ABNE Infinite Possibilities

Because I spend too much time thinking about A Boy Named Ed, I can't help but come up with all the little what-ifs that come with it. Most of them revolve around Al. What if Al got turned into a baby too? What if Al stayed in Central after returning to Xing? What if Ed didn't remember before Al came back?

Aurelo

They call me Aurelo because of my golden eyes. I have no last name, no family, and nothing I can truly call my own – it has always been that way. But in my dreams I have a brother; I have friends; I have a different name – if only I could remember it when I wake up.

A.N. I was inspired to write this story shortly after posting Chapter 18 of A Boy Named Ed. Aurelo is a what-if story, exploring what might have happened if Alphonse really had been turned into a baby as well. It is not considered canon with the main ABNE storyline. This first story will be a few chapters long. It is written in first-person from Relo's (Al's) point of view.

These what-if stories will be updated sporadically, whenever I feel inspired to write them. This one has actually been sitting on my computer for a while now but I didn't want to post it until after Ed found Al in the main story.

Disclaimer: Ed, Al, and all their friends are the property of Hiromu Arakawa. I do not own them, but am grateful for the opportunity to use them in the unleashing of my own imagination.

Rating: This story is rated K+

Chapter 1, A Boy Named Relo

"Relo! Relo, wake up!"

Clara's voice cuts like a sharp knife through the landscape of my dreams. She doesn't belong here. She isn't a part of this world. I try to ignore her words, shut them out, if only to hold onto this vision a little bit longer. It's so peaceful right now. This is one of the good dreams – the ones I don't want to lose when I wake up. But I know. I know that as soon as I opened my eyes the images will slip away from my mind like sand between my fingers. I never can hold on to them for very long.

"You have to get up, Relo! We're going to be late!"

Her words strike like a hammer and the dream shatters into a thousand pieces. I mentally sigh at the loss. Even knowing that I will likely return to that place the next time I sleep does not make it any less painful to wake up. Even with all of the horrifying adventures which sometimes take place in my dream world, reality is so much worse.

I turn over on my back as my body reawakens but do not yet open my eyes. It isn't so much that my life is bad. I have a roof over my head, with only one leak; and food to eat, even if it isn't very good; a bed to sleep in, which isn't too lumpy if I find the right spot; and clothes to wear, only a few sizes too big. I'm not alone, although Clara, Max, Geoffrey, and Stel can't really be considered family and Clara is the only one close enough to my age to really count as a friend.

"Come on, Relo! I don't want to have to run to make first bell." Clara calls again.

I squint at the ceiling for a moment and then blink to clear the crusty sleep from my eyes. "Alright. I'm awake."

"It's about time." Another voice says. "Now get out of our room, Clara. No girls allowed." It's Max – he's the oldest boy at Lambert House, almost sixteen. He'll be leaving next year to get an apprenticeship somewhere.

I have been at Lambert House for a little over two years now. I was moved here after I turned ten because I was too old to stay at the Butterfly House anymore. Clara is a year older than me, but she's been here since she was seven because she is Mrs. Lambert's niece. Technically, Lambert House is a home for boys, run by Mrs. Lambert. Mr. Lambert is supposed to be the founder and owner of the home but he's never there. I've never even met him. Stel Lambert, Mr. and Mrs. Lambert's daughter, was supposed to be the only girl in the home and isn't very happy that she has to share her room with her cousin. But Stel is seventeen and isn't ever really happy with anything. Geoffrey, the other boy, is fourteen now. He doesn't like me very much, but I'm not sure why.

As Clara leaves the room, her long, black curls bouncing behind her, I push myself up out of bed and start getting dressed for the day. The pants I pick out are too long – they used to be Geoffrey's – so I have to roll the ends twice over to make them fit. I put on my favorite shirt though. It's a forest green button down with long sleeves and I was pleased to find that it fit me just right when I put it on after Winter vacation.

"Let's go, Golden Boy." Geoffrey sneers as he and Max leave the room. "We ain't gonna wait for you, ya know."

Rolling my eyes at the stupid nickname, I hurriedly tie my shoes and grab my school bag before following them out.

Max, Geoffrey, Clara and I are orphans, which is why we all live at Lambert House. Everyone has a different story about how they ended up in this situation. Clara's parents died in a car accident when she was seven. Max's dad was an officer in the Military Police and was killed during a street skirmish with an escaped prisoner. Geoffrey's story changes a lot so I don't really know what the real story is.

As for me… I don't have a story.

I was found as a baby and taken to Butterfly House. Ms. Jessica named me Aurelo because of my golden eyes. That's all I know.

I have no last name.

I have no parents.

I have no siblings.

Nothing that is currently in my possession can really be called my own. My clothes, my bag, my books – they all belong to Lambert House.

That's the way it has always been. I lived at Butterfly House for ten years and then I moved here to Lambert House. I attend the State-paid school known as West Central Secondary School or WCSS. I'm not a member of any teams or clubs. I don't do anything or go anywhere. My life is boring. I'm a nobody from nowhere with no past and no future.

That's why I like my dreams so much. Even when they are scary – bordering on nightmare territory – they are still so much more exciting than my real life. I just wish I could remember them. Then maybe I'd have something to think about during the day when the school work becomes monotonous and repetitive. It doesn't help that I already know most of what is being taught.

That's one thing I've got going for me: I'm smart – not like a genius or anything but definitely smarter than the other first years who force us to go over the same material over and over again. It doesn't take me very long to understand what we are being taught. Sometimes I check out books from the library to read when I get bored but it's hard to get away with doing that. The teachers at WCSS are very strict.

I do like to read though. It's the next best thing to sleeping. I can escape into my books almost as well as I can escape into my dreams.

And then there's my secret – well not really a secret; Clara knows about it and so does Mrs. Lambert, but Mrs. Lambert says I'm not allowed. It's too dangerous, she says. That doesn't stop me. I just have to be careful when I practice. Because alchemy is the one thing that makes me special, the one thing that I can say is all mine because no one else I know can do it, the one thing that sets me apart and makes me think that maybe I do have a purpose in this life.

I discovered it shortly after moving to Lambert house. There was an alchemy book in Mr. Lambert's library – an old one which hadn't been touched in a long time. It was a beginner's book. Mrs. Lambert told me I was welcome to read anything I wanted. She probably thought I would read the novels and history books like Geoffrey. But the science books were far more appealing to me and the alchemy was simply amazing. I read the book through twice in one day. Then I decided to try it out. Clara was there when I did my first transmutation. It was just a little wooden doll, imperfect and kind of lopsided, but I was ecstatic. I showed it to Mrs. Lambert, thinking that she'd be impressed, but instead she took the book away and forbade me from doing alchemy anymore.

But I love alchemy. After that first time, I couldn't stop. I practice in secret, sometimes stopping at the park after school to make little figurines out of the wood from fallen branches or the mineral deposits in the dirt. It's a wonderful feeling, knowing that I'm creating something new out of something that was old. And I think, if I could, I would do this for the rest of my life.

More than anything, I would like to get an apprenticeship with an alchemist but I have to be at least sixteen before I can apply and even then, it's not likely I would be chosen. As an orphan, I have no one to back me and vouch for my skill. Maybe if Mrs. Lambert was more open to the idea, but then… she isn't so I have nothing.

"Come back down to Earth, Relo. I thought you were done dreaming when I woke you up." Clara interrupts my thoughts as she falls in step beside me. It's three miles to school from Lambert House on the outskirts of the city, but Mrs. Lambert doesn't drive so we have to walk, come rain or shine, hell or high-water. Nothing short of a blizzard would convince her to let us stay home on a school day.

"Sorry. I was just thinking." I reply, glancing over to meet her chocolate colored eyes.

"Pretty deep thoughts." She smiles. "You had another dream last night, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

"You never want to wake up from those dreams – not the good ones anyway."

"These days I don't particularly want to wake up from the bad ones either. At least that world is exciting." Clara is my only confidant about the dreams – about my alchemy too; she usually keeps watch while I practice. I like to tell her about them, even if I can't really tell her much beyond how they make me feel. What few details I do manage to remember, I let her know.

"It's a shame you don't remember them. You could probably write a really good story about them if you did. Any new details?"

I shrug. "More of the same, mostly. The house, the boy…"

"You called him your brother right?"

I nod. It's a silly thing really, to think of the boy in my dreams as my brother. But that's how I see it. Every time he appears in my dreams I know, without any doubt, that he is my brother – well, my dream-self's brother anyway. I'm not really sure that I'm the same person in my dreams. When I'm sleeping, I'm not Aurelo anymore. I have a different name, a better name.

I've never told anyone this, but I don't really like my name. A lot of people say it sounds exotic and it goes well with my coloring. But I just don't feel like an Aurelo, or even a Relo. I feel like I should be called something else. I wish I could remember the name in the dream, the name my brother calls me.

I wish my brother was real.

Before long, we reach the school. Then the day begins. My classes are as tedious as ever. Only gym class has something good to offer – an outlet. The exercise feels good as my muscles stretch, extending and pulling. My blood feels the rush of adrenaline as I hit my second wind on the mile run we are assigned. There has always been something comforting about a good workout. Any stress that builds up during the day is released. All of my chaotic thoughts become focused. I find myself noticing things that most people probably take for granted or even consider annoyances. The pressure of the ground against my feet centers me with every step. The little cramp that forms in my side as I run is a reminder that I need to increase my oxygen intake. The air rushing in and out of my lungs reminds me how good it is just to be alive – to be a living, breathing, human being.

Gym is my last class of the day. I am grateful for this because it means I don't have to go back to the monotony of the classroom after finally releasing all of my frustrations. I take my time in the shower, rinsing off the sweat and just enjoying the warm water. I like it better this way because no one is left in the locker room by the time that I finish. I allow my mind to wander as I change back in to my plain clothes and stuff my gym clothes into my bag – they'll need to be washed tonight. I make a mental note to stop at the store for more detergent because I noticed we were out the last time I did laundry.

After leaving the gym, I head to the school library to check out some new books. I wish they had more books on alchemy but most of the good ones are locked up in the State Alchemist libraries, or so I hear. I make my way back down the halls to the school's main exit, glancing about for Clara. Sometimes she waits for me but I think she had something to do at home today and I'm later than usual. Just as I turn to leave, however, something strange catches my eye.

There is another boy in the hallway but not a WCSS student. He's wearing a uniform. It looks like one of the Central Academy uniforms I've seen children from wealthy families wearing. But what would a Central Academy boy be doing at West Central Secondary? I can't make out many other details about him. He's mostly just a silhouette standing in front of the sunlight streaming in through the open door at the other end of the hall.

He doesn't see me. He seems to be looking for a particular room because he keeps glancing at the door signs. He stops in front of the main office and lifts his right hand to double check a piece of paper he is holding. A stream of sunlight glares off of something metal and my eyes widen in realization. Is that automail? I've heard of it before, of course, but I've never seen it on someone so young. I'd wager to say this boy is even younger than I am. He's shorter than me anyway.

Before I can contemplate the matter any further, the Central Academy student walks into the main office, leaving me standing awkwardly in the hallway.

I have to pass the office on my way out of the building. I don't mean to eavesdrop but, as I pass, I can't help overhearing his voice through the still open door.

"I know you can't give out any personal information on the students," he says to Mrs. Healy, the office secretary. My feet slow to a stop without my telling them to. "But if you could just tell me if there are any boys here who look like this –" He holds up a picture. "Golden eyes and yellow blond hair – like mine. Please. Could you tell me?"

I freeze, still string into the room and Mrs. Healy's eyes rise to meet mine. She knows me of course. All of the faculty and staff know me. It wouldn't be hard for her to tell that boy to turn around. I'm standing right behind him. I can see him better now – his own yellow blond hair just a little too long, almost brushing his shoulders. The description he gave… he's describing me. I know it. There couldn't be anyone else. I just don't know why.

And suddenly, I feel afraid. I'm not sure why but I don't really want that boy to turn around and see me. I don't know what he wants and I don't know what he will do. Suddenly, my boring, nobody life seems safe and secure and familiar. As much as I've been hoping for something new, something different, now that the opportunity is right in front of me, I'm terrified to take it.

I shake my head, telling Mrs. Healy with my eyes not to give me away. I take a step back, then another just as the boy seems to notice that Mrs. Healy's attention is directed over his shoulder. He starts to turn and so do I. I turn quickly, prepared to run –

- only to smack my face hard against the door frame. I fall back, landing on my butt in an undignified heap, and clutching both hands to my forehead. Ouch… that really hurt.

"Oh, dear! Are you alright?" I can hear Mrs. Healy moving around from behind her desk to come and check on me but the boy is faster. He kneels beside me and puts his right hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to sit up straighter. I can see his arm better now, as I peer out from beneath my own hands. Definitely automail. I idly wonder how far up it goes.

"Hey, you okay? You know you're not supposed to use your head as a hammer, right?" He sounds friendly enough. I look up to see him grinning widely at his own lame joke and can't help but crack a smile of my own at the goofy expression. Then he opens his eyes and our smiles vanish.

I've never seen eyes like mine, before.

For several moments, we just stare at each other and I start to wonder what he's thinking. Is he as surprised as I am? Probably not. He was looking for me after all. I don't think he expected to find me so quickly though. The look in his eyes though – he's not just startled to see me. He's amazed and excited and overjoyed and at the same time he looks almost ready to cry. And I can only blink in confusion as he opens his mouth to say something, then gulps and tries again.

"Al?" He whispers the name so softly. I start to shake my head, but just then Mrs. Healy reappears with a bag of ice and holds it up to my forehead gently.

"Here you are Aurelo, dear. My, my, you're going to have a nasty goose-egg, young man."

I thank her and then watch as the Central Academy boy sits back on his heels, still eyeing me strangely. "Aurelo." He's says my name like he's trying it out, not really sure if it fits. It doesn't of course and he seems to agree if his sour expression is anything to go by.

I really get a good look at him then. He doesn't look exactly like me, by any means, but our coloring is almost identical. His bangs are long, falling into his face and partially obscuring his eyes – golden eyes, just like mine. His Central Academy uniform is clean and well pressed, probably tailored to fit him perfectly too – not like my oversized hand-me-downs. So yes, maybe we have the same coloring but that's where the similarities end. There is no way this rich boy and I are anything alike.

Mrs. Healy is still going on about something beside us, babbling about concussions and supervision and calling Mrs. Lambert to come pick me up. I tune in to her words again at that last comment.

"Oh no, Mrs. Healy. That's not necessary. I'm fine. Mrs. Lambert doesn't drive and she won't want to walk all the way out here to pick me up. I can make it home on my own." Nevermind that my head was throbbing and I could already feel the lump starting to push forward like some deformed horn.

"Nonsense! I couldn't possibly let you walk home alone in your condition. You could pass out or suffer a sudden bout of nausea. I'll just give Mrs. Lambert a call. I'm sure she'll understand completely."

I open my mouth to argue. Mrs. Lambert will be furious if she has to come get me. I need to make Mrs. Healy understand. But before I can say a word, the boy from Central Academy interrupts.

"If I may, Mrs. Healy, I can walk Al – I mean – Aurelo home. I know first aid. I even have a kit in my bag for emergencies. And I know how to watch for signs of a possible concussion." He speaks with such confidence, assured in getting his own way.

Mrs. Healy looks him up and down for a moment, likely noting his size but also his clean-cut appearance and friendly demeanor. I briefly consider arguing. I don't want him to walk me home. I still don't know what he wants or why he was looking for me. But if it gets me out of here without alerting Mrs. Lambert…

"What did you say your name was?" Mrs. Healy asks.

"Mustang. Edward Maes Mustang. My father is General Roy Mustang." I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at the arrogant way in which he introduces himself. It's clear that he's used to tossing his father's name around to get what he wants. It doesn't seem to be failing him here. Mrs. Healy's eyes widen for a moment in near recognition but then narrow in confusion.

"The Flame Alchemist," the Mustang boy clarifies, completing the puzzle in Mrs. Healy's mind. It takes me a moment to get over my exasperation at his overconfidence, but then my own eyes fly open wide.

The Flame Alchemist?!

This kid is the son of the Flame Alchemist?! I can't believe it. Here I've been trying to find a way to further my own alchemy studies when the son of a real, bonafide, State Alchemist comes traipsing right into my life. And he's volunteering to walk me home. Maybe… maybe he even wants to be friends. Okay, so that's farfetched, but it could happen! And if it does, that's my in! I could get an apprenticeship – maybe not with the Flame Alchemist himself but he surely knows others who might want a young apprentice.

I can't pass up this chance!

"Oh, yes! Of course!" Mrs. Healy exclaims, a bit starry-eyed. "General Mustang! What a wonderful man! A great hero!"

"That's the one!" He smirks, sure that he's won. But he doesn't know Mrs. Healy like I do. Mrs. Healy doesn't let things go too easily. She doesn't trust kids to make good decisions and son of a general or not, this guy is still a kid. I'm going to need to say something or she'll never let me go with him.

"Well, then that changes things. I am certain you'll take excellent care of our dear Aurelo, Mr. Mustang. You just give his guardian this note for me, won't you? There's a dear."

My mouth hangs open wide as I watch Mrs. Healy hand a note to the still smirking Mustang kid. He's so sure of himself and it's no wonder! He actually gets what he wants!

A few moments later, Mustang is helping me to my feet, grabbing both my bag and his, and ushering me out the door. "Don't worry, Mrs. Healy!" he calls back over his shoulder. "I'll get him home safe. C'mon Aurelo."

"Relo." I mutter, eyeing him suspiciously. This boy may be my chance to break into the alchemy world but that doesn't mean he's not a spoiled, arrogant, rich kid. I just can't bring myself to trust him, or even like him based solely on my first impression. "It's just Relo."

"Relo?" he raises one eyebrow as we step out into the sunlight. Then he laughs. "That's even worse!"

"Hey!" I frown while he keeps laughing. On the one hand, I agree with him. My name is pretty odd and I don't even like it myself. But that doesn't give him the right to make fun of me.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." He takes a moment to catch his breath. When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with a strange expression and his smile is soft. "Can I just call you, Al?"

The question startles me. What kind of person asks someone they just met if they can call them by a different name? Al doesn't even really work as a nickname for Aurelo. Well… okay, maybe it does. Sort of. If you take the A from the beginning and the L from the end and cut out all of the rest . But still…

"Why would you want to call me, Al?"

He smirks again. I'm starting to really dislike that smirk. It's like he knows something that I don't and he's teasing me with it. "It suits you better, don't you think? Al?"

I open my mouth to deny the claim but then I have to shut it again because… he's right. Al. Al sounds really good in my own ears. And it feels right, like it belongs to me.

Even so, I can't let him just walk over me like this. "You can't just go changing people names. You don't hear me giving you a new name do you, Edward Maes Mustang?" I do my best impression of his haughty display from the office earlier but it only serves to set him laughing again.

This time, I can't help but laugh with him. I try to fight it but it just comes out. There's something so ridiculous about all of this. He's not really being mean at all. No – his eyes are shining like a little kid at Summer Solstice. And he's smiling. He's smiling at me and somehow, silently beckoning me to join him in his elation.

When we both come up for air, that smirk is on his face again but I don't hate it anymore. This time I can read something else behind his eyes. Yes, he has a secret. But he's about to let me in on it. And then it will be our secret. And I can't wait to find out what it is.

"Call me Ed." he says. We start to walk again but he stops suddenly a moment later. He turns and looks me straight in the eye. His golden eyes are still shining brightly and his smile is soft and filled his warmth.

"Better yet – call me Brother."