A/N: Based on a headcanon that Ed smoked during CoS, and the subtle canon that he drank - which i will now exploit and exaggerate for plot purposes, just a warning. (Personally, i feel this particular fic is sub-par to my normal abilities, but i got impatient with it and now im tired of looking at it. i guess i used up all of my angst in my last one-shot...hope you enjoy it anyway).
Now was not the time. Alfons was not in the mood to put up with Ed's shit today. He'd had one hell of a taxing day at the lab trying to impress potential sponsors, potential grants and income and almost all of it had fallen through like rotten flooring. He'd practically made a fool of himself, not to mention his entire team was completely at a loss as to how to solve this one equation and they couldn't make any more progress until it was complete. Furthermore, it had started raining on his way home and this chronic cough of his had been acting up again. Alfons was absolutely exasperated and he was not going to tolerate Ed's bullshit.
"Ed, what the hell!?" Alfons' face was starting to heat up.
He'd opened the door to the apartment and was immediately greeted by a table full of empty beer bottles, one of which had fallen gracelessly off the the edge and was smashed into tiny smithereens when Alfons slammed the door shut. Ed was always getting wasted these days and Alfons had completely had it with him. Ed didn't flinch from what Alfons could tell; he was just sitting calmly on the couch smoking a cigarette and staring off into space. It was bad enough Edward was drunk, but how many times had Alfons told him not to smoke in the house? It made everything smell horrible and it only aggravated his cough. The German boy was getting increasingly fed up with Ed's blatant disregard for previously agreed-upon rules.
"Hey," was all Edward had to say for himself as he continued to stare at the opposite wall. Alfons stormed into the living room.
"Edward, what the hell have you been doing all day? Where the hell did you even get all this booze from!?" He couldn't stop his voice from rising. He couldn't believe this.
"Want some?" Ed slurred as he offered up the bottle he was currently drinking from. Alfons snatched it out of his hands.
Honestly, Alfons had no clue where Ed was always procuring all this alcohol from. The boy wouldn't be eighteen for another 4 months and he sure as hell didn't look it. Whoever was letting him have all this moonshine was going to get an ass-kicking from one raging rocket scientist. If he ever found out which bastard was selling beer to underage kids, he wouldn't hesitate to rat them out to Officer Hughes. After the ass-kicking, that was. All this liquor was turning his friend into a drunk.
"No, I don't want any, you idiot! How much did you drink, Ed? Holy shit," Alfons wasn't much for cursing, but sometimes Ed just floored him. He may have been small, weighing especially little without his fake limbs, but he could easily hold his liquor better than someone twice his size.
"I dunno...a few?" His golden eyes were glazed over, watery. It looked like he was on the verge of tears but the boy knew it was just from the alcohol. Alfons had no sympathy for him.
"Ed, just look around you! What the hell? You aren't fooling anyone, you know," Ed just shrugged lopsidedly. He took another drag from his cigarette; Alfons swiftly plucked it out of his mouth. He dropped the half-smoked cigarette inside the almost-empty beer bottle he'd snatched from Ed.
"Hey!" Ed protested drunkenly. He made a move to get up, but whatever he'd been planning to do was thwarted when he just stumbled back further into the couch.
"I've told you time and time again not to smoke in the apartment, Ed! You shouldn't even be smoking in the first place! Does the same guy who sells you this," Alfons shook the beer bottle he was holding, "sell you cigarettes too? Huh? Jesus Christ," he huffed.
"It's none of your business!" Ed suddenly shouted. He was glaring at Alfons now. The blue-eyed boy glared right back. He gave an irritated sigh. It was clear now Ed wasn't going to cooperate. He always got like this when he was inebriated. Why did Ed have to be so goddamn stubborn all the time?
"Fine, do whatever you want," Alfons told him with an eerily calm tone. He decided to leave before he strangled his roommate and was sentenced to life in prison. He gave up and turned to walk out the room, leaving Ed to sit by himself on the couch. He stopped as he rounded the corner into the hallway.
"You're nothing like Al," he heard Ed mutter to himself, more sadly than out of anger. But still, something suddenly snapped inside Alfons when he heard that. He was seething; he was about to completely flip out.
"That's because I'm not your brother, you dumbass!" He screamed. He fled to his room and slammed the door shut before he could say anything else he might later regret.
Alfons was furious as he paced around the room. Ed was an idiot; he couldn't keep comparing him to his dead brother — it wasn't fair. Alfons wasn't some macabre doll that Ed could play pretend with. It didn't matter if Ed thought Alfons was a "carbon-copy" of his brother — as he so often told him — or even if they had the same name. That didn't give Edward the right to project his brother's image onto him, no matter how demented he was. He couldn't expect that of Alfons — he was his own person. He was starting to doubt that this "brother" even existed; the similarities were too exact, too coincidental. There was no such thing as coincidence. The blond didn't know what Ed was trying to get at, but it was infuriating. If Ed wanted a little brother so badly, well...Alfons didn't actually know what he could do, but the drunk kid could certainly stop bugging him about it! Alfons wasn't anyone's little brother and he wasn't about to drop everything and pretend to be just to satisfy his friend's sick delusions. Ed would have to deal with it on his own.
Not only was he mad about that though, he was fuming over Ed's work ethic. Where he once was the one to get up early and work later than everyone else on the team, he was slowly missing work more and more. He used to be the most motivated of all of them, and now he couldn't seem to care less. His absenteeism had progressed in imperceptible increments that were only conspicuous once you looked months back. Alfons didn't know if it was intentional, but it certainly pissed him off. He started off just leaving work early, using the excuse that he was tired. Eventually he began missing entire days, and frequently. He only seemed to show up on important dates, nervous and unprepared. Sooner or later Alfons just ended up giving his responsibilities to the other group members; it just wasn't the same though.
They needed Ed! How could he just not show up half the time? How could he always be blowing off research just to get drunk? Ed didn't used to be like this. In the earlier stages Ed had stayed home and done other things — Alfons didn't know what, but it wasn't getting hammered; he knew that much. What had changed? It was starting to worry him; both the consequences his friend could endure but also the fate of his life's cumulative research. This was his contribution to society and he needed all the help he could get. He had trusted Ed! Now all he seemed to do was get drunk off his ass and wallow in self-pity.
Alfons knew that's what he was doing. On the occasions he did come home to an already-intoxicated flatmate, Ed was always trying to tell Alfons stories of his life back "home", wherever that was. They were always outlandish and violent, but sometimes the scientist humored him. Not tonight though. Alfons wasn't in the mood for far-fetched delirium and disturbingly casual self-deprecating comments. It made him uncomfortable. He couldn't stand to see Ed like that either, especially when he was supposed to be angry at him.
Ever since Edward had entered into his life, Alfons was always out of sorts.
Ed watched as Alfons ran down the hall. He tried to get up and go after him — he didn't know why, it just felt like the right thing to do. He couldn't think very clearly. This was even more apparent when the room started spinning once he made it to his feet. He collapsed back on the couch which creaked with the added weight of momentum. He was really drunk. Guess he'd be sleeping here tonight. He layed down horizontally.
Ed knew Alfons wasn't his brother; he didn't know why he'd said that. He certainly hadn't intended for his roommate to hear it. God, he was such a hopeless moron. He knew Al — Alfons, goddamit — wasn't his brother! Sometimes he couldn't help himself though. They looked so similar; Ed often caught himself staring, trying to imagine what Al looked like at that moment, what he might be doing right now.
The inebriated boy could admit it: he did try to pretend Alfons was his brother at times. He didn't know what else to do — he'd had Al by his side almost his entire life and he missed him horribly. It was a tangible, physical ache in his chest sometimes. The only thing that lessened it was for Ed to drown himself in alcohol. How could he stand idly by while a cruel look-alike taunted him with his very image? His heart couldn't accept the fact Al could be dead; what would Edward do if that were the case? They'd always been inseparable; hell, ever since he was twelve he'd dedicated his entire life to his little brother's cause, and now...he was lost. The more he researched, the more futile he realized his efforts were. The more time that went on the less chance Ed knew he had of ever reuniting with Alphonse. Every day that passed was a reminder that he was failing.
He was an inadequate older brother.
Maybe Alphonse deserved better than him, but Ed couldn't possibly have asked for anyone more forgiving than his baby brother. Maybe he could overlook the fact that Edward was such a miserable failure. Ed could only pray; he knew he wouldn't ever get the chance to find out.
"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..." He whispered drunkenly to himself.
He was sorry to Al for being a disappointment. He was sorry to Alfons for always worrying him and slacking off. He was sorry to his mother and to everyone he'd ever known but most of all, pathetically, he was sorry for himself. Ed had never been the self-pitying type; back then he couldn't afford to be, he'd had a goal to work towards. Now though, he was just wandering aimlessly without a point. He was worthless. Ed had never been worthless in his entire life, but there was nothing to be done. He was just a burden now. Despite the fact his eyes were shut tight, he couldn't stop a lone, miserable tear from slipping through.
He promptly passed out, just barely remembering to lay on his side in case he threw up. He really was a pitiful mess.
When Alfons woke up early that morning he was surprised to find Ed had left the apartment. He hoped maybe he'd gone to work today, despite knowing the kid would have one hell of hangover. His hopes were dashed however, when he strolled out of the apartment and spotted Ed chain smoking a pack of cigarettes against the brick exterior.
Alfons almost felt bad. It was freezing out here; it was early November and the sun hadn't even risen yet. Alfons could see his breath in the air. All the German boy could really make out was Ed dressed in his winter coat and the faint orange glow from the end of the cigarette every time the boy inhaled. The blond studied him for a moment. He was just casually leaning against the wall.
"What're you doing out here?" Alfons asked. Ed jumped; apparently he hadn't been aware he was being watched.
"Trying to get warm," he replied. Alfons noticed his shivering then.
"Well, it would probably help more if you went inside," the boy suggested with a rather loud laugh. Ed winced. Oh, right — the hangover.
"Can't smoke inside," was his clipped response. Golden eyes stayed focused across the street. Blue eyes looked down at the ground.
Subtly, Alfons made his way closer to Ed, eventually leaning up against the wall next to him. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Ed looked at him for a moment before taking another puff from his cigarette. Alfons tried especially hard not to cough. Ed did his best to blow the smoke away from his friend but the wind wasn't helping any. They stood like that for awhile, in the cold, quiet, lonesome dark of night until Ed finished that cigarette and pulled out another one. Alfons just watched him.
"Why do you smoke so much anyway?" the taller boy inquired. Ed hummed a moment.
"No reason," he said simply.
There was a reason.
It was the same reason he drank so much.
However, his reasons weren't like most people's.
"Alright then..." He said kind of awkwardly, "I'm heading over to the lab now," Alfons glanced at Ed hoping to get some sort of reaction, maybe even some sort of commitment to meet him there later. It was all in vain.
"Okay. See ya 'round," was Ed's only response. Alfons started off solemnly down the empty street. He hoped Ed wouldn't be drunk when he came home again.
It was about two weeks before Alfons came back to Ed that spectacularly sloshed again. He hadn't even noticed at first — nothing was out of place. In fact it was very quiet, there were no empty liquor bottles or anything. But there wasn't any sign of Ed either.
Alfons almost missed it, he almost passed right by it without a second thought; but out of the corner of his periphery — he noticed. It was just a tiny drop of red, no bigger than his pinky nail. It had dried on the sharp corner of the cabinet in the kitchen, about Ed's height: a small, almost inconspicuous amount of blood. Alfons was almost about to brush it off until he noticed more near the window in the living area. It was the same, innocuous amount as before. He was getting a sinking feeling; he tried to push it away.
He went to go see if Ed was in his room when he noted another drop on the wall near the entrance to the hallway. Alfons walked a little more briskly. He checked first in Ed's bedroom, and while there was another speck on the doorframe, the room was unlocked, dark, and most of all empty. He checked in the bathroom, but his efforts were still fruitless — that only left his bedroom, if Ed was indeed still in the apartment. Alfons didn't want to think about what would happen if he wasn't.
The door to his bedroom was closed, which was ironically fortunate. The lights were on too. The blue-eyed boy knocked on the door to his own room.
"Ed, are you in there?" He asked cautiously.
He stood there for a minute; Alfons was about to turn away and start panicking when he heard Ed call back "Go away," It sounded weak and watery. Alfons smiled sadly with relief and leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door.
"I'm coming in, okay?" He waited a moment but got no reply.
He opened the door slowly, noiselessly, as if he'd scare Ed away if he was too loud. The sight that greeted him was rather, well...pathetic. Edward was sitting on the floor with his back to his roommate, a bottle of liquor forgotten on the ground next to him and one hand clutching tightly onto a piece of paper. Ed's shoulders were hunched over and his head was hanging low, a trickle of blood trailing from his temple down to his jaw. He looked pretty miserable — it was even more apparent when Alfons heard him sniffling.
The worried scientist approached his friend carefully and tentatively laid a hand on his shoulder. Ed didn't seem to notice or care. The German boy looked at what Ed was holding in his hand — and tried to squash the anger he felt along with his confusion. Why was Ed sobbing over a picture of Alfons and his mother? What right did Ed have to go through his personal belongings anyway?
"Alfons, is this...?" Ed questioned softly, waving the photograph once.
"My mom? Yeah...why does it matter?" He pried back.
Alfons stared at the photograph along with his intoxicated friend. He studied his mother's image; her long hair was down, framing her kind face. Her smile was warm. You couldn't tell from the picture, but Alfons recalled her soft brown hair and bright emerald eyes. She had always been such a caring person; Alfons couldn't have asked for a better mother. He made a mental note to visit her soon.
"It...it's nothing," Edward slurred. However, he was betrayed by the fresh round of tears that immediately graced his face after uttering those words. He gripped the photo more tightly.
Alfons really, really wanted to be mad at him. He wanted to be angry that Edward had gone into his room without his permission and rummaged through his things. He wanted to be annoyed that Ed always refused to talk to him. Maybe that was his own fault though — Ed was aware that Alfons never believed a word he said. But he especially wanted to be upset that Edward had gotten shit-faced again just because he didn't have the decency not to. Alfons really wanted to be yelling and shouting at him about all these things right now, but for some reason he just couldn't. His friend looked deplorable, quietly weeping on the floor with blood running down his face.
"I just..." Ed whispered almost inaudibly, then adjusted his volume to the involuntary sob he gave as he cried out drunkenly "I just want to go home!" and buried his face in his hands, crying harder.
Alfons didn't know what to do. He gave a subtly exasperated sigh. His friend was clearly distraught, but Alfons didn't know how to help someone who's only problem was in their own head. He sat down next to Edward and slung an arm around his shoulder. Ed leaned into it, still wasted and sobbing into his hands.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Edward? You're gonna end up killing yourself with all this shit, you know that?" At those words Ed's eyes went wide and he stiffened considerably, like he was kid who'd been caught stealing the last cookie. Alfons tensed slowly. Ed wouldn't...would he?
"Edward...?" Alfons queried suspiciously. The golden-eyed kid jumped straight out of Alfons' reach, standing up and stumbling a little.
"You wouldn't understand! You wouldn't get it!" He screamed defensively, pointing accusingly at Alfons, who was still sitting on the floor.
"Well maybe I would if you told me," Alfons explained in a normal tone, trying to stay calm for both their sakes.
"I do tell you! You never believe me! You wouldn't understand!" Ed was getting wound up pretty fast, tears racing down his face; the younger boy was at a loss.
"Ed, please calm down. What wouldn't I understand?" The concerned boy was trying his best to stay collected and help. Ed just kept repeating how Alfons wouldn't get it and how he never believed him. Alfons was kind of regretting that now.
Ed didn't know why he did the things he did anymore. Sometimes it seemed like they just happened. The only reason he had gone into Alfons' room was because he was looking for a book. He thought maybe he'd try to be useful for once and help Alfons' conquer his latest "unsolvable" equation and he needed to look something up. When he'd gotten there though, he'd noticed the photograph just sitting on the bookshelf and almost burst into tears right then and there. It wasn't fair! This world wasn't allowed to torment him with Alphonse and his mother! It wasn't fair!
Completely forgetting about the book, he snatched up the picture and practically ran to the kitchen. He wasted no time in rummaging out the bottle of liquor he hid way in the back under the sink. He'd just bought it a few days ago. Well, he hadn't bought it; he'd given someone else the money to buy it for him — but that wasn't important.
He sat at the kitchen table for awhile, moping over the picture and drinking himself into oblivion, just taking swigs from the whole bottle. It burned his tongue, his throat, he even swore he could feel it burning in the pit of his stomach, but maybe that wasn't the alcohol. Something made him desperately want to crumple up the photograph and throw it in the trash; unfortunately, it wasn't his to destroy.
"Fuck," he hissed to no one. He kept taking swigs out of the bottle, careful not to down too much at once. He wasn't trying to give himself alcohol poisoning; not today, at least.
It would've been funny had he not been so distressed; the more drunk he got the crazier his ideas became and the more confused his thoughts were. He was staring at the photo convinced this was some sort of sign his brother was dead. This photo had somehow been sent from the other side of the gate, beyond even the tangible universe just to make a mockery of his efforts. This photo told him his brother was dead, Ed was too late, and now Al was wherever their mother was, and that was where this picture had been taken before somehow making it into Ed's hands. He took another drink just for that and whispered heartfelt apologies to the photograph for not making it in time.
Eventually, after feeling he had almost sufficiently reconciled with a piece of paper, he got up intending to put it back where he'd found it. He grabbed both the photo and his personal bottle of misery before stumbling right into that sharp fucking goddamn corner. He was pretty sure his head was bleeding, but he didn't care. He got side-tracked a lot — he spent time gazing out the window to the street below, lamenting the fact he was stuck here for the rest of his life. Sooner or later he realized he'd been trying to do something before and staggered his way back to Alfons' room, but not without hitting his head on a few other objects along the way.
The short drunk kid apparently didn't have the strength to part ways with it just yet. He practically fell to the floor in the position Alfons had found him in and started crying silently. He didn't know what to do anymore. What was the point of it all? Was this just some violent, terrifying hell he was living for being such a fuck-up? Maybe that picture was from some unknown kind of heaven. Definitely not hell. Alphonse and his mother deserved nothing but the best. Edward was the one who deserved to go to hell. Or perhaps he was dead. Maybe it was possible that the transmutation had been a success; maybe his mother and Al were still alive and Edward had been the equivalent exchange. Maybe his life from that point onwards had just been some imagined nightmare and all his efforts had been pointless. That thought gave him a glimmer of hope. He didn't care about anything as long as Alphonse and his mother were happy. That was all that mattered. That was all he'd really ever wanted for his family anyway. It didn't matter if Ed wasn't there to enjoy it with them. They were probably better off like that.
But then what was the point of all this? He'd started drinking and smoking with a purpose, as ridiculous as it sounded. It was a subconscious purpose at first, but Ed figured it out. He knew what he was doing now. It was slow, and it probably wasn't going to work, but it was the only chance he had left. It was his last resort. His slow, laborious last resort that still left him more time to think of any other possible options — allowing him to back out of this one — and pursue those instead. He was exhausted though, and sometimes he just wanted to get it over with, but he was afraid. He didn't even know if it would work and, in all likelihood, it probably wouldn't. He was hopeless.
He was also being interrupted by Alfons knocking on the door. Ed didn't want to be bothered.
"Go away," he called in a late reply. Alfons just came in anyway — Ed wasn't surprised. It was his room, after all.
He felt Alfons lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he didn't react. He showed Alfons the photograph and asked him to confirm Ed's thoughts. When the scientist asked why it mattered, Ed realized he wouldn't believe him if he told him the truth. Alfons would probably get angry at him or give him one of those pitying stares that Ed hated so much. It wasn't worth it.
But then Alfons had to go and swing his arm around the wasted kid — tell him to stop killing himself like he'd figured out that was exactly what was going on. Ed went berserk.
"You wouldn't understand! You wouldn't get it!" He'd practically screamed at the younger boy. Alfons wasn't going to ruin his last chance of getting home, he wasn't.
How could Alfons act so casual about this? This had been Ed's entire purpose since he'd been sent to this side and he wasn't going to let Alfons wreck everything. He had to get home! He didn't care how and he didn't care if Alfons approved or not!
He was too afraid to kill himself outright. What if he was wrong? He didn't want to die, he just wanted to go back home for Christ's sake! Why was that so hard!? He figured it would be best to do it slowly; that way he'd have enough time to look for other options just in case he'd missed something. He didn't know how much he planned to reduce his lifespan by, but he figured by the time he died he definitely would have exhausted any and all possible alternatives. It was an okay plan.
He remembered the first time he'd crossed the gate. It's what gave him the whole idea in the first place. He knew Hohenheim had said the only reason Ed even had a chance of going back was because only his mind and soul had crossed over. There was still a body waiting for him on the other side. That was also the reason Hohenheim couldn't go back — his entire being had stepped over. And even though Edward's whole person was now in this world, he couldn't help but continue to recall the time that Zeppelin had crashed practically on top of him — killing him and sending him back through the gate. He was always thinking about it.
It had become some malignant instinct that only grew over time. The only way to go back was to die. Ed hated it. In the back of his mind he knew it would never work, yet he was still trying anyway. He didn't know anything else! There was nothing else left to try! And he couldn't tell any of this to Alfons. He'd never believe him and he just wouldn't understand. That's what Ed kept yelling at him over and over as he was thinking all this. Edward was alone in his suffering. It was absolutely terrifying.
Somehow during this whole thought process, Ed had ended up on the floor again, sobbing quietly into Alfons' shoulder, whispering over and over "You wouldn't understand, you just wouldn't understand," and trying to quell his inner despair.
He was a lost cause.
Officer Hughes was always stopping Ed on the street now, especially when he was headed in the direction of the local pub. He knew Alfons was behind it, and it was really pissing him off. Edward couldn't buy booze when Officer Hughes was always stopping to chat with him. Unfortunately, the store he was purchasing cigarettes at was also in the same direction, in fact, it was just next door. He had a feeling Alfons had told Hughes everything; he knew Hughes would search him later if he saw Ed walk in there. The only reason Ed probably hadn't been arrested yet was because he and Alfons were friends with the officer. They gave him updates on Gracia since he ostensibly hadn't grown out of boyhood crushes yet. Ed had no idea Alfons could be such a bastard, but he had to hand it to him — it was working. Maybe it was for the best.
It was hard at first — the craving for alcohol and nicotine was hard to resist at times. Just how hard it was worried Ed. He hadn't realized he'd been that dependent on it. He certainly hadn't meant to become some sort of alcoholic. Or maybe he had and just hadn't realized it. Ed wouldn't admit it, but he was grateful to Alfons for stopping him. He still missed home terribly, but he didn't have to make himself more miserable by smothering himself in alcohol and cigarette smoke.
Maybe one day he would be able to find a way home, or maybe he wouldn't. Either way, it was probably for the best that he stopped trying to ruin himself. Maybe then he could bear it.
A/N: please review if you'd be so kind!