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When she was pregnant with their first, Winry had a feeling it’d be a boy. And when she could feel it kicking, she was even further convinced. Ed figured quickly that it was only a prediction, not a serious preference on her part, so when a gentle appeal to the logical side of her that knew they couldn’t tell yet was met with resistance, he let her have this one for now. He’d just poke fun of her in the event that she was wrong.
But Winry had a knack for being right, at times annoyingly so. At times even to herself.
“I-I knew he’d be, but… He really does look just like you, huh?” were the first words she said when she could finally hold him.
“I do love how he has your eyes” said a little later, moments before handing the baby to Edward was all the warning he was given before being faced with the weight of that reality. For hundreds of years, those eyes had only seen the light of day through him and his brother. And here they were, open wide, staring directly into his. There were a million and one things to stress about, in anticipation of the baby, so this possibility that should have been obvious in hindsight, had totally slipped his mind.
Ed’s feelings towards his own father were complicated, his death just when things could maybe start to progress denying any chance of easy closure. But that day he couldn’t help but think of him. “Is this what you felt, when I was born? Or, for you, I suppose it must have hit even harder”. He made a promise to himself, that he’d be different as a parent – if nothing else, when Ed made a promise had made damn sure to keep it – and was surprised when, though there was still some anger there, the sentiment evoked more pity and grief. Nothing about that promise had changed, or ever would change, but he could feel that at this stage in his life, he’d start to understand his father in a way he never had before. Maybe the anger would further be replaced with pity. Maybe that’s the closest he would get to closure.
For their second, Winry didn’t say if she thought it’d be a boy or girl, though she did say she’d get some of her features in this time. If she meant that as a prediction, or a deliberate effort, Ed wasn’t entirely sure.
And soon enough, a beautiful baby girl was born, with eyes and hair like her mother’s. To someone else, it might seem like a step down, comparatively – to go from colors so incredibly one of a kind, to ones that are nominally pretty common in Amestris. But Ed was very happy that Winry had succeeded in her “effort”. She certainly looked pretty pleased with herself, as much as she could through the exhaustion. And he had always found her hair and eyes especially pretty – even as a kid, though he would loath to admit it on most occasions then. In his years traveling the world he’d meet a number of people that had one or the other or both, yet somehow none of them were quite like hers. Until now, at least.
And he was looking forward to raising a girl. He’s thought about it since Winry had confidently proclaimed their first child would be a boy. There’d be more challenges for him, and things that would just be unfamiliar, but of course Winry would help with that, and he’d learn what he could. And something about the idea just seemed nice.
Their son, meanwhile, had just recently started using two word phrases and eating with a spoon. As is normal, for a two-year old.
In preparation for parenthood, one of the first things they discussed was the possibility that a child of theirs would take an interest in one of their parents’ fields. It felt obvious to both – that’s how it went for them in their childhood. They talked about how to anticipate that, how to guide them into it if it happened, but not pressure into either if it didn’t.
Ed remembered being 4 when he started picking through Hohenheim’s collection. Winry was about the same, and as far as she remembered her parents’ medical textbooks were how she started reading. For their son, he’d learn at six, and their daughter at five and a half, both doing so through books made specifically for that purpose.
Winry first started feeling something was different when school started. Her son had asked for help with math homework one day, which she agreed to, and nearly got visibly frustrated with the way he struggled to understand. To a mechanic like her, complex mathematics was as natural as speaking, so simple math was like breathing. No, more like a heart beating – breathing could still be done manually, a heartbeat was entirely subconscious. Luckily she managed to stop herself before it got bad. Saying that mommy just had a busy day seemed to smooth things over, and permission to just skip the homework today – she’d do it for him now and they’ll go over the material on the weekend – sealed the deal, making the child happy like nothing ever happened, if not actually happier.
Homework would prove to be a recurring problem, in a way that Winry couldn’t entirely relate to. It’s not like she remembered liking it either, finding it boring and wanting to do other things instead. Ultimately, for her it would only end up being a very small part of her life – she dropped out of school very early, and even before that a lot of the time she just didn’t do it. While finding it boring and not wanting were still factors for the children now, it also almost always took effort, and sometimes help, in a way that Winry did not remember ever experiencing herself.
A bit after that is when they’d start paying more attention to their parents’ field. Their son really loved robots, so naturally his mother’s work would catch his eyes, finding it “cool”. She’d make robot toys for him, which would be some of his favorite possessions. Yet when he picked up a book or schematic, it was only to look at the pictures. It was the same with medical ones, though those were picked even rarer, and when they were it was specifically for “the skeletons”, or other things he found gross and/or creepy. Certainly at that age childish fascination is a major draw, finding something “cool”, as he put it, but again Winry couldn’t fully recognise herself when she first started to learn. The intricate mechanisms evoked awe, but Winry remembered already wondering if she could do that, a burning desire to learn, and even knowing that the things that first caught her interest were far away, wanting to start somewhere, which she did not see yet in her son. He seemed content to look at the pretty pictures, the contraptions she’d make, and play with the toys she’d give him.
Her daughter would ask about her mom’s work, and deduced that “mommy helps people” pretty quickly. That’s a memory that Winry would treasure forever, but academic interest similarly was not apparent.
Alchemy took a bit longer, including even learning the word itself. For the most part, even after “discovery”, it just remained the books daddy reads, with pictures, if there even were any, consisting of circles and other geometric shapes, which seemed to inspire little interest. In fairness, a significant part of his collection was encoded, in a different language, or both, but even for those that weren’t it didn’t change much. Ed thought that maybe a problem was that he couldn’t show the flashy, cool part of alchemy, but then again, thinking back, as a kid he didn’t remember ever seeing Hohenheim transmute either.
A visit from uncle Al would solve that particular problem, showing a transmutation in action, which did indeed wow them. They seemed to prefer when he did it with a circle, the elaborate shapes and designs suddenly interesting now that they were visibly doing something. Clapping hands together was a poor substitute in terms of showmanship, its significance lost on them for now. Whatever was transmuted, most of the time Al would proceed to gift them, which they obviously liked, but in a different way than the toys from mom. The intricate mechanisms kept more of their interest long-term, while transmuted objects were simpler, and they liked seemingly the process of seeing it form out of raw material in an instant more than the end result, which was more of a nice bonus.
Inevitably, they would ask dad why he doesn’t ever do what uncle Al did. They’d get the full story at some point, but they were still too young for all the details for now, so he went with the (not technically false, albeit lacking the full context) cover that he’s focused on theory and research, put in terms they could understand.
“Oh. So you mean those big boring books right?”
“... Yeah. The big boring books”
Impressed with the flashy displays, the children would begin to do “play-alchemy”, which meant drawing a circle (one that was not at all exact) and whatever they felt like doodling in or around it on dirt or sand, then proceeding to toss that surface around or at each other. Like Winry before, Ed did not see any desire to start learning about the proper process, even the suggestion of the notion that the circles they draw could follow some sort of rules was rejected.
Winry would also catch them making “potions” by mixing various liquids, both edible and inedible, though if that’s to do with alchemy or just the natural inclination of any child is uncertain.
When their son was 9 years old, one day Ed caught Winry crying in her room.
“It’s, It’s just that… I remembered that that’s how old I was. When my parents died”
He wanted to comfort her, but for a while he could only be there with her because yeah, he knew what she meant. He was just so caught up with everything that until she pointed it out it didn’t even register. And the age when he lost his own had been a few years before that. It almost seemed like a different reality, that this is how young they were then. The thought of his children going through half, a quarter of what they did was more awful than anything he could imagine.
Even him just being there, understanding, helped at least a little. Emotional burdens are often easier to carry, when you have someone to share it with. A sentiment would eventually be reached that seemed to bring some comfort.
We’ll be there for them, in a way that ours, unfortunately, couldn’t.
When he’s 11 years old, their son would ask his parents to teach him something.
*Crash*
Something normal for a kid his age to learn. And something his parents never did, which is why they were here now, practicing in a faraway spot, hidden from prying eyes.
“You do know that if you damage that leg, I won’t be able to fix it, right?” Winry said, leaning down with a smirk at Ed after yet another fall from the bike, not actually extending her arm to help him up, but body language saying she will if he admits he could use it. He refused, getting up on his own.
“No, I completely forgot. And here I was trying to make more work for you.” Besides, what she said wasn’t entirely true. She’s a mechanic, but she does have some medical knowledge, so she could help if he did get seriously injured. He’d estimate that, despite feeling unpleasant, all the falls so far probably wouldn’t do more than leave him sore for a day, and his wife’s lack of concern seemed to support that - she’d be the first to worry if he was actually hurt. That her amused state was a good sign didn’t mean he didn’t want to get back at her for it.
“You’re smiling as if you can ride it!”
“I’m not the one he asked to teach him! Besides, I made it, so I did my part.” She made two, to be precise – the one Ed was currently using, and a smaller one for their son. Still, for a mechanic of her caliber to build a bike was like asking Armstrong to draw a stick figure - she probably could've done it in her sleep. And being completely honest, even if she did offer, he wouldn’t want her to take over. Both because he didn’t want to pile more things on her when she had a job and he could do it, and because yeah, telling the son who asked him “no I can’t do this thing you see other kids doing, go ask your mom” was embarrassment that he would rather avoid if he could help it. Though what she said earlier did bring up a point to consider.
“Yeah, yeah. I will, but, speaking of the leg, doesn’t the automail throw off the balance? Can I even ride it?”
“If it prevented you completely I would’ve stopped you in the first place”, Winry said, her tone shifting from her earlier mirthy one, though into her neutral, explanatory voice, rather than the mildly annoyed one her words so far might have suggested. “You’re right, your left leg is heavier than your right, so there is a weight imbalance. But not significant enough to make it impossible, or even much harder, with the lighter model on you now. I could’ve added extra weight to one side of the bike to balance it out, if it was, but that has its own drawbacks, and just isn’t needed in this case. Automail users riding bikes is far from unheard of”.
Amusement slowly seeped back into her voice: “Besides, think of it this way: you fought and did all those acrobatics with automail, a heavier model, at that. And that required way more precarious balancing. So you just need to practice until you get it, and you’d be falling down just as much without it. Notice how often you fall to your lighter right side as well.”
That part was true. Ed wasn’t keeping count, and he couldn’t exactly compare the feeling in each leg to see which he fell on more, but his right let him know that was the one often enough.
“Okay, no excuses then. Just making sure.”
Time would pass, more falls would be had. It reminded Ed of learning to walk after automail, except Winry’s support was limited to moral, offers to hold him steady rejected by Ed from the start (how would he ever learn to stay balanced himself then?), and having neither the knowledge on how to do the skill herself, nor read up on educational texts about the process like with automail adjustment.
Slowly he would start lasting a couple seconds longer than he did before, then a little more than that. Until suddenly, one time – 10.. 15 .. 20. He felt like that was it, he could keep going indefinitely. Winry’s cheering in the background, and Ed speeds up with newfound confidence. He catches a glimpse of the setting sun in his peripheral vision, and he turns to the side, taking in the peaceful scenery laid out before them, letting the momentum carry him, wind blowing in his hair.
Parenthood had its challenges, foreseen and unforeseen, and it took some adjustment, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. Now that they had time to get their bearings, Ed and Winry even realized that despite everything, their children’s academic future wasn’t even decided yet. Not that it mattered much, they made peace with them not following in either of their footsteps, or being exceptional somewhere else, but they could now see that it was still possible they would. They’re 11 and 9 for goodness sake, it’s way too early to tell! Besides each other and Al, none of the other kids they knew at that age had interests in what would be their future career then. And the kids they know now don’t either. Right now that’s not their responsibility, their responsibility is to play, grow, do homework and complain about doing homework.
Providing a normal childhood, when your own was that of a generational prodigy going through a spiral of trauma was an issue unique to them to deal with, but more broadly, Amestris at large was going through something similar. With the demilitarization of the country, the societal reforms, growing up in a world that’s becoming less war-torn, kids are being given more room to be kids.
Looking at the landscape, he saw a world where an eleven-year-old isn’t being offered to join the military, isn’t committing alchemy’s greatest taboo to bring back their only remaining parent, isn’t making a full-fledged automail limb and doing surgery on their best friend, isn’t relearning to walk because of said automail. Instead, they’re asking dad to teach them how to ride a bike. Something Ed never got to do himself, though at least he got the chance to catch up on that now.
And it is beautiful.
…
“...EED! EEEEED! WHERE ARE YOU LOOKING!?”
*CRASH*
“Note to self: teach him to always keep his eyes on the road"