disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: to Les, for sitting through the ending with me and not judging me when I cried like a lil bitch.
notes: this is literally dumbass drabbles/oneshots where everyone is happy and NO ONE HURTS EVER

title: heaven isn't on the way
summary: They buried him on a Sunday. — Ed, Al, Winry, Pinako.

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"Never seen a dead person look so happy in my life."

Pinako was right—their father did look happy, dead with a smile on his face in front of their mother's tomb. There was something poetic about it; that in the end, Van Hohenheim had come home to the only woman who'd ever made him feel something. The beginning after the end, in the only place he'd ever called home.

(Except Ed wasn't much for poetry, so it didn't mean jack in the long run. That was Al's area of expertise.)

They buried him on a Sunday, in clean clothes in a fresh-dug grave, right next to their mother. There was no priest. There didn't need to be.

The day was sunny and bright.

Funerals seemed to go that way, recently.

No one spoke at all. Not Ed, eyes hard and mouth tight; not Winry, her hands white-knuckled as she held onto his shoulder; not Al, hands pressed together 'til the bright blue flare of alchemical process shot a slate-grey headstone out of the ground. And not even Pinako, when she poured a tumbler of expensive alcohol onto the grass. It soaked into the fresh-turned soil, and then it was gone.

The headstone said Van Hohenheim, and his date of death. Pinako left the empty tumbler there, and that was pretty fitting, too.

Ed stalked back to the house, hands in his pockets.

Fucking good-for-nothing old man.

Couldn't even goddamn die right.

He tipped his head back, and breathed in through his nose.

Well, he thought, time to move on.

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tbc.