Title: Smashed
Author: Kristen Sharpe and Sage SK
Date: July 26, 2021 Final Edits: August 7, 2021
Rating: G, Maybe a Mild PG?
Warnings: Underage drinking (at least by modern standards where I live), comical violence.
Genre/Continuity: Any, Set Early or Pre-Series.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.

Jean Havoc had thought it was harmless enough. The Fullmetal Boss wanted to tag along to the bar? Why not? The kid was nearly fifteen and a State Alchemist. He’d probably already seen it all and beat it up while he was at it. What could a drink or two hurt?

As it turned out, the Fullmetal Boss couldn’t hold his liquor. At all. Maybe that should have been obvious. Where was he going to hold it? Given his size and the missing limbs... Okay, it definitely should have been obvious.

To Havoc’s left, Breda, who hadn’t noticed the kid until he was two drinks in, was scowling. “The first thing we gotta do is get him and his hands outta here,” he said.

“Why?” The kid seemed like a cheerful drunk so far, loudly shouting/singing something that was probably alchemy-related because the words sounded like chemicals and made no sense. But, just in case his mood changed, Havoc didn’t want to be anywhere near that steel fist.

“Do you want the whole bar ‘redecorated’?” asked Breda.

“Oh, right.” Gah. The Boss’s alchemy. It would be a disaster if he started with that. “So, after that, how do we explain this to the Colonel?”

Breda gave him a flat stare. “Simple. We don't,” he said. “We get the kid, keep him happy, and take him back to his hotel to sleep it off. If we're lucky, we'll find his brother on the way.”

“And, what if he decides to ‘redecorate’ the car on the way?”

“I'll think of something,” Breda assured him. Then, he made his way over to the kid with a confidence Havoc could only envy. “Hey, Boss.”

Fullmetal looked up and smiled slowly. “Hey... Sheco'... lieu.... looey... you there. Thish stuff is really good. You tried it?”

“Yeah, it's great,” said Breda. “Me and Havoc were thinking of going to get some fresh air. You wanna come?”

Fullmetal eyed him blearily. “Come?” He cocked his head slowly, looking around. “Say, wheresh Al?”

Breda pounced on the opening. “Probably back at your hotel.”

“Oh.” The kid nodded slowly. “Sho' go check on him.” With that, he slid off the bar stool bonelessly and nearly went straight into the floor before somehow wobbling back to his feet.

Even from behind, Havoc could see Breda huff in relief. “C’mon, we’ll drive you.”

Fullmetal nodded and suddenly lurched in the general direction of the door. Breda dove after him, and Havoc did too, trying to catch the kid before he managed to fall on his face.
Neither of them made it, and Fullmetal instead plunged straight into probably the biggest man in the bar.

The hulking mass of muscle turned. Looked down. “Watch it, runt!” he snarled, shoving Fullmetal away. Behind him, his only slightly smaller friends snickered.

The kid staggered back, stiffened, and then looked up at the man slowly.

Survival instincts honed over dozens of missions propelled Havoc out of the line of fire instants before the Boss swung his automail fist straight into the offending man’s jaw. The giant went down like a sack of rocks. His buddies stared for a couple of long, quiet seconds. Then, total chaos broke loose with Fullmetal in the middle of it.

One duck, one elbow to a drunk’s solar plexus, and one dive later, Havoc found himself under a table against the wall with Breda.

“Soooo,” he began, “is there a Plan B?”

A chair crashed into the wall dangerously close to their hiding place.

“I barely had a Plan A!” Breda snapped back. “But fine, Plan B: Grab the kid and run.”

“Grab that?”

Fullmetal had just kicked a man in the groin, shouting something about amoebas and microscopes before headbutting the same man into two other attackers.

“Just go over there and grab him,” Breda insisted. “He likes you.”

“Why don't you grab him?” Havoc demanded.

“Because, if he clobbers you, I'll need to come up with Plan C,” said Breda.

It wasn’t even a lie, which was why Havoc found himself muttering, “I really hate you,” even as he debated what he could say to get the kid to follow him. Maybe mention his brother again? Al didn’t like it when Fullmetal beat people up, after all.

Meanwhile, Breda was muttering, “Almost wish the Colonel was here now. At least the brat mostly listens to him. Though, honestly, he responds best to—” He snapped his fingers, then pointed at Havoc. “Wait here. I'll be back.”

Then, he was off, skirting the edges of the bar with more dexterity than Havoc would have given him credit for. When he slipped out the door, Havoc swore to himself he would do the same and let someone else deal with the clean-up if Breda wasn’t back in two minutes.

Breda was back in a minute and thirty seconds carrying what was unmistakably a blue military uniform and a… blond wig?

Crawling back under the table and narrowly missing some luckless sap crashing over it, he shoved both at Havoc. “Put these on.”

“Bwuh?”

“Do it. Don’t worry about the fit. Kid’s too drunk to notice.”

The uniform turned out to be just the jacket and, from the look of it, it was Breda’s. Given Havoc was tall and lanky to Breda’s short and stocky, it was surprisingly tight in places and unsurprisingly too big in others. But, he got it on. It was the wig he found himself staring at.

“This looks kinda like the First Lieutenant's hair...”

“Had it in the car,” Breda answered. At Havoc’s slowly rising eyebrow, he added, “It was from a prank. I blackmailed Fuery into wearing it.”

He was hurt. A first class prank complete with Fuery in a wig, and they hadn’t invited him? Although… dressing up like First Lieutenant Hawkeye… The First Lieutenant, her grandfather, the Colonel, or all three were probably still looking for the culprit with murder on their minds. Yeah, maybe he was glad they hadn’t invited him.

Because he was pretty sure he had Breda’s plan figured out. And, if he survived, he was going to be on someone’s hit list.

“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered, jamming the wig on.

“Not with that attitude,” said Breda, adjusting the wig. “Now, let me hear your Lieutenant Hawkeye voice.”

“I don’t have a Lieutenant Hawkeye voice.”

“Higher. Talk up in your throat.”

“I don’t have a Lieutenant Hawkeye voice,” Havoc repeated, forcing the words out breathlessly from somewhere high in his throat. It sounded nothing like the lieutenant, or any woman for that matter.

“It’ll do,” Breda insisted and shoved him out from under the table.

Fullmetal had finally finished maiming everyone who’d been stupid enough to attack him or not hide fast enough and climbed up onto the pile of groaning men. “I’m now the tallesht person in thish bar! Bow to me!”

There might have been a few gurgles and twitches in response, though Havoc wasn’t sure if they were obeying, rebelling, or just experiencing death rattles.

Mustering all his courage and stuffing down all his embarrassment, he took a stance and shouted high in his throat. “Edward!”

The kid turned slowly, and Havoc’s life flashed before his eyes. Then, Fullmetal’s own eyes widened and he went pale.

“Uhm... Lieu.... ten... ant...” He climbed, slithered, and fell down from the pile of moaning bodies, somehow wobbling back to his feet in something like a salute.

“Shorry... ‘bout the mess.”

Havoc almost, almost laughed.

“You should be, young man!” he said instead.

“You've got'n taller,” the kid added.

“.... Thank you. Now, come on. It’s... past your bedtime.”

Havoc could see Breda slapping his own face out of the corner of his eye but ignored it as the kid slumped a little more.

“Oh... yeah,” Fullmetal mumbled. “Al’ll be mad.”

And then, amazingly, the Fullmetal Boss actually followed him meekly out to the car. Well, meekly and drunkenly, weaving and excusing himself to a coat rack. But, it took less than a minute to get him into the car and, in less time than that, he was crashed across the rear seat, snoring loudly.

Havoc ripped the wig off and heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Behind him, Breda was snickering.

“Don’t dare,” Havoc warned. “It happened on your watch too.”

That should keep Breda away from the blackmail. Havoc could rat him out too.

But, Breda just smiled. “It’s past your bedtime,” he mimed.

“Oh, shut up. It worked, didn’t it?”

Breda snickered all the way to the hotel, and Havoc just tried not to think of the not-blackmail he was scheming.

And, also made a firm vow to never be anywhere alcohol and the Fullmetal Boss were together ever again.