Alfons came back from another tiring day in the warehouse. It was long, but they were getting a lot accomplished faster than they expected. He kicked his shoes off and hung up his coat as he made his way to the kitchen, and when he got there he stopped dead in his tracks.

Ed was at the table slouched in his chair, mostly empty drink in his left hand. Alfons could tell he had had a few too many by the way his right arm was hanging limply at his side. He always had trouble using his prosthetics when he wasn't quite sober. Unfortunately, this was a scene he was all too familiar with. He'd been living with Ed for over a year, and it wasn't too long after he met him that he developed this habit. And honestly, Alfons wasn't too surprised when he did.

Ed had a bad habit of not being able to keep himself grounded in the real world. He was so caught up in that fantasy of his that he would get angry when people would take his stories as any less than realistic. As much as Alfons wanted to get him help, he couldn't say anything. They'd put him away and he'd probably never hear from him again.

But it wasn't this that stopped Alfons, it was that dammed helmet sitting on the table in front of Ed. A few weeks ago, Ed came home late with it tucked under his arm and probably the most genuine look of happiness Alfons had ever seen. Unfortunately, that was short-lived. As the days went on, Ed fell back into his drinking habits, now worse than before. He would sit there for hours on end just staring at the helmet, sometimes talking to it in his foreign tongue. And when he got no response, he would let out a heavy sigh of defeat, downing what was left in his cup and filling it up yet again.

Edward had mentioned a few times that the helmet reminded him of his brother, but sometimes Alfons thought that Ed was convinced it was his brother. He really couldn't figure out how a suit of armor was related, but Alfons had no intention of asking Ed to elaborate, not wanting to encourage him in his warped fantasies.

One of the worst parts about it though was the look in his Ed's as he stared into the hollow eyes of the useless piece of scrap. It was beyond misery, pure loss of hope and loneliness. During the day, Ed would do his best to hide his emotions, blocking everyone out so he 'won't get too attached', as he would put it. But when he was drunk, his eyes were a passage into a chasm of darkness and pain that Alfons had never seen before on someone's face. And although it probably shouldn't, it pissed him off.

The world that Ed always talked about, the life he claimed that he had, was more or less a replica of the life Alfons dreamed of. Ed would go on about how he was well known throughout the country (I want people to remember my name when I die.), how he would go everywhere with his brother by his side (My brothers are dead too, but at least I've been able to accept it and move on.*), how he worked for the state and had a full bank account (I work for people with power too, but I barely make enough to get by.), how although there were skirmishes around the borders of his country, they weren't much of a big concern (This whole country is threatened with war, how can you act like it doesn't concern you?!), and how in a far off country there was a form of "alchemy" that could heal (Sometimes I wonder if you say these things to mock me.) There could be no place like this that exists, no matter how much Ed wanted to believe. Just thinking about made Alfons' blood boil.

Without even saying anything, Alfons marched up to Ed, non-too gently grabbing the helmet from the table by the tassels with a cool glare. "Why do you even need this?"

Ed didn't seem to notice Alfons was even in the house until Al was snatched from in front of him. His eyes widened, and Alfons could have sworn he saw panic in them. And it just fueled his anger more. As Ed made a clumsy attempt to grab at it with an unintelligible mumbled phrase, he just held it further back away from his reach. The look he got in return was a plea, a look from someone drowning begging him to give back the lifeline. But he wouldn't comply. "Get rid of it, Edward. It's making you sick. "

"Alfons, give him back." His voice was slurred as he tried to stand up to make another grab at it. As he reached for it, Alfons caught his wrist in a tight grip, giving Ed a hard look, voice low and dangerous. "Him? It's a him now?! Dammit, Edward, it's a helmet! How in hell do you see this thing as your brother?"

Ed flinched back as Alfons grabbed him. At his harsh voice, he looked between his face and the helmet which Alfons was holding non-too respectfully out of his reach. "Alfons, please!" He was almost begging.

Without lessening his glare, Alfons let go of Ed's wrist allowing him to lunge forward and grab the helmet. Unsteady on his drunken legs, he fell to his knees, pulling it close to his chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world. Alfons wasn't sure if he could take much more of this. Tearing his gaze from the pathetic sight, he went to the bedroom and came down a moment later with a bag. Without looking at him, Alfons walked past Ed who was still on the floor embracing the very thing that seemed to bring him an unknown sadness. Alfons' voice was cold as he went to leave. "I'm staying at Dorchette's tonight." As he closed the door behind him, he could swear he heard Ed apologizing and making empty promises to his "brother" in what he called his native tongue.

Notes:

*In my headcannon, Alfons had two older brothers, similarly to as Alphonse did: Ed and Envy (at least Envy was his half-brother in FMA '03). The person I often RP with decided that Alfons' family was killed in an air raid to explain why he lived by himself, and I decided to stick with that idea.