Ed's First Conversation with His Father: A Soup of Unexpected Emotions

Listen. I know you've been a slave your whole life. I get that, and I'm sorry. That must have been hard. But you're a free man now. I don't want you to act like a slave anymore, alright? Just… be yourself around me. Like you were just now. And stop calling me 'sir'. I told you my name is Ed.'

Van Hohenheim didn't respond. His eyes were wide in shock.

'I guess you need time for this to sink in.' Tentatively, he put his hand on his shoulder. 'Come on, Hohenheim. You want to get some food? I'm starving.'

So overall, his first conversation with the teenage version of his father was… successful? Maybe?

Ed lead Hohenheim to the market, the latter too absorbed by his thoughts to pay attention to where they were going. Finally, the alchemist spotted a food vendor. The middle-aged woman had a huge cauldron with what resembled a stew, but the smell was a little different than what he was used to – was there a hint of mint in it? Either way, Ed was intrigued.

Hohenheim nearly bumped into him as he stopped.

'What's that?' Ed asked, pointing at the cauldron.

'That's pomegranate soup.'

'Is it good?'

Hohenheim didn't respond, probably still too out of it to focus. Ed mentally shrugged and decided to give it a try.

They ordered two bowls and it was all fine, until the woman said:

'...And here's one for your brother.'

Edward froze, the implication of those words slamming into him with the force of a train.

She thinks Hohenheim's my brother.

Everyone will think he's my brother.

Because he looks like you.

Because he looks like Alphonse.

Because Alphonse is gone.

Ed opened his mouth to explain that no, Hohenheim wasn't his brother, them looking alike was merely a coincidence. But the words wouldn't come. He was physically unable to deny them being related.

Why?

'What's the matter, dear boy?' the vendor asked with concern.

He looked at Hohenheim, who was looking at him with a strangely fearful expression.

Why can't you deny it...?

Because he's your father? That means nothing now.

Because you're lonely? Are you that desperate to keep any relative you have left?

Because you're so selfish that you want to hold onto him, even if he wants nothing to do with you?

….Are you trying to replace Al?

Ed had to close his eyes and shake his head in denial. No. He would never replace Al. No one could replace his little brother. No one.

But… he was that desperate. And selfish. He was finally ready to admit it to himself.

He wanted for Hohenheim to stay, because he was alone. It had been only three weeks in the past, and yet he was already falling apart.

'Nothing, I'm fine. How- how much?' Eventually he managed to speak. He was sure the others noticed his loss of composure, but they were polite enough not to comment.

Ed paid for the food, thanked the vendor and went to sit down, hiding his face behind his bangs. No way he was going to cry. Not in public, and especially not in front of Hohenheim. He had embarrassed himself enough. The others must think he's crazy, freaking out like that for no reason. Slowly, he put himself together, pushing back all those unwanted thoughts and feelings back into his nightmare box, where they belonged.

Sensing Hohenheim's stare, he looked up. The other was just sitting there, stiff like a board, holding his bowl awkwardly as if he didn't know what it was for.

'Why aren't you eating?'

Hohenheim stared blankly at the question, as if Ed was the one acting like a weirdo.

'This is for me?' the teen asked in disbelief.

Ed had to smack him for that. Honestly!

'Well, duh! Why do you think I asked for two bowls?' He snorted. 'Come on, you don't think I'm that big of a jerk to eat in front of you and leave you empty handed, do you?'

Hohenheim looked at his bowl with an uncertain look. Ed had no clue what he was thinking.

'What? You don't like it? You could have told me before, you know, then I would have gotten you something else!'

'No, I...' He said slowly, like he wasn't sure if Ed was being serious. '...I just… I've never had pomegranate soup before.'

Ed raised an eyebrow.

'Why?' He eyed the bowl carefully. It was just a soup, right? 'It wasn't that expensive.'

Hohenheim pressed and rubbed two fingers against his temple, making Ed wonder if perhaps he missed something important.

'Slaves don't have their own money.'

Ed stopped, suddenly realizing what that simple statement meant.

'Oh.'

Just a soup. For Edward, it was just a soup. A warm meal, with meat and vegetables in it. But to a slave? Someone who had no agency of his own, no choice in his life, someone dependent on his master for everything from clothes on his back to the food in his stomach? It was unattainable, something he would never get in his entire life, even if he worked hard every day.