study, and they put it to good use. It takes a while, at first, but they make progress. Slowly but surely, they learn about the long list of ingredients in a human body, though it takes a while. These books are meant for adults, with years of alchemical study behind them, something that neither he nor his brother have.
Granny Pinako never asks why they spend so long inside every day. If she knew the reason, she would probably stop them. But Ed says that this research is their secret, so neither of them tell her.
~
Al is nine years old when they meet Teacher.
She's rough, in a way he's not used to, but she's still kind. She doesn't coddle them like everyone back in Resembool does, always fawning over them. Such an awful thing, they say, smiles lined with pity and words carefully placed, she was truly a lovely woman. We all miss her dearly. Al never says it, too polite to speak up, but they don't know. None of them understand, even if they say they do. Mom is gone, and whatever pleasantries and assurances they offer can't change that.
There's only one thing that can change that. Their alchemy.
But Teacher, she doesn't focus on that. She treats them like she would any student, pushing them to their limits and teaching them all they can learn about alchemy, regardless of their age. Sometimes it feels like too much, at least to Al. Ed doesn't seem to have as much trouble with yelling back at Teacher when she scolds them, though even he is cowed by her anger when she catches them doing something they're not meant to.
Aside from that, it's nice. They exchange regular letters with Winry and Granny Pinako, they help with chores and errands, and they learn to fight. Ed always acts grumpy when Al beats him at yet another sparring match, but Al can tell he's proud of him when he ends every match with a big grin on his face, cheeks smeared with dirt and dust.
His brother smiles more, now, than before. Ed seems to like living with Teacher too, though maybe not quite as much as Al does. He can tell that his brother is still as focused as ever on their plans to bring mom back, zoning out and taking little notes of plans where he knows Teacher won't see.
Privately, Al thinks it wouldn't be so bad to stay like this, to stay here, where they're happy. He doesn't voice these thoughts to Ed, though. He doesn't think his brother would like that.
~
Al is ten years old when they return to Resembool.
It's bittersweet; while he's missed Winry and Granny Pinako every single day since they left, he knows he's going to miss Teacher now, and Sig too. Teacher may yell a lot, and sometimes struggle to comfort and be emotionally open with them, but Al knows that she cares about them, in her own way.
She reminds him of Ed, in that regard.
Clambering off the train, fingers intertwined with Ed’s, he finally sees Resembool for the first time in a year. The air feels different than it does in Dublith, fresher with a hint of manure from fertiliser. It's maybe not a pleasant smell to some, but the smell of farming is the smell of home, to Al.
It hasn't changed, really, Al notes as they make their way from the small, single-platform station towards town. The dirt tracks are still the same as ever, the same faces still mill about, exchanging idle pleasantries, and the picket fence outside the Carriel household still hasn't been mended from where a flock of sheep ran into it and broke it two years ago.
Al knows they're not going to spend that much time in town, though. Now that Teacher has deemed them fully educated, and they have a wealth of alchemical knowledge and skills that they didn't possess before, they might start to make some real progress on figuring out how to bring mom back. They already know all the ingredients they need — which won't be too hard to buy — and they've already gotten started on the basic shape their transmutation circle will take.
Research and discussions become much more exciting and enjoyable, now that they're figuring everything out. It's been years since they started their research, but Al thinks this might be the real start.
It's only a matter of time, now, until they're reunited with mom again.
~
Al was five years old when mom died.
Old enough to remember her gentle, musical laughter, her guiding hands as she showed them how to help cook, the way her face lit up in barely-contained amusement when she caught them trying to transmute her a mother's day present out of the floorboards in the middle of the night.
Old enough to remember the hacking coughs she'd tried to hide, each morning and afternoon and night. The wet sound of them, the sound of retching and choking as she hunched over, handkerchief pressed against her mouth to muffle the sounds and hide the sight. The shaking of her shoulders afterwards, the way she would tremble in pain after each coughing fit, taking forced, slow breaths in and out as she swallowed roughly. The strained smile of everything-is-fine that she'd give them if it ever happened in front of him and his brother, the weak look in her eyes as she’d brush her hands through their hair and distract them with questions about their latest alchemy projects.
He remembers it all, so when Ed, hunched over a thick tome on transmutation circle construction, curls in on himself to let out a thick, strained cough, Al feels an icy fear settle in his stomach and crawl up his throat. It's just the dust, he says. Went up my nose. He laughs, before it breaks off into another cough. It happens again the next day. I must just have a cold or something. He brushes off. Seriously, Al, I’m fine. Quit worrying.
But Al has seen this all play out before. It doesn’t go away the next day, or the day after that. His brother’s coughing fits get worse and worse, and every time, the dread that has settled inside of Al crawls further through him.
The final straw is when Ed lets another harsh cough out into the handkerchief he has taken to carrying around with him, and he glances at it a moment, eyes wide, before quickly stuffing it into his pocket.
But not quick enough for Al to miss the splatter of fresh, crimson red.
Al is eleven years old when everything starts to go wrong.