Fanfic #178 the tin can man by Marcellebelle(FMAXMyHeroAcademia)

This fanfic is a fusion between Full Metal Alchemist and My Hero Academia following the cast of FMA fused into into the word of MHA. Full disclosure this fic is pretty angsty, but I really like it because of the amazing world building, with the way the author is able to fuse the worlds together to make interesting characters with great backstories.

Synopsis:

Ed loves his little brother. Their dad isn't exactly great at the whole parenting thing, but that just means Ed has to pick up the slack. Which is fine. They have each other, and it's not as though he's going to let anything happen to Al—and Ed knows that one day, Al will become an amazing hero. Or: There isn't a world in which Ed doesn't sacrifice everything to save his brother.

Rated: T

words: 91k

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428537/chapters/64386709

Here's the first chapter:

Ed is three when his quirk manifests.

It's mid-afternoon and Daddy isn't home from work yet. The sun is still high in the sky and it's a warm day, so Mummy spreads a large picnic blanket out on the lawn and gives Ed his favourite plushie to play with. The smiling face of All Might is squished, clutched between small, sticky fingers.

Mummy falls asleep in the lawn chair with baby Al. She's always napping, but Ed isn't allowed to poke her awake. The last time he tried, Daddy ended up putting Ed on the naughty-step for three whole minutes and Ed cried.

Daddy hugged him afterwards. "Mummy needs her rest," he'd told Ed, his glasses sliding off the end of his nose.

She looks pretty because she has a green shawl wrapped around her head and it's the same colour as her eyes. He likes her eyes, even though they don't match his. His eyes match Daddy's and his hair does too. Daddy's hair is yellow, like the sun.

Mummy used to have hair the colour of red clay-mud. She cries sometimes, because she misses it, but Ed secretly thinks green is much prettier. Green is like the grass and the leaves on the trees. The green grass is soft and tickly, and the trees are fun to climb in.

Mummy is sleeping, but Ed wants to play. He's bored of the plushie, and he's not allowed to go anywhere on his own yet. He toddles over to the white picket fence and peeks through one of the gaps. Winry isn't there but Mrs Rockbell is weeding her flower beds and catches him staring.

Mrs Rockbell is older than Mummy and Daddy. Ed knows this because she has lines and only old people have lines. He used to think being bald was just for old people too, but now he knows that isn't true. Mummy is bald, but she isn't old because she doesn't have lines on her face. Mrs Rockbell's lines crinkle even more when she's smiling, so Ed thinks it's probably a good thing that she doesn't smile very much.

Mrs Rockbell comes over to the fence and peers down at him. "Hello, young man," she says, crossly. She always sounds a bit cross, but she has taffy in her apron pockets, so Ed likes her.

Ed holds out a hand. "Can I have a taffy?" he asks.

Mrs Rockbell exhales grumpily and raises a grey eyebrow. "What's the magic word?"

Ed thinks for a moment and then smiles triumphantly. "Can I please have a taffy?" he widens his eyes, looking up at her. "Please?"

"You may," she stresses the word and roots around in her apron, pulling out a paper wrapped piece of pastel-blue taffy. "Mind you don't choke," she warns as she reaches down to hand it to him.

The taffy tastes like bubblegum, and Ed squeaks in delight as he munches on it.

Mrs Rockbell glances over his head with a frown on her face, but she waits until Ed has finished his sweet before she speaks. "Is your mummy asleep again, Edward?"

Ed bobs his head emphatically and turns to look at Mummy. Her chest rises and falls softly, and her mouth is open. She must be very sleepy. "She's always sleeping," he looks back at Mrs Rockbell. "Baby Al is sleeping too. I'm bored; can Winry come and play with me?"

Mrs Rockbell shakes her head. "Winry isn't here today. You make sure to play quietly for your mummy, you hear me?" She looks down at him sternly. "Don't you start behaving like a little rascal now. I'll be keeping an eye on you."

Ed deflates, the prospect of a playmate now a distant dream. Mrs Rockbell keeps an eye on him a lot. He isn't sure what it means, but she stays out in her garden when she says that, and scolds him when he's too loud or tries to climb the fence. He might get a taffy again if he's good, but now he has to be quiet.

"Okay," he says glumly.

Mrs Rockbell reaches over the fence and pats his head. "Run along then," she bustles away and Ed watches through the gap as she gets to her knees, pulling weeds with vigour.

He tries to play quietly, but there's nothing really to do,and he ends up lying on the picnic blanket, hitting All Might with a stick he digs up from beneath the weeping willow. All Might doesn't look upset at this sudden mistreatment, his grin still wide and aimless. Ed feels immediately guilty, and hugs him tight, because he knows that sometimes people smile even when they're sad. Like Daddy.

Daddy is sad all the time, but he smiles at Ed anyway and lets him play with his glasses. Daddy's glasses make everything all blurry and Ed thinks he must really like it because he's always wearing them, even when he kisses Mummy.

Ed likes kisses, especially Mummy's kisses, because they're soft. Daddy gives him kisses too, but those ones are prickly and tickle his tummy. Ed doesn't not like them, but he likes Mummy's more.

He misses Mummy. He's not sure it makes sense because she's right there, but she's also sleeping, and that means no cuddles and no kisses.

When he looks back at her, his chest feels tight and weird, and he wants to scream but he's not allowed, and, and—

All Might is still grinning.

Ed hates him.

All Might turns to dust in his hands.

Ed is five when Mummy falls.

She's folding laundry, and Ed is helping. Al thinks he's helping, but he really isn't, and Ed has to scold him because Mummy is tired and she likes to keep her energy for housework and hugs.

Al is whining because he's bored. Ed takes a pair of socks and holds the seams together, pulling and pressing the woven fabric. Al watches in rapture, his little face gleeful as he beholds the sock puppets his brother hands him.

"I'm gonna have a quirk like yours," Al says.

Then there is a strange clatter behind them and they turn to look. Mummy is moaning and swaying, clutching her head as her legs tremble. "Call Daddy," she chokes, and her green eyes meet Ed's own. "Eddie—Edward, call—" she stops and falls to her knees and her eyelids flicker once, twice, before she is folding in half, her head cracking against the tiled floor.

Ed feels frozen, his legs stiff and uncooperative. His heart beats off kilter, fluttering erratically against his rib cage. He opens his mouth, but he can't draw enough breath to make a sound.

"Mama!" Al, tiny, not yet four years old, trips forward, patting Mummy's pale face with his chubby baby palms. His green-gold eyes are wide with fright, but he isn't crying

Then again, neither is Ed.

"Mama, wake up!" Al tugs on her fingers. "Mama."

It's Al's despondent whisper that rouses Ed, and he clambers towards Mummy, climbing onto her stomach and pressing an ear to her chest. For a moment he can't hear anything, but then there is the steady thumping against his cheek.

He remembers the books Daddy reads to him, when it's late enough that the sun has set, and Mummy and Al have gone to bed: biology, chemistry, human anatomy. He knows he has to check Mummy's breathing. He knows he has to find her heartbeat.

Al doesn't like those books. Al likes dragons and fairies and princesses. Al likes the princes too, the ones that dash in on steads, rescuing those in need—the heroes.

Al likes stories. Ed prefers science.

Mummy is breathing. Ed can feel the soft puffs of air against his palm as he holds his hand over her nose and mouth—but she won't wake up, no matter how Al wails and clings.

Call Daddy.

But he doesn't know how. He hasn't been taught that yet. Mummy and Daddy's mobiles are for emergencies only. There's only one number he knows.

He finds her phone in her trouser pocket and taps the green icon.

One, one, nine, Ed presses the digits carefully. He holds it to his ear, because that's what Mummy does when she's calling someone. The glass is cold against his cheek and his fingers aren't long enough to wrap around the back, and he can't help it when the phone starts to slip.

"One, one, nine, what's your emergency?" The voice in his ear is tinny, and he has to strain to pick out the words.

"Mummy fell," Ed whispers. "She won't wake up," he starts to cry then, and he can't completely hear what the voice says next. "Please help," he sobs, because he's scared. "Please, please."

Ed is six when Mummy stops coming home.

It's gradual at first. Sometimes she doesn't come back for weeks, but then she's there again, smiling with crinkles at the corners of her green eyes, a matching scarf tied around her head.

She's home when they go to the doctor for their check-ups, and she holds Al as he bawls.

Daddy is there too, frowning. Ed clutches at his trouser leg, pressing his face into the back of his knee.

Al is nearly five, but he doesn't have a quirk yet.

Daddy used to laugh and say that he must just be a late bloomer, but Ed doesn't think he'll say it anymore, because the doctor says Al is quirkless.

"I want to b-be a h-h-hero," Al hiccups into Mummy's blouse. She soothes him, running skeletal hands over his blond tresses, clutching him to her rib cage. "It's n-not fair."

Ed doesn't think it's fair either. Al wants to be a hero, wants to save people. Ed wants to be a doctor. He doesn't need a quirk, not like Al does.

"You can have mine," he clambers through Daddy's legs, reaching for Al. "I don't want my quirk, Al, you can have mine—"

He is lifted before he can finish and held against a warm chest.

"It doesn't work like that," Daddy murmurs, when Ed looks up. "Quirks can't be transferred, Edward. You can't give yours to Al."

He sounds like he's crying.

Ed feels like crying too, and he buries his face in Daddy's neck, squeezing his eyes shut when Al's wails grow louder.

When they get home, Mummy holds Ed and Al close. "Remember boys," she says, softly. "It isn't the quirk that makes the hero, it's the heart," she presses her lips to the crown of Al's head. "I know you both have very special hearts."

They have to take Mummy back to the hospital that very night, because she starts to bleed and doesn't stop. Daddy is shaking, but he hugs Ed and Al anyway and tells them that everything will be okay.

It's not the first time Daddy has said that, but it's the first time Ed doesn't believe him.

Mummy doesn't come back home again. They visit her in a white room, wearing white robes and white masks, holding her hands through latex gloves. She smiles and calls them her boys. Ed's throat gets tight sometimes, when he lays his head on her bony chest, but he shows her his schoolwork diligently and she asks the nurses if they would tape his sums to the white walls. They see her every day, but they can't all day, and she always looks a little sad at home time.

Ed wonders if the white room is lonely.

On the day of his first funeral, Ed is six and a half.

Daddy is crying and Al is crying.

Mummy is in a box because the doctors couldn't save her. I'm sorry, but we couldn't save her.

"Could I have saved you?" Ed whispers, when it is his turn to throw a flower into the grave. "If I'd tried?"

She doesn't answer, but Ed doesn't expect her to because she is dead.

Dying means leaving forever.

He wishes he could have saved her.