Paper Flowers: Prelude

Edward curiously watched Envy lying in bed dangerously still while Edward's mother put away the groceries.  The lengthy blond hair draped over the pillow undisturbed like Envy had not moved for a long period of time.  "Mom," Edward called, "what's wrong with Envy?"

Trisha scooped Alphonse into her arms so he could place a can of green beans on a high shelf, swaying her head to one side so her long brown hair would move out of her path.  She had not heard everything her oldest son said.  "What is it?"

"He's not moving," he elaborated.  "Is he dead?"

She suddenly ran to the bedroom, setting her youngest son down outside the door without skipping a beat.  Trisha brushed past Edward to kneel at the preteen's bed.  "Envy?" she alerted.  When he did not respond, she placed a hand on his chest and hovered her ear over his nose while repeating his name with more alarm.

Relieved to realize the boy was alive, she shook his arm gently.  "Envy, what happened?"

The boy's eyes fell open a fraction at the movement.  Gaze blank, he only responded with a breathy exhale.

"Is he okay, Mommy?" Alphonse asked, full of worry.  His brown eyes began to form little droplets of water.

Trisha looked up at the anxious faces of her young boys; she held out her arms.  "Come here," she said comfortingly.  Both ran to her and stretched their little arms around her neck and shoulders.  "Envy will be all right.  He's just tired."

She hugged her children snugly, dropping a light kiss on each head.  "That's my boys."  The blond head of hair looked up at her to show Edward's worried, hazel-brown eyes; and the light-brown head of hair tilted his head back to reveal Alphonse's teary-but assured-gaze.

The sound of a distant door opening snapped her head to attention.  Releasing her sons, Trisha stood with a firm expression on her face.  "Stay here," she ordered as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Hoenheim," she hollered, "I need to talk to you."

Edward quietly opened the door a fraction, just enough to peer out without notice.  Alphonse tugged his sleeve.  "Brother, let me see!" Alphonse pled.

"Quiet, Al," Edward snapped in a whisper.  "Stay back."

Edward ignored his younger brother's persistent attempts in order to watch his parents.  His father entered the kitchen from his basement laboratory.  He wore a long, brown coat despite the lack of chill in the climate.  His long, blond hair rest in a sleek ponytail at the base of his neck and appeared to be in need of a hairbrush; the man appeared exhausted like he had not rested for days.  As Hoenheim adjusted his glasses, he asked, "Yes, dear?"

Trisha leaned back against the countertop and folded her arms.  "What happened to Envy?"

"Nothing," the man insisted.  "He helped me with my experiments again today, that's all."

A hand rose to her temple to press stressfully.  "This has to stop; it can't be good for Envy's health if it leaves him like this and I don't want the boys to see it.  It scares them."

"My experiments are perfectly safe, Trisha," he assured.  "This is just an unfortunate side effect."

"I don't like it," she stated sternly.  "This is the last time, Hoenheim."

Hoenheim approached his wife, cupping her jaw tenderly in his hands like fragile glass to ensure eye contact.  He kissed her and smiled.  "Come downstairs with me; I'll show you how safe my experiments are."

Edward watched her reluctantly agree for the sake of fairness before his parents retired to the laboratory.  He waited hours for his mother to return to grant permission for he and Alphonse to go to bed, but he eventually joined Alphonse and Envy in slumber in the small bed.

The following day, Alphonse ran to the living room when he spotted Trisha sitting in the chair by the window.  "Mom!" he cheered, arms outstretched to her happily.

She did not acknowledge his presence.

Edward entered behind his brother.  He watched his mother's green-blue eyes stare blankly out the window with an expressionless face.  He spotted swelling on her head and face with barely a glimpse of stitches past her hairline.  While Alphonse proceeded to attempt to catch her attention, Edward began to weep.

-One Year Later-

Alphonse perched happily on Trisha's lap and manually turned her head to face him.  "Mom, I have to read for one of my parents for school," he announced.  Though her expression remained blank, he settled in her lap and opened a school reading book.

He read cheerfully while his older brother worked on a set of multiplication problems.  Envy entered the house in silence, dragging his left foot behind him indifferently.  He did not speak as to how his foot fell to injury, and he did not complain.  Nonetheless, Edward eyed Envy cautiously.

"Runt, what are you doing?" Envy asked.

"Who are you calling so-puny-you-could-squish-with-an-eyelash?" he exclaimed.

He ignored the exaggerating outburst.  "What are you doing?"

"Doing my homework!"

"Have you made your mother dinner yet?"

"Well, no…"

"Hop to it," he ordered.

As Ed stood to do so, he froze to see his father emerge from the basement.  "Edward, come downstairs.  I need you," he commanded.

Though his instincts begged him to disobey, Edward followed his father to the laboratory.  He eyed the familiar tools and felt instantly nauseous.  "Dad, what are we doing?"

He pat a hand on a long, desk-like table beckoningly.  "Up here," he replied as he gathered several notebooks and a box of utensils.

Edward hoisted himself on the table, dangling his legs off the side.  "Okay, what now?"

"Take off your socks."

He tugged off his socks and dropped them to the floor.  "Are we poking my feet with your pen again today?"

"Hold out your hands," Hoenheim instructed, "Palms up."  When his son obeyed, he withdrew a long soft chicken feather to drag gently along each palm.

"Which tickled more?" Hoenheim asked.

Edward flexed the fingers of his right hand.

Hoenheim performed the same action along the bottoms of his son's feet.  "How about now?"

He wriggled his left foot.  "This one."

"Lay down, son," Hoenheim instructed with a pat on the table.

"You're not giving me more shots, are you, Dad?" he asked hopefully, loathsome of needles.

"No," he replied.  Picking up a sharp tool, Hoenheim ran his thumb along the lengthy blade to examine the sharpness.  "Now stay still."

Edward wondered why he need to stay still-or face force, as he had discovered from experience-until he felt the blade press down on his shoulder.  The blade quickly continued down and hit muscle, causing a long bloodcurdling scream to reverberate against the thick walls.

~~~

"Pinako," Hoenheim barked as he pounded against the front door of the Rockbell home.  "Pinako, open up!"

A small, elderly woman opened the door to squint up at the scroungy-looking man.  "Elric," she asked in bewilderment, "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"It's my son Edward," he replied quickly, "He was playing in the equipment in the barn."

"Oh, dear, God!" she gasped.  "Is he all right?"

"He's in the car with Envy and Alphonse."  He turned back to the rain to lead the woman to the car.  "I managed to slow the bleeding, and he's conscious."

Hoenheim opened the back door to reveal Envy cradling Edward in his arms, Alphonse sobbing in the corner of the backseat in horror.  Envy looked pale, but he focused on keeping Edward awake and monitored the boy's responsiveness.

Pinako saw Envy's shirt was soaked with blood, Edward's bleeding right shoulder the culprit.  A towel remained wrapped at the boy's left thigh to not allow the vehicle to become as saturated.  "Where is his arm and leg?" she asked.

"I couldn't save them."

"Get him inside," she ordered, "Quickly."

As Envy moved to exit the vehicle, Pinako rushed inside and began rushing around to prepare the spare room and the gurney within.  Her young granddaughter entered and stood by the door.

"Grandma, who was at the door?  What happened?" she asked.

"There's been an accident," Pinako replied.

Hoenheim's hand gently gripped the blond girl's shoulder to move her aside.  "Excuse us, Winry," he muttered.

Envy followed with Edward in tow, laying him on the bed carefully.  Pinako quickly worked to stabilize the boy while Hoenheim shooed Envy and Winry from the room.  While the vigorous little woman prepared sets of painkillers and tourniquets, she attempted to check the boy's mental state to calculate how much blood he had lost.

"Hey, pipsqueak, what's your name?" she snapped.

"I'm not…" he panted weakly, "…short, you old bat."

She smirked and administered an injection directly to his shoulder.  When he cried out feebly, she prodded, "Name?" to distract him.

"Edward Elric," he whimpered.

"How old are you, Ed?"

"Eight," he replied.

His head arched back against the pillow and he cried out in pain as she injected his leg's remnants with the same drug.  "I'll take it from here, Hoenheim," Pinako declared as her fingers nimbly began working over the wounds to stop the bleeding.

"Take Envy and Al home," she advised, "And give them a good supper.  I don't want them to go into shock over this."

"Thank you, Pinako," Hoenheim replied.

After hours of Pinako's expert precision, she injected the boy with a mild sedative to help him sleep.  He awoke in the morning to the room, lit wonderfully by daylight shining through the window.

A young girl with shoulder-length, straight, blond hair sat in a chair beside him.  "You're awake!" she cheered.

Edward stared into space for several moments as he recollected the previous day.  He had no desire to look at his aching limbs, or lack thereof, to assure himself of the event.  Instead, he turned to see his guest.  Her hands fiddled with the hem of her pink dress with a few of the tiny red flowers, a loose string that caught her fancy between her fingertips.  When he looked up at her curious face, he saw her bangs pushed to one side and thought her hair's brilliant color matched that of the sun on a warm summer day.

"Grandma Pinako told me your name is Edward, and your mommy was friends with my parents before they died," she chirped.

Eyeing her cautiously, he replied, "I guess so… Who are you?"

She grinned joyously.  "I'm Winry Rockbell."  Watching his bandages carefully, analyzing how the gauze wrapped around his shoulder, she asked, "What are you going to do now, since you don't have your arm and leg?"

He answered apprehensively, afraid the conversation was some form of trap.  "I don't know…"

"…Have you thought about auto-mail?"