By the time Alphonse had been born and had started to crawl around on his own, Edward knew it was time to talk to Hohenheim. The man was bound to head out soon, there was no doubt about that, but Edward still wanted to give it one last go in trying to keep him around. The man had...not necessarily grown on him, but he was at least bearable when he was fumbling with how to rear not just one but two children of his own. It was...heartening, he supposed, to see that Hohenheim at least didn't appear to want to go. He lingered far too long, just watching either or both of the boys with a small smile, and a mournful look in his eye whenever he saw his wife. Edward wouldn't be surprised if the bastard and Trisha had spoken of her illness, which already wracked through her slight frame, even if she were particularly good at hiding it as of now.

And so, one night, at some ungodly hour of the night in August, Edward huffed silently as he pulled himself over the small bar that had been attached to a small toddler bed for him. While he hadn't ever even come close to falling out of the small bed, his mother had still insisted on the damned thing. His feet landed lightly on the wood flooring, and he made one small detour to check on Alphonse in his crib. His brother slept deeply, taking after his elder brother in a past life by sprawling out, stomach on display from his nightshirt having ridden up. Ed snorted his amusement, gently tugging it down before he went to go find the target of his conversation. 

He had snagged some paper and a few of the old feather quills his father seemed to prefer, as well as a small bottle of ink, and had practiced writing in this body until he had a good grasp of it and the rather unfamiliar writing utensil. Then, armed with that and a few pre-written notes he figured should stave off any louder questions until they made it to Hohenheim's study in the basement, where they could communicate freely.

He found his father sleeping lightly in his parent's shared bedroom, thankfully fully dressed in his nightclothes, and wasted no time in gently shaking his father awake. He knew it was probably rather disconcerting, being woken up so late at night by someone who, by all means, shouldn't have even been able to get out of their bed without waking you up, let alone by that same individual holding half a stack of paper. Ed, with a little grin that probably looked decidedly odd on his younger face, just motioned for his father to follow him as he backed away and out of the room. 

Edward almost thought that Hohenheim wasn't going to follow him at first, not hearing any shuffling to get out of bed or any footsteps behind him, but eventually, he heard a puzzled sigh and the sound of shuffling footsteps.

"Dear? Is everything okay?" Trisha's sleepy voice asked, obviously having stirred slightly from her slumber when Hohenheim stood. 

"Yes, sol meus, I'm just checking in on the boys. Get some more rest, I'll be back shortly." Hohenheim said after a few moments of eye contact with his eldest son who seemed rather against the thought of his mother being brought into this. How odd, Hohenheim mused. 

Leading the way down into Hohenheim's study, Ed staved off any quiet questions with a raised eyebrow and a pointed glance to the comfort of the two chairs sitting in front of his father's desk. Originally, there had only been one, but another had been dragged down later on as Ed had insisted on spending time with his father, not allowing him to isolate in the stuffy, dark room. 

"Edward, I really must get you back to bed. You have a big day with the Rockbells tomorrow." Hohenheim said, although it was a weak attempt and they both knew it. He shut up rather quickly when Ed handed him a few of the pre-written notes, however, and took a seat on the chair that he usually sat in. 

"How-" Hohenheim gaped, not even having bothered to read the damned papers yet. Edward understood though, it must seem rather odd to have your four-year-old who hadn't even begun to be taught to write yet hand you several notes that were not in anybody the older man knew's handwriting. 

When Ed just gestured towards the papers, and got comfortable in his spot, knowing full well it would take quite a while for his father to wrap his head around the details of what had transpired with his son before his birth. He had laid out the general details about his true age, his death, his talk with the pale gatekeeper, and finally, his knowledge of what was to come. His father read through each of the three pages Edward had written out multiple times, a sense of resigned horror playing out on his face. 

With a grim smile, one that pulled in all the wrong ways at the face of the one making it, Ed clapped his hands together gently and touched the corners of the papers, the notes almost instantly turning into microscopic dust fragments. Goodness, did it feel good to do alchemy again or what? When his father finally deemed himself ready to look at his eldest son, Ed was leaned over the desk, quill in oh so small hand, hurriedly scratching out a new note. 

"Edward...I...this isn't some poor take on a joke, is it? Because if so, it is in very poor taste and I'm quite disappointed in you." From the tone of his voice, however, it was quite clear his father knew full well it wasn't a joke. No four-year-old could make up a story as grand and elaborate as the one that Edward Elric had described, nor describe with such eerie accuracy the gatekeeper who lay in another realm and taunted those who knocked on its door.

Edward only responded with a half-assed snort of laughter, finishing up the final note that he could write before it would be in response to his father's questions instead of any pre-mediated questions. 'You plan on leaving soon. Don't. Mom dies and Alphonse and I have to try to bring her back. It's fixed, we can't change it. The only thing I can do is prevent Alphonse from suffering again. If you stay we actually have a chance that she could live for a while longer, not suffer as much before her passing. Please, just stay.' Ed wrote, before clapping his hands again and touching them to the paper to dry the ink faster so he could hand it to Hohenheim. He knew full well he was guilt-tripping the bastard, using his wife dying as leverage to get him to stay, but there was only so much one could do without resorting to ol' faithful blackmail and guilt. It had been a hard thing to come to terms with, but a total of fourteen, almost fifteen years as a soldier rather hammered the message in soundly.

He knew as soon as he passed the message on to his father that, if Hohenheim stayed any longer than he had last time, it would only be by a little. The man had already made his decision to leave, and while Edward could respect sticking by a difficult decision, it didn't hurt any less when his father sighed, ran a hand up and down his face, and apologized to him.

"I can give Trisha more of her medicine as a stockpile before I leave, but it is by no means a perfect solution. I have to go because you don't know, I'm guessing, what all I did when I was gone in your last chance. I don't believe I would ever tell my son, were you truly the age you seem, any of what my plans were. But, you aren't that young, are you? How old did you say you were when you were shot, thirty-three? That must make you in your mid-thirties now. I must say, you look remarkable for your age." Hohenheim chuckled weakly at his own joke, whereas Edward just deadpanned. He had been expecting for his father to still refuse to say where he was going, and refuse to stay for very much longer, but the joke was but unexpected and rather unappreciated in such a serious moment. 

"Ah...my apologies, Edward. I suppose this really isn't the time for such a joke. Would you mind if I asked you some more about your previous life? Perhaps we could arrange the date that we will rendezvous before I go so that we have some form of a plan rather than just hoping we meet again at the right time."

Ed laughed silently, it was just like his father to try and change the subject so drastically, although he couldn't really blame him. Once again, he knew he would probably do the same thing. Wisdom and reflection had come with the years and this, he knew, was something that would be much different than last time. He waved his father to continue, and Hohenheim launched into his questions, ever the researcher.

--

By the time dawn rolled around, Edward was dead on his feet. He may have been mentally thirty-six, but physically he wasn't even five yet. And he had been up the entirety of the day prior and then all night. In other words, the older Elric brother was more than ready for a nap before he faced the day. To keep up the facade, in case Trisha was awake already, Hohenheim carried a drowsy Ed back up into the nursery and laid him down in his bed, covering him with the pale blue sheets that were already mussed up from when Ed had feigned laying down earlier that night.

It had been a long night, and Edward wasn't the only one who was exhausted, but Hohenheim had far more experience in this lifetime with dealing with being tired, and it was a good thing too, because just as he was about to exit the nursery, he happened to turn, and saw his youngest son, Alphonse, awake and staring at him from his crib. Hohenheim sighed with an exasperated little smile at his son, before scooping him up and going to see if he couldn't tire Alphonse out some so they could both nap later on in the rocking chair.