A/N: Has this been done yet?

Anyway, this idea's been stuck in my head for a while, and one day, I had nothing better to do so I sat and wrote it. And if you follow me, I know I should be working on Insanity in New York City, but I've been losing some inspiration since some people in the story aren't really active on their Hamilton accounts now, and the fact one of the members in that story also got banned. :( But I'm still writing it, don't worry!

Also, if you see this on the Hamilton Amino, that's me.

I don't own Hamilton or the song. I told you, I can't write original songs.

John sighed, watching Philip's chest slowly rise and fall under the blanket. When he was sure the young boy was asleep, he walked straight through the wall, out of the room and into another, where Alex and Eliza slept. He looked at them with aching in his heart, feeling phantom tears forming at his eyes. He walked over to the side of the bed where his ex-lover slept soundly, giving him a sad smile.

"I was fine,
with women
who would come into your life now and again."

He sang softly, even though there was no need to since he couldn't hear him anyway.

"I was fine.
I'd been sure
that they never really mattered until her."

He looked over at Eliza, though he didn't feel a twinge of hatred towards the woman; only slight jealousy that she had won him over. He could see why, though. She was quite beautiful, and he couldn't stay mad at her for long.

"I was fine
when she came,
And we fought like it was all some silly game

Over you.
Who you'd choose.
After all those years, I never thought I'd lose."

Giving them one last glance, he hung his head low as he walked through the closed door and out into the hallway, singing even softer as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"It's over, isn't it?
Isn't it?
Isn't it over?

It's over, isn't it?
Isn't it?
Isn't it over?

She won, and you chose her,
And she loves you, now I'm gone.
It's over, isn't it?
Why can't I move on?"

With eyes closed, he waltzed over into a beam of moonlight that made its way into the house as a flood of memories flowed through his mind, all of them filled with moments with Alex; when they met, the times they spent drinking together, even the times when they just talked.

"War and glory,
Reinvention.
Fight for freedom,
His attention."

He smiled softly, his singing growing a bit louder and more powerful as he reminisced about the battlefield, side by side with Alexander.

"Out in daylight,
My potential.
Bold, precise,
Experimental."

He stopped dancing and frowned, staring at the world outside the window where the moonlight entered, straight up at the full moon above.

"Who am I now in this world without him?
Petty and dull, with the nerve to doubt him."

He grit his teeth slightly, looking down. His chest began to hurt from the heartbreak. Images of the wedding coursed through his head as he continued to sing out his emotions. Did Angelica feel this way as well?

"What does it matter? It's already done.
Now I've got to be there for their son!"

He looked back up at the moon, which was now covered by a cloud, its bright light no longer shining on him. He sighed again, thinking back to his death from when he was shot by the Redcoats.

"It's over, isn't it?
Isn't it?
Isn't it over?

It's over, isn't it?
Isn't it?
Isn't it over?"

He danced away from the window, his eyes closed as he let his feelings guide him in his movements once again, his singing more intense than ever.

"She won, and you chose her,
And she loves you, now I'm gone!"

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, his breathing heavy after the high note. He gulped, taking a shaky breath, before continuing.

"It's over, isn't it?
Why can't I move on?"

He continued to stand still in his position, letting the tears stream from his eyes and fall to the floor. Softer than ever, just barely above a whisper, he sang out one last line.

"It's over, isn't it?
Why can't I move on?"

He stood there, relaxing his body as ugly sobs escaped his throat, unable to take the years of heartache that built up. There was nothing he could do now; history was set in stone.

"John? Are you okay?"

He turned around to find young Philip behind him in his sleep attire having just gotten out of bed. His large eyes were filled with worry. "You weren't there when I woke up, and I got scared something happened, then I heard you in the kitchen, and..."

John wiped his eyes with his transparent sleeves, sniffing. "I... I'm fine," he choked out, his throat still tight. "D-don't worry about me."

Philip's frown only grew from the reply. "No, John, you're not fine, don't lie," he told him firmly, his voice cracking a bit.

John bit his lip; he knew Alex's boy was smart, but he never thought he would be able to see through him.

"Philip, I said I'm f-"

"No!" Philip yelled a little loudly. John flinched, afraid Alexander or Eliza would wake up. He shushed Philip, trying to listen if his parents had stirred in their sleep, but the boy continued to speak. "I know you're not fine, I know you never were!" His bottom lip began to quiver. "Because, because whenever you're with me, you always talk all sad, even though you smile and try to look happy! You look at Dad as if he's someone you really miss, and you look at Mom like she hurt you a lot! I..." He hung his head and looked away, rubbing his arm. "I just want to know what's wrong, because I want to help you..."

John stood for a moment, staring at this young boy. Had he always known? After a few moments, he knelt down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Philip?" he began, getting his attention. The child looked up at him, his eyes a little wet from tears. "There's... something I need to tell you..."

He sighed, then began to tell Philip everything, from the moment he met his father, to the battlefield, to the union of Eliza and Alex, up to when he died. Throughout his tale, he let out his feelings that he had for the boy's father. Philip listened with such intensity, never interrupting him as he spoke, causing John to wonder if he was listening at all.

"You really loved him..." Philip said softly as John finished speaking. The man nodded quietly, the tears falling again and a lump in his throat. "Did Dad... did he love you back?"

He nodded again, a somber smile on his face, thinking back the letters he had received when he was alive. "'Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships,'" he recited by heart, remembering the letter word for word, "'I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by actions rather than words, to convince you that I love you.'"

He let out a sad chuckle, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "I thought we would be together," he admitted, "but then he met your mother..."

Philip wrapped his arms around him, John returning the hug. "Do you hate my mom?" he whispered in his ear.

This time, the man shook his head. "No," he confessed. "I never hated her, and I never will. Your mother is a nice woman, and your father loves her very much. I'm happy for them, I just... wish it was me..."

Philip said nothing in reply; he probably had no idea how to respond, but dumping his feelings onto him made John feel a bit better at least, and he was very grateful for that.

"Philip?"

John looked up and Philip turned around, making out Alexander's figure in the darkness. Alex stepped closer to them, his eyes only on Philip. The fact he couldn't see John hurt greatly, the man wanting so much to reach out to him, tell him he was right there. "What are you doing?" he asked his son. "It's very late."

"John was sad so I wanted to make him feel better," the young boy told his father. He had told him about John countless times; however, this was before he learned John's full history, and John was thought to be his imaginary friend.

Alex smiled at the reply. "And is John feeling better?"

Philip turned to the said man, who smiled and nodded quietly. He grinned and looked back at his father. "Yeah!" he exclaimed.

Alexander chuckled. "That's good!" He took his son's hand, leading him back to his room. "Now, tell John that you both have to sleep now, okay?"

"Okay!"

As they walked back, John had an idea. He waited until they were in the child's room, then whispered the request into Philip's ear after Alex had tucked him back in bed.

"Dad?" the boy called out as his father opened the door to leave. "John said to tell you that he still loves you and that he will always love you."

Alex stopped in his tracks. John stared at him, trying to keep the emotions away. Alex turned around, pale in the face, looking straight through John and right at his son with wide eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it, nothing coming out. John could see the tears beginning to form and his hands beginning to shake. Did those words make him feel differently about Philip's "imaginary friend"?

"G-good night, Philip," he said softly with slight voice cracks, closing the door.

"Good night, Dad."

John followed him, back into his room. Alex sat on his bed, but didn't lie down. His hands were clasped together, his eyebrows furrowed, and he had such an intense gaze at nothing in particular. John recognized the look on his face, the face he made whenever he was thinking hard about something. He knew Alexander so well, and he figured he was thinking about what Philip had said.

He sat so still for a long time without moving, it was too eerie. John, wanting to do something, stepped up to him and kissed his forehead, or at least did his best to, since Philip was the only one he was really able to interact with. He just wanted to assure the man that what his son said was true.

Alex finally moved. He put his hand to where John had kissed him, his fingers lightly brushing it. Smiling, John whispered to him, "I'll always be here, Alex, I never really left you." It was probably wistful thinking to believe that he had felt him, or that he even heard him, but the idea at least gave him some comfort.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, where Eliza slept peacefully. He put his hand onto hers, which twitched slightly. The smile still on his face, he told her, "Take good care of him for me. You're one lucky girl."

THE END