Title: Let Fly

Mangaverse, if only because the personality of anime Hohenheim is lacking.

Hohenheim centric, inspired by Nefertekas on deviantart.

Summary: He used to scare away the monsters underneath his sons' beds.

No warnings, some angst. One of my dearest wishes would be to own FMA. So, until my magic lamp is unpacked, it belongs to Hiromu Arakawa.

Let Fly

Before, when he was a father and both of his children could fit in his arms and his wife was alive and waiting with a smile when he woke – he had a task.

More and more often then, he would be locked in his study, searching, desperately, for the answers that would fix everything/had to fix everything, so sometimes he would miss meals. Sometimes he would miss the goodnight kisses and twinkling eyes and the begging for a story, please, daddy, please... and his wife usually took care of those things. But there was one thing that he did do.

When he would be in his study, sometimes the door would open, and there would be the sound of small feet, so impossibly small, and he would feel one of his children looking at him, staring at his back, as he scribbled another note, flipped through another book.

“There’s a monster under the bed,” one of his children would say. “Can you scare it away?”

He would look back at one of his children, and he would see that they did not ask this question because they thought him more frightening than their mother (though that was true), but they would ask him because he was daddy and because he was supposed to be strong enough and powerful enough to protect them from everything/anything.

He used to scare away the monsters under his sons’ beds because, after all, imaginary terrors of little boys are easily scared away by a real monster. Later, when his sons’ beds were burned and their mother was buried, and he no longer had any right to be their father, they were in danger from monsters again.

There were no sheets that could be lifted, no easy banishing gaze.

The monsters were there, and this time – they really could take his children away.
 

Fic Two:

Title: Breaking Point

Mangaverse, for no particular reason.

Summary: People like Maes Hughes aren't supposed to die.

No warnings, but heavy angst.

Breaking Point

People like Maes Hughes don’t die.

They can’t. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. They’re too kind, too funny and brave and alert and strong to die. People like Maes Hughes have enough energy- enough heart –to keep them going for many long years after lesser men would’ve passed on.

People like Maes Hughes don’t die. They can’t.

But he did. It was his kindness that killed him, his wanting to help, his intelligence and bravery that killed him. As a child Roy had been told not to fear monsters, but monsters came anyway, come and stole Maes Hughes away, stole him away from his life and his family even though that’s not how it’s supposed to work. It’s not supposed to happen like that. It can’t.

People like Maes Hughes are supposed to be there forever. People like Maes Hughes are supposed to be the behind-the-scenes-heroes – the heroes that are always there, that make it so the recognized hero achieves his goal. Without people like Maes Hughes, the heroes don’t win.

Roy Mustang had been through hell. Not like FullMetal had been- no, Roy had seen a far different kind of hell. That hell had been Ishbal.

In war, people died. Roy knew that. He’d always known that. It was what happened- cause and effect- like science; like alchemy. People died, and no amount of pleading would bring them back. But Roy had never truly known anyone that had died in that war- a few subordinates that he’d only had a chance to exchange a few words with before they were blown apart, and all those living were splattered with their remains, told to leave the bodies of their comrades to save their own skins. And then people on the other side died too. Children and women- pregnant mothers, and brand-new fathers, young boys that had a love waiting for them. They all died.

Roy had thought that after Ishbal nothing would surprise him as far as people went. People would die, and people would do despicable things. Humanity could sink to the lowest forms of evil imagined. He knew that. He sought to change it, but for the time accepted the fact. People die. But not people like Maes Hughes.

He’d thought he couldn’t feel worse, more guilty; that he couldn’t feel more terror or sadness. But he’d been wrong.

It didn’t make sense. He’d never shed a tear for the Ishbalans he’d killed- he’d screamed and had nightmares and sunk deep inside himself, but never, never, had he cried. In war, people died. He didn’t like killing, and he swore to himself that he would never repeat his mistakes from Ishbal, but he still knew that people died in war.

But best friends don’t die.

Naïve. That’s what Maes Hughes had called him. And, as always, he was right. But Roy hadn’t realized just how naïve he was, until now.

He’d read books and novels, heard stories and songs- everything that life showed, that people told each other, spoke of how people like Maes Hughes couldn’t die. But Roy knew now, people like Maes Hughes died every day, leaving behind people like him, who could only try to keep going when all that had made sense was no more.

Cause and effect. Alchemy. Deconstruction and reconstruction. Flame. The line, the point of reason. Rationality.

People like Maes Hughes weren’t supposed to die, but when they did, those they left behind could never understand why- they couldn’t lay it out and examine the hows and reasons. All that mattered was that they were gone; they were gone when they were supposed to live forever.

People like Maes Hughes don’t die. They can’t.

But he did.

Roy’s life was mixed now, the line between his personal life, and his work life was now blurred, almost nonexistent. He would live, to see his dreams come true. He would live to change the country. And he would live to remember, to avenge, Maes Hughes.

(*(*(*(*(*)*)*)*)*)

He put on his hat. “I’m fine,” he said. She could tell that he was lying and he knew it. “Oh, look...” He said. “It’s starting to rain.”

He could feel her staring at him. “No.. It’s no-”

“Yes, it is.” His voice was firm, but almost pleading. “This is rain.”

For a moment, she was quiet. “Yes, sir. Come on inside. It’s...getting cold.”

He could still feel the tracks of water down his face. He’d thought that a part of him had been broken in Ishbal, but now he realized that it had only been bent- stretched. But no more. He’d reached that place of no turning back- that point which changes you forever.

People like Maes Hughes weren’t supposed to die. But he did.

And if not for Riza, as she walked by his side, if not for the one person that he now trusted above anyone else, he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to follow his path. And he knew that she had seen in him, during those few moments of silence, a gentle crumbling, and deafening shatter.

Riza frowned, and sighed.

People like Maes Hughes weren’t supposed to die.