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They say that any memories you have prior the age of four are fake. Al is inclined to agree with that. He doesn't remember his father. He possesses the barest of fragmented memories of his mother.
But that's not the entire truth. He remembers a father. A man with long blond hair and golden eyes that sparkle with excitement and love. A man who Al has always looked up to, could never remember not looking up to. A man that had never turned his back on Al or walked away. Who had given up so much more than he should have for the sake of his little brother. The strongest man Alphonse has ever met. Who took care of him and loved him and never gave up on him.
Ed may have been barely a year older than him, but Ed had been a father to Al for the entirety of his memorable life.
As Alphonse watched his big brother worry and fret over the newborn baby in his arms, panicked over "doing it wrong" and "fucking the kid up" and "turning into my dad", Al smiled. Al knew his brother would make a great father to the little boy swaddled in blankets and nestled in Ed's arms.
Ed had been an amazing father for almost twenty years now. Ever since the small boy of five had held his little brother's hand on the day of their mother's funeral.
"Calm down, Big Brother. You won't be like Dad. You're braver than Dad. You won't run away. And that little boy isn't ever going to be left behind by you. I promise."
"But what if I'm too much like him, Al? What if I get bored one day and just walk away? I look like him, why shouldn't I be like him too?"
"Because you've never been like him before, you won't start now."
"But you don't know that, Al." His brother whined back, he frown deepening as he gently held the sleeping baby like the fragile thing it was.
Al paused and looked at his brother. Really looked. Looked at everything that was the same. Everything that was different. He took in Edward's sweaty, and flushed face. Ed managed to look both tired and awake at the same time – the man had stayed up all night beside Winry while she was in labour. Now, Al's sister-in-law was sleeping in the next room. Oblivious to this particular conversation, though Alphonse knew that the topic had to have been on Ed's mind for a while. The wrench-welding woman had probably had similar conversations with her husband already.
Alphonse stopped his examination and sighed at his brother's antics. Ever the dramatic his brother was. "Actually, Ed, I do know that you won't spontaneously turn into Dad."
"But-"
"No buts, Brother. You basically raised me, you're the closest thing I have to a dad and I turned out okay."
"Al, that's different, I'm your big brother."
"My big brother who was the most constant father figure in my life. Sure Mr. Hughes was nice, and General Mustang has his own brand of affection." Al smiled inwardly at his brother's grimace at the mention of his former superior in the same breath as father figure. Though the blond man didn't say anything against the statement.
"But you're the biggest constant in my life. You were the one who first taught me alchemy, who showed me that it's okay to make mistakes and that it takes guts to do the right thing and admit you're wrong and ask for forgiveness and that to fear is to be human.
You are a great dad, Brother. And that little boy is the luckiest kid in the world because he gets to have you as his dad. Everything will be okay, you've got this. And if you don't, Winry will make sure you do." Al breathed deeply once he finished his improvised speech, out of breath without realizing it. Ed for his part, looked to Al's face, as if seeing his brother for the first time in years.
"You really think so?" Ed still frowned but the look softened as he stared at his little brother's face. Al nodded. The new father then looked back down to the wrinkly and pink baby in his hands with a look of new-found awe.
The awe of reality that his wife had just given birth to his child had only begun to wear off. But this sense of awe was different. It was the awe of reading a mystery book and realizing at the end that the answer was on page two. It was the awe of fitting the last piece in a puzzle and finally getting to look at the completed piece.
It was the awe of knowing and feeling something but finally having a word to describe it and knowing that someone that feels the same way.
Alphonse smiled and slightly shook his head at his brother again. He'd been doing that a lot lately, as the baby had come ever closer to arriving and his brother's irrational overreactions became steadily exaggerated. He heard a knock on the front door and stood up to answer it.
"Thank you, Al." The man barely heard the hushed voice of his elder brother.
Al walked over and patted his brother lightly on the shoulder before continuing on his path to answer the door. He knew his brother wasn't saying thank you for answering the door. Al had the uncanny suspicion that he'd open the front door to General Mustang. Of the two calls his brother had made this morning, Dublith was simply too far a journey to make in half a day.
Alphonse paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He looked back into the room and took in his brother's back. The ever present long hair mostly out of the tie that normally held it back from his face. The two flesh arms just visible from the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. All his scars hidden, and his body silhouetted against the bright over-head light. The bundle of blankets that held Alphonse's newborn nephew spilled over the man's arms and pooled in his lap, giving his silhouette an almost fuzzy appearance around the middle.
The person at the door knocked again and Al turned away from his brother to answer it.
They say that any memories you have from before the age of four are fake. Al is inclined to agree with that. He doesn't remember his father. He possesses the barest of fragmented memories of his mother.
But that's not the entire truth. He remembers a father.
Of sorts. He has a brother who's as good as.