All Saints' Day-- Hed.
Nov. 2nd, 2005 02:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lykomancerTitle: All Saints' Day
Pairing: Kinda-sorta-almost Hohenheim/Ed
Words: 2,050
Genre: ...angstish, fluffish. More or less gen.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: EoS
Warnings: Something almost incesty, but not really.
Dedication: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
devils_devotion, who requested a drabble with the cue of "simul istus et peccator" which means "simultaneously justified and a sinner" (or "simultaneously a saint and a sinner"), which is the theology at the heart of Lutheran soteriology.
Other notes: Sorry, Demi, this came out far, far more gen than I intended. I tried. I tried really hard. (So hard it became a whole fic in the attempt!) And I failed. Blah; I don't think this is all that great, and I'm really sorry for that, too.
When he heard the boy's screams, he didn't think; the terrible high-pitched noise pulled him up out of his shallow sleep and across the hall as though he was yanked by a cold hand that reached through his flesh to grip his heart-- there was no time for thought, only stupid animal emotion. Despair and sorrow gave strength to the reedy cry, and it sent shivering reverberations through the elder's ancient soul-- a butterfly tremble of emotion like the vibration that lingers in the air for a few endless moments after a bell has stopped ringing.
"Edward!"
Broad hands tore at the blankets and slid around the younger's sweat-slick torso, jerking him upright; Hohenheim crushed his son against his chest, trying to stifle his cries against his shoulder, calm his erratically beating heart by pressing him close against the steady tempo of his own. He breathed the boy's name against his ear with every exhale, smelling the sharp bite of fear in the salt-drenched strings of blond hair brushing against his nose, flavoring his lips with a taste like tears.
Ed twisted in his arms, giving a shuddering moan-- awake now but still gripped by the nightmare that had been so horrible as to make him scream aloud-- and Hohenheim's hold on him tightened for a moment as he perversely savored this one moment that he could hold onto his temperamental golden child and not be shoved away-- clutching onto this too-brief window of opportunity when he could do what he most longed to do and take advantage of the boy's shakiness and need in the aftermath of his dream.
It was bittersweet, but Hohenheim relished the bitterness as much as the sweetness. It was, after all, his own actions that had resulted in his own son's standoffishness toward him, and ultimately, his own abandonment of his family that had lead his children to their wild gamble in an attempt to regain the one parent they'd had left...and the lack of his presence that had allowed for the boy's unchecked progress in alchemy-- development that had been disproportionately vigorous and wild, like the rampant spread of a cancerous growth, shooting dark tendrils through their young minds and corrupting them with power they did not and could not fully comprehend.
He buried his face into the crook of Ed's neck, feeling the corded muscle flutter as the boy struggled to compose himself, swallowing hard and panting, his breath fast and hot against Hohenheim's collarbones; Ed was already starting to weakly push at him, squirm in protest at being held so close as though he was still a small child, but his moments were more restless and discomforted than genuine gestures of independence, and the elder Elric was stronger and calmer, starting to stroke the his son's still damp sleep-tangled hair.
"What was it?" A low soothing baritone like silk whispering between them, shared secrets in the dark in moments of vulnerability. "Was it Alphonse?"
Ed hesitated, then gave an almost resentful feeling nod, some of the tension squeezing his body uncoiling and melting away. He drew in one last hard, shuddering breath, and then glanced upwards, pulling back a little. His eyes narrowed, gleaming hard in the cool moonlight streaming in the single small window, but then he seemed to change his mind about whatever he was going to say and shook his head, blowing it off.
There was still something on his tongue, though; Hohenheim could tell by the way his lips pressed together and his gaze stuttered from his father's face to around the room and back, and he waited patiently for Ed to speak his peace, drawing back to give the boy more of the space he craved while yet still rubbing his thumb against the smooth curve of his bicep.
Finally Ed's gaze stopped on Hohenheim once more, looking him over with a studious attention to detail that made him acutely conscious that he'd run out of his own room without so much as grabbing a robe to throw over his bare body, and that those tiger-bright eyes were looking at the pied pattern of livid necrosis spattered across his skin. It made him shrink back, his hand dropping away as he stared down at the blankets.
"I hadn't realized...how extensive it was," Ed murmured, reaching out as if to brush the tips of his fingers over on patch...and then stopping short, either disgusted at the idea of touching it or else afraid of causing pain. "It's... It's spreading faster, isn't it? With time?"
"I'm sorry..." Hohenheim's voice was rough, unsteady; he was taken aback as Ed drew attention away from himself and his razor-edged subconscious and turned it onto his father. "You shouldn't have to see that. I...I wasn't thinking when I heard y--"
A cool, inhumanly smooth hand grazed his chest, and Hohenheim looked up, startled, to find his son staring back at him, his eyes almost blazing with intensity. His right hand drifted just above his heart, the clumsy digits half-curled until Ed pressed down a little and they splayed out from the pressure. His fingers slid across smooth, unblemished skin; his palm rested against black gangrene.
"I can't feel that." Ed's gaze never wavered. "I can't feel the difference...not with this hand. You know why, old man? I can't feel anything with it, because it's metal and plastic." He half-turned, tipping his head toward his shoulder and its gruesome scars, the poorly-made prosthetic mismatched and painfully chafing, the thick leather belt slashing diagonally across his chest to hold it in place. "You've seen my scars, my payment for the taboo I chose to break-- hell, you're the one who gave me this to replace my automail-- but you're still afraid of your own, burying it under layers of clothes and that stinking cologne. You're not afraid of me seeing it; you are the one unwilling to face your own sins."
"You were dreaming about your brother." Hohenheim met his son's eyes steadily. "You're afraid that you've lost him again, aren't you? Even when you've never actually lost him...even though you saved him from being completely devoured by the Gate, you'd still lost Alphonse as you'd known him-- the warmth and strength of his body, his touch, the scent and familiar sight of him. And now even though you got that all back, you still can't touch him, still can't see his smile. You work so hard, desperate to get back to him...but you never talk about how much you must miss him. Never, not once in the year you've been here. You--"
"Talking about it doesn't open up a path leading back to Central. Talk, talk, talk..." Ed almost spat, but then his voice lost its edge and he shook his head wearily, finally pulling his gaze away to stare outside. The full moon was floating out of the encompassing frame of the window, drifting free and high into the velvet sky. "Our mistakes... Our sins..."
Hohenheim flinched a little at that particular word, sighing. "Let it go, Edward. Just let it go and move on. You can't--"
"Yes, I can!" Ah, there was Ed's anger again, reappearing from its hidey-hole, snarling and growling, its needle-like teeth bared; the younger Elric sat up more firmly, his fingers digging at Hohenheim's chest. "'Move on'? What kind of a joke is that? I can't just 'move on'...one error and my life-- our lives-- were destroyed, set on this path. I can't 'let it go' when we've still lost so much. I can't when it means failure, and I won't have that; we didn't fight our way this far to give up now! And... And I know...that you have to come to grips with your mistakes and faults and rectify what you can before you can even try to release all that..."
"Guilt?"
"...anger and pain."
Hohenheim smiled then, a gentle glow in his eyes, and he reached out to stroke his son's sunbright hair, weaving the strands through the warp of his fingers, and then tracing down along his jawline, a little rough despite his daily shaving. Ed startled, looking petulant for a brief second, but then the broad thumb brushed over his lips with infinite tenderness, wiping the tenseness away.
"This world, believe it or not, isn't Purgatory, Edward," he said softly, still smiling. "There's no more reason to suffer for your sins to be forgiven. They already have been...haven't they? No one blames you for anything anymore, and I doubt anyone did in the beginning...except yourself, of course; you are hard on yourself, harder than anyone who knows you and of what you did. You insist on shouldering the blame you no longer have to carry. Yes, you are a sinner..."
"But..."
Hohenheim replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing the protest away before Ed had even managed to formulate it entirely and taking advantage of the young man's startled freeze to linger for a moment longer than might have been appropriate, tasting the bitterness of long-shed tears and determination on his lips and savoring it as he pulled back.
"But we are all sinners, Edward, and those who accept their sins and truly repent are saints as well." The elder gave a low, amused laugh. He didn't expect Ed to understand or agree-- he did have a few centuries' life experience more than his son, and Ed was stubborn; he'd make himself drag his millstone just because he felt he should and because it was familiar. But maybe...maybe hearing forgiveness-- hearing sanctification-- from the tongue of someone deeper in sin than himself would start to heal some of those twisted, festering scars.
Ed sank back down against the mattress, twisting his hands deep in the goosedown pillow and pressing his face against the cool linens, hiding his confused expression and closing his eyes.
"That's all you're good for, old man. Bullshit like that. Like you know anything about it. Like that kind of stupidity means anything. You're talking nonsense again and it's annoying. I don't need your forgiveness or advice or whatever the hell that was. I'll find my own way."
"Of course you will." Ed cracked an eye open to peer suspiciously at Hohenheim, but there was nothing condescending about his tone or expression. No...in fact...he looked almost...wistful? Proud? It was strange, and Ed shut his eyes again tightly against it. There was nothing he could say to those words in that voice, not now in the quiet dead hours between midnight and the firebirth of dawn, not when there was so much nakedness-- figuratively and literally-- between them. Not now, when he'd come in to comfort him in the wake of his nightmares, holding him like no one else except his brother had, breathing relief into his ears.
"Hey," he said moodily. The night was stretching its limbs out, long and sinuous, and if he went to sleep, maybe it would sink its claws into him again.
"Hm?"
"If... If I go back to sleep, I'm likely to have another nightmare."
Ed wasn't saying what he really meant again, and Hohenheim knew it, but that was fine; he understood what the younger wanted without him having to actually say it.
"No, you won't. I'll stay. I'll stay tonight."
Ed bit at his lip, looking like he wanted to protest this even though it was want he wanted-- perhaps that was too much emotional vulnerability; he wanted to object to the need for it now...but he didn't want to be alone anymore, and if he couldn't have Alphonse, then...
There was another light kiss to his temple and then the bed shifted as the heavier weight redistributed and pressed warm against him before drawing the blankets up; Ed thought again about the ugly patches of rot brindling Hohenheim's body, and then a strong arm slid around his ribs and nestled against his nonfeeling hard prosthetic, not shying away from its unnaturalness.
Ed breathed deeply. It took a sinner to know another, and that was enough for him. He didn't need salvation or redemption, not anymore, and he didn't look for forgiveness...but acknowledgment and acceptance? He was comfortable with that; it was all he needed.
"Good night, old man."
Pairing: Kinda-sorta-almost Hohenheim/Ed
Words: 2,050
Genre: ...angstish, fluffish. More or less gen.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: EoS
Warnings: Something almost incesty, but not really.
Dedication: For
devils_devotion, who requested a drabble with the cue of "simul istus et peccator" which means "simultaneously justified and a sinner" (or "simultaneously a saint and a sinner"), which is the theology at the heart of Lutheran soteriology. Other notes: Sorry, Demi, this came out far, far more gen than I intended. I tried. I tried really hard. (So hard it became a whole fic in the attempt!) And I failed. Blah; I don't think this is all that great, and I'm really sorry for that, too.
When he heard the boy's screams, he didn't think; the terrible high-pitched noise pulled him up out of his shallow sleep and across the hall as though he was yanked by a cold hand that reached through his flesh to grip his heart-- there was no time for thought, only stupid animal emotion. Despair and sorrow gave strength to the reedy cry, and it sent shivering reverberations through the elder's ancient soul-- a butterfly tremble of emotion like the vibration that lingers in the air for a few endless moments after a bell has stopped ringing.
"Edward!"
Broad hands tore at the blankets and slid around the younger's sweat-slick torso, jerking him upright; Hohenheim crushed his son against his chest, trying to stifle his cries against his shoulder, calm his erratically beating heart by pressing him close against the steady tempo of his own. He breathed the boy's name against his ear with every exhale, smelling the sharp bite of fear in the salt-drenched strings of blond hair brushing against his nose, flavoring his lips with a taste like tears.
Ed twisted in his arms, giving a shuddering moan-- awake now but still gripped by the nightmare that had been so horrible as to make him scream aloud-- and Hohenheim's hold on him tightened for a moment as he perversely savored this one moment that he could hold onto his temperamental golden child and not be shoved away-- clutching onto this too-brief window of opportunity when he could do what he most longed to do and take advantage of the boy's shakiness and need in the aftermath of his dream.
It was bittersweet, but Hohenheim relished the bitterness as much as the sweetness. It was, after all, his own actions that had resulted in his own son's standoffishness toward him, and ultimately, his own abandonment of his family that had lead his children to their wild gamble in an attempt to regain the one parent they'd had left...and the lack of his presence that had allowed for the boy's unchecked progress in alchemy-- development that had been disproportionately vigorous and wild, like the rampant spread of a cancerous growth, shooting dark tendrils through their young minds and corrupting them with power they did not and could not fully comprehend.
He buried his face into the crook of Ed's neck, feeling the corded muscle flutter as the boy struggled to compose himself, swallowing hard and panting, his breath fast and hot against Hohenheim's collarbones; Ed was already starting to weakly push at him, squirm in protest at being held so close as though he was still a small child, but his moments were more restless and discomforted than genuine gestures of independence, and the elder Elric was stronger and calmer, starting to stroke the his son's still damp sleep-tangled hair.
"What was it?" A low soothing baritone like silk whispering between them, shared secrets in the dark in moments of vulnerability. "Was it Alphonse?"
Ed hesitated, then gave an almost resentful feeling nod, some of the tension squeezing his body uncoiling and melting away. He drew in one last hard, shuddering breath, and then glanced upwards, pulling back a little. His eyes narrowed, gleaming hard in the cool moonlight streaming in the single small window, but then he seemed to change his mind about whatever he was going to say and shook his head, blowing it off.
There was still something on his tongue, though; Hohenheim could tell by the way his lips pressed together and his gaze stuttered from his father's face to around the room and back, and he waited patiently for Ed to speak his peace, drawing back to give the boy more of the space he craved while yet still rubbing his thumb against the smooth curve of his bicep.
Finally Ed's gaze stopped on Hohenheim once more, looking him over with a studious attention to detail that made him acutely conscious that he'd run out of his own room without so much as grabbing a robe to throw over his bare body, and that those tiger-bright eyes were looking at the pied pattern of livid necrosis spattered across his skin. It made him shrink back, his hand dropping away as he stared down at the blankets.
"I hadn't realized...how extensive it was," Ed murmured, reaching out as if to brush the tips of his fingers over on patch...and then stopping short, either disgusted at the idea of touching it or else afraid of causing pain. "It's... It's spreading faster, isn't it? With time?"
"I'm sorry..." Hohenheim's voice was rough, unsteady; he was taken aback as Ed drew attention away from himself and his razor-edged subconscious and turned it onto his father. "You shouldn't have to see that. I...I wasn't thinking when I heard y--"
A cool, inhumanly smooth hand grazed his chest, and Hohenheim looked up, startled, to find his son staring back at him, his eyes almost blazing with intensity. His right hand drifted just above his heart, the clumsy digits half-curled until Ed pressed down a little and they splayed out from the pressure. His fingers slid across smooth, unblemished skin; his palm rested against black gangrene.
"I can't feel that." Ed's gaze never wavered. "I can't feel the difference...not with this hand. You know why, old man? I can't feel anything with it, because it's metal and plastic." He half-turned, tipping his head toward his shoulder and its gruesome scars, the poorly-made prosthetic mismatched and painfully chafing, the thick leather belt slashing diagonally across his chest to hold it in place. "You've seen my scars, my payment for the taboo I chose to break-- hell, you're the one who gave me this to replace my automail-- but you're still afraid of your own, burying it under layers of clothes and that stinking cologne. You're not afraid of me seeing it; you are the one unwilling to face your own sins."
"You were dreaming about your brother." Hohenheim met his son's eyes steadily. "You're afraid that you've lost him again, aren't you? Even when you've never actually lost him...even though you saved him from being completely devoured by the Gate, you'd still lost Alphonse as you'd known him-- the warmth and strength of his body, his touch, the scent and familiar sight of him. And now even though you got that all back, you still can't touch him, still can't see his smile. You work so hard, desperate to get back to him...but you never talk about how much you must miss him. Never, not once in the year you've been here. You--"
"Talking about it doesn't open up a path leading back to Central. Talk, talk, talk..." Ed almost spat, but then his voice lost its edge and he shook his head wearily, finally pulling his gaze away to stare outside. The full moon was floating out of the encompassing frame of the window, drifting free and high into the velvet sky. "Our mistakes... Our sins..."
Hohenheim flinched a little at that particular word, sighing. "Let it go, Edward. Just let it go and move on. You can't--"
"Yes, I can!" Ah, there was Ed's anger again, reappearing from its hidey-hole, snarling and growling, its needle-like teeth bared; the younger Elric sat up more firmly, his fingers digging at Hohenheim's chest. "'Move on'? What kind of a joke is that? I can't just 'move on'...one error and my life-- our lives-- were destroyed, set on this path. I can't 'let it go' when we've still lost so much. I can't when it means failure, and I won't have that; we didn't fight our way this far to give up now! And... And I know...that you have to come to grips with your mistakes and faults and rectify what you can before you can even try to release all that..."
"Guilt?"
"...anger and pain."
Hohenheim smiled then, a gentle glow in his eyes, and he reached out to stroke his son's sunbright hair, weaving the strands through the warp of his fingers, and then tracing down along his jawline, a little rough despite his daily shaving. Ed startled, looking petulant for a brief second, but then the broad thumb brushed over his lips with infinite tenderness, wiping the tenseness away.
"This world, believe it or not, isn't Purgatory, Edward," he said softly, still smiling. "There's no more reason to suffer for your sins to be forgiven. They already have been...haven't they? No one blames you for anything anymore, and I doubt anyone did in the beginning...except yourself, of course; you are hard on yourself, harder than anyone who knows you and of what you did. You insist on shouldering the blame you no longer have to carry. Yes, you are a sinner..."
"But..."
Hohenheim replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing the protest away before Ed had even managed to formulate it entirely and taking advantage of the young man's startled freeze to linger for a moment longer than might have been appropriate, tasting the bitterness of long-shed tears and determination on his lips and savoring it as he pulled back.
"But we are all sinners, Edward, and those who accept their sins and truly repent are saints as well." The elder gave a low, amused laugh. He didn't expect Ed to understand or agree-- he did have a few centuries' life experience more than his son, and Ed was stubborn; he'd make himself drag his millstone just because he felt he should and because it was familiar. But maybe...maybe hearing forgiveness-- hearing sanctification-- from the tongue of someone deeper in sin than himself would start to heal some of those twisted, festering scars.
Ed sank back down against the mattress, twisting his hands deep in the goosedown pillow and pressing his face against the cool linens, hiding his confused expression and closing his eyes.
"That's all you're good for, old man. Bullshit like that. Like you know anything about it. Like that kind of stupidity means anything. You're talking nonsense again and it's annoying. I don't need your forgiveness or advice or whatever the hell that was. I'll find my own way."
"Of course you will." Ed cracked an eye open to peer suspiciously at Hohenheim, but there was nothing condescending about his tone or expression. No...in fact...he looked almost...wistful? Proud? It was strange, and Ed shut his eyes again tightly against it. There was nothing he could say to those words in that voice, not now in the quiet dead hours between midnight and the firebirth of dawn, not when there was so much nakedness-- figuratively and literally-- between them. Not now, when he'd come in to comfort him in the wake of his nightmares, holding him like no one else except his brother had, breathing relief into his ears.
"Hey," he said moodily. The night was stretching its limbs out, long and sinuous, and if he went to sleep, maybe it would sink its claws into him again.
"Hm?"
"If... If I go back to sleep, I'm likely to have another nightmare."
Ed wasn't saying what he really meant again, and Hohenheim knew it, but that was fine; he understood what the younger wanted without him having to actually say it.
"No, you won't. I'll stay. I'll stay tonight."
Ed bit at his lip, looking like he wanted to protest this even though it was want he wanted-- perhaps that was too much emotional vulnerability; he wanted to object to the need for it now...but he didn't want to be alone anymore, and if he couldn't have Alphonse, then...
There was another light kiss to his temple and then the bed shifted as the heavier weight redistributed and pressed warm against him before drawing the blankets up; Ed thought again about the ugly patches of rot brindling Hohenheim's body, and then a strong arm slid around his ribs and nestled against his nonfeeling hard prosthetic, not shying away from its unnaturalness.
Ed breathed deeply. It took a sinner to know another, and that was enough for him. He didn't need salvation or redemption, not anymore, and he didn't look for forgiveness...but acknowledgment and acceptance? He was comfortable with that; it was all he needed.
"Good night, old man."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-11-01 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-01 09:14 pm (UTC)You do such an awsome job at depicting these
characters! You're my hero! ^-^
*huggles you*
no subject
Date: 2005-11-04 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-07 03:16 pm (UTC)