This is my first foray into the Hamilton fanverse so here we go! Philip is Alex's younger brother in this because I love him to bits but he doesn't fit otherwise so this is what you get :P WARNING for swearing. Gratuitously.
Obviously I only own the plot line; all characters and whatnot are not my property, including the song lyrics.
My goal is to update weekly on Mondays and I have a few more chapters written, so hopefully I can make that stick.
P.S. FF is an asshole about formatting so that's why there are random 'Hamilton's in the middle of the thing.
Shit never goes the way that you planned
Success is a door that always slams
I'm trying to break it
I'm trying to break it
Searching for words, and praying for signs
I struggle to find the rhythm and rhyme
Don't know how to say it
Don't know how to say it
Miracle - The Score
"Yo, Pip, clean your shit up, dude!" Alex calls as he stumbles over something or other in the doorway. And it doesn't really matter that disarray is more typical of Alexander himself than his younger brother – Alex's little desk is overflowing with stacks of papers, books, even a plate or too – because he's the adult here dammit so he gets to be picky about these things.
Philip replies from the kitchen with something likely less than flattering, but Alex can't really make it out over the sound of dishes being washed, so he lets it go.
"Did you make dinner?" Alex asks, wishing he was surprised to find the answer was yes. It makes him feel guilty and insufficient, but a pre-law undergraduate track leaves very little time for playing parent. And it fills him with shame, an acidic pain in his stomach, when he sees just how hard Philip works to keep their stupid little apartment clean and food on the table. How hard he works to fill in all the gaps Alex leaves.
"Cajun," Philip says with a nod towards a wonderfully smelling pot on the stove. Cajun. Alex's favorite. Jesus, he doesn't deserve this kid.
He musses Philip's hair – a curly bundle more reminiscent of their mother than of Alexander or their father – just to make the teenager squirm and snipe at him. Someone has to remind him that he's a teenager, one who is allowed to have fun, despite the dependable seriousness that Philip approaches everything with.
Philip had once been a small kid, full of boundless energy and excitement, but the passing of their mother, already flying as a solo parent, nearly four years earlier had hardened the boy more than Alex liked. He'd tried hard, God had he tried, to give Philip the life he was used to, the kind he deserved, with a happy family and the picket fence, but it wasn't in the cards for them. He was proud of the resilient, lanky kid standing at the sink without complaint like no other seventeen year old ever, but he wished he hadn't had to become quite so grown up so fast.
"Are you still going to that thing tonight?"
"Yeah, it should be good," he replies absently as he pours himself a bowl of the spicy, aromatic thing in the pot.
It was the grand opening of Hercules Mulligan's bar, the culmination of years of dreams and hard work. Alex wasn't as close with the guy as he used to be, but even he wouldn't miss a chance to see all his old friends together in one spot. Besides, he wanted to support his friend in his first solo business adventure.
"You'll be okay here by yourself?" Alex asks, a sliver of worry suddenly overcoming him. It was a Friday night, true, but he was a brother first, college student second.
The degree of dry sass leveled his way would have made weaker men shrivel. "I'm seventeen, Alex, if I haven't learned by now how to stay home alone for a few hours without setting something on fire, I'm pretty much screwed."
"I know, I know. It's just…I worry, you know?" Alex had always been the sort to tease his brother mercilessly and deck anyone else who would dare do so all in the same breath, but it wasn't until his sudden guardianship that he found himself possessed with the quiet anxiety of the need to ensure this person was okay at all times. Philip was good about it, indulgent even, dutifully replying the 'just checking you're okay' texts at any time of the day with no hassle.
HAMILTON
Alex wasn't sure what he was expecting when he pushed open the door, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't what he found. It's high energy, but comfortable. Welcoming and familiar, but without that tinge of miserable middle aged men. There is enough lighting not to feel creepy, but not so much as to feel jilting. Like a party that one crazy uncle who was weirdly insightful might throw. In typical Herc fashion there were a few balloons floating around as well as a tray of cupcakes on the house.
A few people he didn't recognize had taken up residence in some of the booths, undoubtedly here for the half priced apps for opening night. Others he vaguely recognized from the college.
"Alexander, mon cher, come join me!"
"Why am I not surprised you started without me," Alex laughs, gesturing to the half drunken pink drink on the counter.
"It's not my fault," Lafayette says silkily as he takes a sip of the garish thing, "Herc had me all set up before I could so much as take a seat."
"I don't doubt it. Where is the man of the hour?"
"Outback I think? But that pretty little thing can make you just about anything you can dream up." Alex follows his finger to the other end of the bar, where the bartender is chatting with other customers.
Pretty doesn't seem to do the man justice. He's taller than Alex - who isn't? - with a more athletic build. Even the simple v-neck he's sporting looks flattering, showing his well-developed biceps and the black ink peeking out from under his left sleeve. His hair is a wild mess of curls, barely tamed by the hair tie pulling it back. But it isn't until the man follows Lafayette's flagging hand that Alex really sees him in all his glory. Freckles everywhere, painting constellations across his wonderful olive skin, and eyes that dance between hazel and green.
Oh boy.
"Can I get you something?"
"Uh?"
Alex is painfully aware of how the way the man's smile is faltering slightly in confusion and the way Lafayette's eyes are boring holes into the side of his head.
"He'll have a beer, honey. Whatever's on tap, thanks." Lafayette saves him with grace, just like always, and tsks at him as the bartender goes to fetch a glass. "Oh, honey, you went head over heels so fast I think you may have broken your nose."
"What?" Alex asks, finally drawing his gaze off the bartender. But Lafayette just stares at him in that way that is so typical of Lafayette he might as well patent it. "What?" he repeats, this time with annoyance, "He seems like…a perfectly nice person."
"A perfectly nice person? Yeah, I can see it's his personality that's got you all tripped up."
Alex's dignity is saved by the arrival of Hercules.
"Boys! How's it going?" Hercules is a boisterous man with a personality to match his size. He's not much for politics or law, but he's, despite his booming voice and impressive size, the most level-headed and rational of the lot of them.
Alex will forever be grateful for these two knuckleheads that found him at his lowest, a college freshman in a foreign state with no friends and freshly without parents, and took him under their wings. He's not sure he'd be here today if it wasn't for them and their shenanigans to get through each day.
"I believe congratulations are in order," Lafayette cheers, raising his pink abomination into the air.
"Indeed," Alex agrees, trying not to watch too obviously as the bartender approaches with his beer. Herc swings his arm around the boy's shoulders, dwarfing him immediately, and grabs the beer to drop it onto the counter, unconcerned as foam slips over the rim.
"Johnny-boy, this is Alex and Lafayette. Anything they want, it's on the house tonight!"
"Herc, no!" Alex immediately protests while Lafayette asks for another pink thing and the bartender – John? – begins assembling it. "It's day one, you can't start in the red."
"I didn't say free drinks for everyone, just you guys. Relax, my friend! Don't worry about me, I'm making a damn good profit!" He laughs as he gestures to the many other patrons. It's true, it is a good turnout. Besides his energy is infectious and all-consuming in its sincerity and Alex can't help but grin. He's here to have a good time, dammit. He hasn't completely forgotten what it was to be a carefree youth.
"So where'd you find this one?" he can't help but ask, nodding towards the new guy, now further down the bar fixing someone else a drink.
"John? Well I was unloading the new stools sometime last week and it's pouring cats and dogs, you know? And along comes this drenched rat and the kid stops and offers to help. Like the kid looked like he was ten seconds from death and he fucking offers to help!" Herc lets out a chuckle as if he still can't believe it. All Alex can think is what a miserable sight that poor guy must have made, his poof of curls flat and stuck to his head. "So anyway we get to talking as he's helping me and he mentions he's got a little bartending experience and looking for a job and here we are! He seems like a good kid, you know?"
Normally Alex would scold his larger than life friend for his damned bleeding heart, but presently he's merely grateful because somehow this crazy world brought him into the same time and place as this goon and his ridiculously cute bartender.
After assuring he'd be back by later to check on them, Herc scurries off to check on the cooks.
"It's been a while, no?"
Alex forces his gaze back to Lafayette, who's peering at him over the rim of his glass. It's meant as a reassurance, a gentle bit of permission to go forward, but it strikes Alex oppositely.
It has been quite a while since he spared anyone so much as a second glance. It wasn't out of any intentional desire for isolation, but it was hard to find time, between school and work and trying to keep track of his alarmingly independent little brother. It's not that he doesn't get lonely or that he doesn't desperately crave someone else to lean on at times, it's that it would seem too much like dropping the ball, an admission he can't handle this all on his own. Philip is his absolute top priority, making sure the kid has food on the table and heat under his feet, and he finds most of his courses so captivating he can't help but give them his all. There's just no room to carve out time for someone else and he couldn't make them a priority even if he wanted to.
"It never hurts to have another friend, mon cher," Lafayette adds because that man can be unbelievably perceptive sometimes. His eyes are soft, no pushing anything or judging him, just wanting happiness for his friends. Alex feels the gaze like a light hug, cocooning him in reassurance.
"Mm-hmm," he agrees non-committedly and Laf seems to take the hint, moving on to ask about work.
Alex has a paid internship at the city newspaper – as a scholarship student, he doesn't qualify for work-study – which is equal parts enjoyable and frustrating. No matter how diligent Alex is in getting their coffee, fetching prints from the copy room, or typing up the local crime report, his unsolicited suggestions seem to go unnoticed and his full potential remains unrealized. These glimpses behind the scenes can be riveting, but he never was great at holding his tongue when he found something, be it an article, a writer, or a format, disagreeable. It's only his ever present duty to Philip that keeps him in check some days.
HAMILTON
"Last call, mates!" Herc calls out. It doesn't feel like hours have passed, the atmosphere light and energetic and the alcohol free-flowing. Alex is a few drinks in and hovering just on the pleasant side of wasted while Lafayette, a surprisingly heavy-weight given his slim stature, looks almost entirely unruffled. There are only a few other people besides them left, and they file out into the night with the coordination of startled chickens.
"A resounding success, I think," Alex says as Herc makes his way over, and he's pretty sure he doesn't slur? At least not a lot. Maybe.
"I'll say. You boys need any help getting home?"
"No, it's not a far walk," Lafayette replies, moving to gather his grey pea coat from the back of his stool.
Hercules frowns and, after a moment of apparent internal deliberation says, "I'd rather you didn't go alone?"
"It's not me you should worry about. I can take care of myself. Alex is the one who drove here." Alex goes to protest, because he can most certainly take care of himself too, but it comes out as barely-discernable grumbling and the others ignore him entirely, as though he was a petulant child in the corner.
"I have my car, I can drive him?" John offers, drying a glass in his hands as he approaches. "I just have to finish cleaning up." Alex stares blankly at him, unable to believe his own luck. It can't be healthy for a person's heart to beat this fast, right? Because good Lord this guy is sweet and kind too?
"No, I can't ask that of you," Hercules frets because the damn giant is literally melted cheese inside.
"It's fine, really. Make sure that one gets home and I'll take care of this one."
"At least let me comp you the gas." And somehow both Hercules and Lafayette already have their wallets open, fishing out some cash, which John resoundingly rejects, finally pushing them out the door after reassuring Hercules three times that he remembers how to close up properly.
Why does Hercules keep the temperature so damn high in the bar?
"So, Alex, right?" John asks pleasantly as he finishes restacking the clean glasses and moves to wiping down the bar and table tops.
"Yes? I mean, yes." His brain is sluggish and the lovely view of John's athletic figure bent over tables is not helping.
"Herc said you were a student at the university?"
"Yeah, Laf and I are-" What was the word again? "Pre…pre-law." He tries to remember if he's ever seen John around campus, but surely not? Surely he'd remember someone like that. "What about you? What are you studying?"
John tenses for just a second before laughing awkwardly. Gone are the careless strokes of his rag, they become methodical and focused. An intentional distraction. "Actually, I'm not…I'm just taking a few courses at the community college, you know? Just here and there."
The tiny undercurrent of shame and the way Alex can see him preparing for judgement – they make something sour build in his stomach. Does John think Alex is the sort of person who cares about that? About prestige and all that nonsense? He rushes to reassure him otherwise and ends up nearly shouting, "That's fantastic!" and drawing a startled look out of the poor man.
Good God Alex needs to go home like yesterday because his chances with this guy are souring by the second.
"What, uh, what kind of classes?" he asks, aiming for some semblance of recovered dignity after his previous squawk.
John laughs, a melodious thing that Alex immediately revels in, and offers him a self-mocking smile. "I'm kinda all over the place, you know? I'm into biology, like natural sciences, but also art? I'm not on a degree track so it doesn't really matter." Alex wants to pluck that 'haha what a fool I am' tone right out of John's repertoire, but John doesn't give him time. "Are you from 'round here?"
"I'm actually from Nevis, in the-the Caribbean," he adds when he sees John's mildly panicky 'the-hell-is-that' look, "but my mother, she brought my brother and I to, uh, to New York when we were young, so it's basically…basically home now." He's not as eloquent as usual, but even drunk him can run his mouth well enough. "You?"
"Just moved here actually, 'bout a month ago. From South Carolina. But I'm liking it well enough."
"Why did you move?" he starts to ask, but John doesn't let him get the full sentence out.
"That should be good enough. I can sweep more in the morning."
The car ride is brutally short, just under five minutes, and consists mostly of Alex delivering directions. Knowing John is a newcomer to town, he briefly debates leading the man through an elaborate round about loop just to buy more time with him, but the thought of Herc offering the kid cash for his gas makes Alex feel too guilty. For all he knows gas could be a hardship for the other man.
"This is it. Home sweet home." He wonders if the faded brick apartment building looks pitiable to John, but he doesn't ask, instead offering his thanks for the ride and sending the other man off with much less fanfare than he would have preferred.
The light is on in the living room and Alex startles as he finds Philip's slumbering form buried under a blanket on the couch. Shame courses hot and quick through him as he realizes Philip likely attempted to stay up for Alex, fully believing his earlier statements, as Alex had at the time, that he was just going to have a drink or two and be back quick.
"Fuck, Pip, I'm sorry," he whispers. He fetches another blanket from the hall closet, nearly losing his balance more than once, and covers Philip with it because they keep the apartment cooler than is comfortable to spare a few bucks and one blanket isn't nearly enough.
His shame follows him into his own bedroom. He wasn't just any college student, free to loosen their inhibitions whenever they wanted. What if something had happened while he was gone? What if something had come up but Alex was too drunk to help or even get himself home? And now he'd have to find a ride back to the bar tomorrow to get his car, taking up even more of his time on this damn night.
"Shit," he hisses as he drops, fully clothed, onto his bed. He lets thoughts of John Laurens and his ridiculous freckles and infectious smile slip into a folder reserved for dreams he has no time for and tries not to imagine the hangover he's going to face in the morning.
HAMILTON
Monday morning begins with tumultuously suggestive thick grey clouds. That alone is enough to tell Alex he's not in for a good day as storms are a sure fire way to set him on edge. The fact that Philip is short with him before Alex can get so much as a 'morning' out only adds icing on the cake. He has Constitutional Law and Governmental Powers with Professor Washington first thing, which is usually enough to get Alex eagerly out the door but even that coupled with seeing Lafayette in the class isn't enough today.
He'd made a fool of himself on Friday along with making himself sick for most of Saturday and work on Sunday had put him dearly behind on his homework for the week.
Lafayette takes one look at him before grabbing his arm and dragging him on a coffee detour before class.
With a sneer, Thomas Jefferson – Hamilton's debate opponent for the duration of the class – settles himself right in front of Alex, blocking his view of the board with his untamed mane, and isn't that just perfect. It's only the look Lafayette shoots him, something along the lines of 'chill, grasshopper', that keeps him from reaching forward to strangle the other student.
After his third and final class he meets back up with Lafayette at the library and they settle themselves in for a long night of studying.
'Be home late', he shoots to Philip and he frowns at the unusually short 'k' he gets back. Should he be worried? Is his brother sore about something?
But he forces the thoughts of that aside as he cracks open his textbook and a new cup of coffee. He loses himself in his political science work for a good few hours, soothed by Lafayette's quiet presence next to him.
The growl of his stomach startles him out of his reverie and he's further surprised to find the clock edging on seven.
Lafayette stares at him contemplatively before glancing back at his own book and quickly mentioning, "John's working tonight."
"What?" Alex demands quickly because why would that matter? It's not like Alex cares. He also notices the other man's phone hiding under the table on his lap where the bastard probably texted Hercules to ask exactly that.
He stares at Lafayette's pseudo-innocent profile for a beat or two before caving just a bit. Good company is hard to find, alright? No sense in wasting it. "I suddenly find myself craving a stiff drink."
And maybe the pleased smile Lafayette shoots him helps just a little.
HAMILTON
As promised, John is working, looking slightly harried by the after work rush, but he greets them with a pleasant smile nonetheless. Herc is by his side, making the drinks for those sitting at the tables and running food to the few people who actually ordered anything other than a drink. The menu is small, mostly involving fried fare like chicken tenders, fries, and onion rings, but Alex knows Herc put an alarming amount of time into ensuring they were the best recipes he could get his hands on. One of the two cooks is working. Alex can just see his head bobbing through the little shelf where the food waits to be delivered.
"Hey, mates, have a seat!" he calls as he hurries past them with a delicious smelling basket of something. Alex was hoping they'd pretty much have the place to themselves, but the crowd at least seems to be thinning rather than growing.
Alex is careful to ensure he only has one drink because not only does he need to drive home, but he has work bright and early tomorrow.
A good half an hour after their arrival John finally has a few seconds to spare for idle chat with them. "So how's your day been?" he asks.
"Utter shit," Alex grumbles, letting his glass slam a little extra hard on the counter after his swallow for a dramatic flare.
"Oh!" John seems a little taken aback, but Lafayette just laughs.
"Ignore him, mon ami, thunderstorms just make him pissy."
"I'm not pissy," he mutters under his breath because wow, way to make him look like a douche. It's not his fault. Little strands of anxiety always slip into the back of his mind when he hears that ominous crack of thunder because once upon a time that crack of thunder meant the beginning of fear and pain and loss and lots of damage. The hurricane was many years past him, but the residual sliver of unease never quite faded.
"Good to know," John chuckles. "Personally, bad drivers make me pissy," he says with a shrug and Alex maybe falls in love just a little bit because how can someone make his mood feel so much better so quickly? "Do you need to vent? Maybe rant a little? I'm all ears."
"Oh no, no, no!" Herc shouts, coming out of nowhere, "Don't ever invite Alexander Hamilton to rant because that boy will never shut up. I swear the man could give a thirty minute sermon on the sin of jaywalking if you asked him to."
Alex doesn't even fight back because he's too busy watching the little crinkles at the edges of John's eyes as he laughs full-out, tilting his head back and letting the joyous noise sail out.
For once Alex lets himself take a back seat in the conversation, watching as the other three share jabs like old pals. He's content to watch, to let the feelings of satisfaction and belonging wash over him.
Suddenly a sharp voice cuts through their pleasant haze. "Can I get some fucking service over here?"
All four heads turn to see a stout man with greasy brown hair pulled back into a short pony tail.
"Fucking Lee," Alex hisses under his breath.
Charles Lee is a graduate student and a Graduate Teaching Assistant for several of Alex's PolySi classes. He also happens to be a colossal prick, full of himself and somehow kissing professor's asses while lording his power of undergrads all in one breath.
"Yeah, sorry, man," John says, speaking slowly at first before slipping into his customer service voice. "What can I get for you?"
"A better bartender would be nice," he plows over both Alex and Lafayette's objections as John falters slightly, "but, failing that, I guess a whiskey on the rocks will have to do."
"What a dickbag," Alex growls, glaring at Lee while Lafayette shakes his head in disapproval beside him.
"Such uncouth behavior," the Frenchman adds.
Lee skulks off to a table, drink in hand, and John, after pouring refills for a few young women at the other end of the bar, returns, looking startled but unoffended.
Despite Hercules' warnings, John does let Alex vent, taking his various complaints in good stride and sharing side-eye glances with Lafayette. Alex doesn't mind being the butt of the joke if it keeps the mood good. Eventually John has to do some actual work ("Keeping Alex occupied is a full time job," John whines as Hercules shoos him away to bring drinks to a table in the back.)
Alex watches it unfold before him in horrifying slow motion. A man, unaware of the destruction he's about to cause, jerks his chair back and leaps to his feet, perhaps to get a refill or just to take a piss; either way, he turns, plowing into John's back and his tray of three full beers. The amber liquid, in all its foamy, sticky goodness, explodes across the nearest table, John's startled, off-balance body following suit. He lands in the lap of a surprised, beer-soaked man seated across from an equally soaked and rapidly reddening Lee.
Lee flies to his feet at the same time as Alex, and before anyone can blink, the pugnacious man hauls John to his feet by his shirt and lands a sharp right hook across the frozen bartender's face.
"Hey!"
With Lafayette and Hercules at his heels, Alex dashes over, fueled by white hot anger. Chaos is erupting around them, people leaping to their feet in surprise only to stare, unmoving in their shock. Gasps and protests fill the air but Alex, from across the bar, is the first one to intervene, grabbing Lee's arm from where it's poised for a second strike, and ripping him backward.
"Get the fuck off him!"
John stumbles back into the table and Lafayette and Hercules appear at his sides, guard dogs at the ready.
Alex can see the gears turning in Lee's head, debating, but Alex stops that with a quick, "Don't even think about it."
Herc steps in front of John and jabs a finger at the door. "Get out and don't come back. You're not welcome here."
And damn, Alex forgot just how intimidating Herc could be when he let his frame fill with his full intensity. "Shit, let me get some rags," he mutters, disappearing behind the bar. Lee's companion stands awkwardly between them, but remains wisely silent. With his eyes locked downward, he pulls a few bills out of his wallet, tosses them on the table and makes a hasty exit.
Lafayette watches him go like an eagle stalking its prey. John goes to scoop up the pieces, but Alex halts his descent, clasping John's bicep between his fingers. Alex gives him a significant look, but John offers him only a flat stare in return.
"Jesus," Herc mutters under his breath as he appears before them. He drops a few rags onto the table, but turns to John, whose arm is still clamped in Alex's grip, before beginning. "You okay, kid?"
"Yeah," he mumbles grumpily, pulling out of Alex's grasp and plucking at his soaked shirt. "Fucking hell, man."
"Why don't you take thirty? There's an extra shirt in the back you can borrow if you want," Herc offers. John accepts with a nod, the lines of his face still angry and tense. Lafayette hovers for a moment before glancing significantly at Alex and beginning to help Hercules.
Alex can feel adrenalin pumping in his veins. He's ready to go, just spoiling for a chance to defend John. But there's something off in the terse lines of John's back and Alex claps a hand onto his shoulder as he passes, satisfied for now with tending to John instead of defending him. "You sure you okay?" he asks, tone intentionally light. He doesn't want John to think Alex views him as weak because he doesn't. There was a flash, just the briefest of moments, where he saw the raw potential, saw John ready to spring on Lee, ready to fight dirty. It was something beyond the scrappiness Alex himself was usually charged with. It was something feral.
"I said I'm fine, didn't I?" John snaps, shooting Alex a glare of fire before sliding out from under his grasp and stomping towards the back room, leaving Alex adrift and more than a little stung. He can see Lafayette eyeing him with a curious frown from where he's kneeling on the ground.
A better man would go after John. A better man would smooth those rough edges and burrow to the root of the problem.
Alex isn't a better man. His pride throbs from the sharp crack of John's whip-like anger and he makes his way quickly to the bar, ignoring the many stares burrowing holes into his back from startled patrons, and scoops up his keys and jacket. Lafayette meets him half way. "Let's get out of here," he mumbles. Lafayette looks doubtful for a moment, shooting an uncertain glance at Hercules behind the bar, but Alex levels him with a 'Don't think I won't leave you here' look.
It's an extremely short car ride to Lafayette's apartment, but he idles in the car after they arrive under the pretense of digging his keys out of his bag.
Alex white knuckles the steering wheel, determinedly staring straight ahead.
"He was just upset," Laf finally says, undoubtedly watching Alex's profile.
"Yeah, I know, that's why I was trying to help? Like, what the fuck? Who does that shit?" he snaps, anger simmering deep in his veins. He wants to snarl at John for his ungrateful attitude, but the desire to hunt down Lee and make him pay for ruining a good night presses more urgently at him.
"You should go home, Alexander," Lafayette says, still leaning in the car through the open door.
What a perceptive shit.
"Yeah, yeah." And then it's just him and the stupid little car light.
The drive home does allow one realization to take shape in his mind. You don't hurt if you don't care and, even after knowing John a grand total of four days, he is hurting bad.
HAMILTON
"For the love of God, Pip, what have I told you about leaving your shit – Pip?" The house is dark, despite still being early evening. Rising alarm slides along his back, standing his hair on end. Something is off. He treads quietly to Philip's room and, after squinting through the dark for a moment trying to decide what might be blankets and what might be boy, concludes that Philip is indeed absent.
It's not like him not to check in if he isn't going to be home. He knows Alex worries and Alex is worrying dammit! Heart starting to beat a little urgent tempo in his chest, Alex flies around the rest of the small apartment, thinking up insane excuses for why Philip is maybe asleep in the closet or studying behind the couch because he's here, dammit, he has to be.
Alex is flying so fast, looking not unlike an anime character as he sprints forward, arms flung behind him, that he nearly misses it. The faintest little Alex? he ever heard. Not even a breath. A ghost of a breath. He stumbles back into the bathroom, all speed and no grace, and rips the shower curtain back.
And just like that, there he is. Not lost. Not bleeding out in some gutter. Just…sitting in the tub?
Philip is curled tight and small, face pressed against his drawn up knees. The shower isn't on and Philip is still fully clothed. His fingers though…his fingers are twisted deep in his hair, clenching mercilessly on the auburn strands and pressing tightly against his scalp.
"Pip?" he asks, feeling as though he had just stepped under an icy spray. Everything screams wrong, wrong, wrong but he doesn't know what's wrong. "Philip?" he repeats when he gets no answer. He drops to his knees, all traces of his previous anger and irritation gone, and leans on the edge of the tub, letting his hand trail over the knobby protrusions of his brother's spine.
With a shuddering sigh, Philip croaks out, "head" in the most miserable voice Alex has ever heard from the fierce boy.
"Migraine?" he asks, confused. Sure Alex himself got a migraine every now and then, after too many days and nights of non-stop work and a full-stop on food and sleep, but he can't recall Philip ever getting one. But, what with the no lights and the seeking of the cool bathtub, Alex can't deny that's exactly what it looks like. First time for everything, he supposes. "Did you take something for it?"
"No," Philip hisses immediately, catching Alex off guard with the vehemence in his voice.
"Do you want something?" he offers slowly. Philip's head flies up and holy shit his kid is a mess. His face is splotchy, eyes looking half deranged with how wide and red they are. Tear tracks, both dried and fresh, stain nearly his entire lower face. He's shaking, and badly at that. Alex can't recall ever seeing him like this, not even when he was a little child prone to scrapped knees or as a newly orphaned teenager plagued by nightmares.
He looks ready to fly apart at the seams, body practically vibrating with miserable energy.
"No!" he insists, "No, Alex, no, don't give me anything."
He can't help but frown, brain whirring into overdrive as he tries to figure it out. Philip sounds almost like he's…punishing himself? Like he doesn't deserve relief. But that makes absolutely no sense so instead he asks, "You sure? Because you're kinda scaring me, buddy." Open and honest had always been their policy and it'd served them well so far.
"Yes," he all but cries, fresh tears bubbling over. "Just stay?" It comes out so small and scared, a kicked puppy unsure if reward or punishment faces it at each turn.
And how can Alex not?
"Of course, Pip, of course." He climbs into the tub and pulls the younger boy to lean back against his chest, spares enough thought for his future back to snag both a towel to lean against and one to cover Philip. He truly is shaking, tremors racing up and down his back, and Alex can feel his heart stampeding through his chest.
Is this truly a headache, he wants to ask, because it looks a lot more like fear and his Philip should never be this afraid.
HAMILTON
There's a text from John on his phone when he wakes up in the morning, having, thankfully, calmed Philip down enough to get them both settled in Alex's bed. It felt detrimental to the both of them to insist on Pip sleeping in his own room.
Alex doesn't even know how the other man got his number, but that fact that he sought it out just to apologize make Alex's heart flutter just a bit.
Sorry for being such an ass last night, I was overwhelmed and caught off guard. I'll give you one on the house if you stop by tonight?
He can't, he really can't, but he offers to stop by Wednesday as a peace offering.
One that John accepts with a smiley face.
He texts Philip probably more times than necessary, but he can't help the anxiety that keeps bubbling up in his chest when he thinks of how small and terrified Philip had seemed. To his credit, Philip doesn't haggle him about it, just alternates between apologizing for being stupid (you weren't), assuring Alex he's fine (are you?), and thanking him for being there (always, kid, always).
Off to a good start.
PLEASE REVIEW - it means so much to me and I'm feeling very self-conscious about this piece.
Have a lovely week :D