Hey guys, this is the second time writing this chapter because stupid word didn't save it oh my god. It took me like two hours to get like halfway through ugh.
Thanks for all the reviews, and I apologise for the last chapter. I forgot to put in the trigger warnings, which was really bad of me considering the nature of the last chapter. I will continue to add them at the start of each chapter and when I finish this story I'll post a master list of all of them.
Trigger warnings: brief mention of attempted suicide, mentions of abuse, breif mentions for vomiting, fainting, hospitals, ambulances.
I know the themes in this fanfiction are quite dark, and although I have been lucky enough to never experience abuse, Alex's issues with mental health, particularly anxiety and depression, are based off my own.
Because of the non descriptive mentions of suicide in the fanfiction, I will have the suicide hotlines in any chapter mentioning the subject and my profile. As well as this, I urge anyone struggling to get help. It can only get better from rock bottom, you won't regret it.
Even if you aren't struggling with mental health issues or abuse, it is your duty on this site and in real life to respect those who are and show them empathy and understanding. Some of the reasons we have such high suicide rates, especially among men, is the fact that we don't talk about depression, anxiety, border line, schizophrenia or any other mental illness that can cause suicide. Please, just respect ecah other, okay?!
This is a long one...
George had just drained the last of his orange juice and had a compliment of Martha's excellent cooking on his tongue when he glanced at Alex across from him and noticed his completely untouched plate.
The boy was staring down at the meal with a conflicted expression on his too thin face. His eyes seemed pained and confused, as though he was trying to decide whether the food was real or not.
George looked over at Martha to see if she had also noticed. Due to her ever observant nature, she had and was eyeing him in concern.
"Alex, you aren't hungry?" She questioned, tapping his hand gently.
He started and looked up, meeting the couple's worried gaze.
George sighed, "Alex, you should eat if you're hungry. We made that for you."
As if a switch had been flicked on, Alex nodded and immediately got to work, picking up a tomato on his fork and putting it in his mouth, savouring the taste.
A few bites in his eyes widened and he began to eat faster, his eyes desperate, looking afraid that the food would be snatched away from him any minute.
In a different circumstance, George would have laughed and taken it as a compliment to he and Martha's cooking, however, he knew that even though the food was amazing, taste had little to do with it for Alexander. The boy was simply terrified he wouldn't eat again for a while and was trying to get as much in him as possible.
Then, without much warning a look of terror flashed across his eyes like lightening in a thunderstorm and he dropped the knife and fork with a clatter.
Slowly, he pushed his nearly full plate away from him with shaking hands, as though he didn't want to stop eating but had little control over the matter.
"I-I'm sorry... I can't."
He stumbled over his words but George nodded quickly, shooting him a sympathetic look.
"That's okay Alex, you can go to you're room for a nap if you'd like, we'll have lunch ready later. You can eat something then."
Alex nodded quickly and then let out a tiny gasp before clamping his hand to his mouth.
Alex's knees were trembling and he had clutched the end of this sleeve so tightly his knuckles were white.
"Sorry..." he whimpered, and before either George or Martha could stop him, Alex had bolted out of the room and stumbled up the stairs.
George looked at Martha in shocked silence.
"Do we follow him?" Martha whispered, "what if he's hurt?"
"I don't know..." murmured George, his eyes still fixed on the spot Alex had recently vacated.
"I think... I think if he's alright he'll come back down again in a minute, and if not, well, we'll go up."
"So we wait?" Martha echoed.
George nodded and picked up his plate, bringing it to the sink to rinse as Martha loaded the dishwasher.
As Martha stacked the clean plates in the cupboard, a faint but eerie thump sounded from the bathroom upstairs accompanied almost immediately by a pained, gasping sob.
Martha stared at George for a moment, a name on her lips.
"Alex."
A second later George was bounding up the stairs two at a time, Martha quick at his heels.
They burst into his room, running to the door of his bathroom.
George pounded against the wood urgently, fearing for what might be happening inside.
"Alex! Are you okay? Alex?" George tried to keep the desperation from his voice as he yelled through the door.
When there was no response he looked at Martha and she rushed to her room, coming back a second later with a hairpin.
George grabbed it urgently and bent it back so he could pick the lock. He shoved it into the keyhole and pushed each pin back, working furiously with near shaking hands.
He couldn't hear anything from inside the bathroom, which only made him even more fearful. The thump they had heard downstairs sounded all too much like a body hitting the floor.
Finally the lock clicked open and he burst the door open.
The door collided with something hard on the floor and looking down, he yelled in alarm.
Alex was lying on the floor passed out cold. His cheeks were wet and his hair dishevelled. George frantically scanned his arms and the floor for blood and sighed in relief when he saw none, ruling out his worst fear.
"I think we should call nine one one." Martha said from behind him, her voice full of fear.
George nodded, although the boy didn't seem to be bleeding or injured, the smell in the bathroom suggested he had been sick and after all, he was lying passed out on the floor.
George scooped Alex up from the cold tiles and lifted his limp frame into his arms all too easily.
"He's far too light Martha..."
Martha bit her lip in concern and reached into her pocket for her phone.
"Wait!" Exclaimed George, suddenly remembering something.
Martha looked up at him surprised,
"When someone passes out you count to a minute before dialling 911, in case they wake up. it's already been about thirty seconds."
Martha nodded and together they counted.
"One, two, three, four..."
As they neared thirty George looked down at Alex and hoped for any sign of him waking. Unfortunately, once they did finish counting, he was still passed out cold.
George nodded at Martha to call and cradled the boy's head, you had to keep it elevated in case they choked on their own spit. Right? Or was that during a fit? Shaking these thoughts away he focused on Martha.
She dialled the short number and put the phone to her ear, jigging her leg up and down as she waited.
George heard the familiar "hello, 911, what is your emergency?"
"Hello, I'm calling from 163 Yale drive, our foster son just collapsed in the upstairs bathroom and we think he was sick too."
"Do you know if the boy is breathing ma'am, can you check for me?"
"He's breathing yeah, shallowly though. Will he need an ambulance?"
"Is he still unconscious ma'am, have you moved him?"
"He's still passed out yeah. For more than a minute. My husband's holding him now."
"Is there any chance of a spinal or head injury? Any bleeding or bruising in those areas?"
Martha double checked Alexander's head, pushing some dark stands out of his face. She shook her head at George and spoke back into the receiver.
"No, there's none of that."
George pushed some more hair from Alexander's face and the woman on the other end of the call spoke again.
"Ma'am, an ambulance has been deployed to your address, you can expect it within the next three minutes. For now try to make him comfortable, lay him down on a bed or sofa and if he comes around, make him drink some water. Do you know the recovery position?"
"Yeah, I know it. I'll do all that. Thank you."
Martha hung up the phone and ushered George downstairs with Alex in his arms.
"Lay him down on the sofa until the ambulance arrives, you heard the operator, try to make him comfortable."
Martha was shaking slightly and her eyes were shining slightly with tears.
George brought Alex into the living room and lay him onto the sofa in the recovery position, marvelling at how light he was.
"Now we wait." He whispered, staring at the boy laying in front of him.
Martha stood next to George and held his hand firmly as they watched Alex, who was still showing no signs of consciousness.
"What do you think happened?" Questioned Martha.
"I don't know. He evidently got sick and he's underweight too, I can imagine that combination isn't so good for a person's health. I think he could have had a panic attack too, that can some times make you faint as well."
Martha nodded in agreement and leant into her husband's chest, his 6'3 stature dwarfing her 5'4 height.
A minute or so later the tell tale sound of an ambulance siren was outside the house on the street and two paramedics were jogging up the drive.
George went and answered the door before they even had to ring and they immediately followed George into the living room.
Working quickly and calmly, they put Alex onto a stretcher and with the help George had insisted giving, they brought him easily to the end of the ambulance and put him on the bed inside.
"Who's going with him? It can only be one." asked the first paramedic, a tall, lean man in his thirties with dark skin.
Martha and George looked at each other.
"I'm off work today anyway, you can go into the office for a few hours if you'd like and come home early." Offered George.
Martha shook her head. "I'm going to stay here okay, wait for you to get back. I don't really feel like work right now."
George nodded solemnly and stepped into the ambulence. He gave Martha a quick kiss and waved goodbye as the ambulance doors closed and it pulled out of the drive.
They were only about 15 seconds up the road when Alex stirred on the bed and groaned. His eyes fluttered open and he took in his surroundings, his breath hitching in his throat when he realised he was in an ambulance.
"Shh, shh, Alex, you're okay, you're okay."
Alex curled up into himself and started hyperventilating, his breath ragged and shallow, trembling.
He was muttering something under his breath to himself and had pressed his palms firmly to his eyes as he shook in terror
The ambulance sirens wailing.
His breath coming fast and shallow.
His stomach churning and his fingers sluggish.
"Did you do it on purpose?"
Alex held back a sob as he remembered his last time in an ambulance and chewed at his already cut up lip, something he did when he was nervous.
"one of these days you're going to chew that lip off son." Mr Pace's voice was condescending and sarcastically concerned. The conversation stopped when he received a harsh punch in the gut.
George took his hand and counted his breaths with him slowly while the second paramedic rushed to get Alex a bottle of water.
A few minutes before they reached the hospital Alex had calmed down somewhat and was taking tentative sips of water. He was still trembling but George had taken to whispering to him reassuringly and rubbing his shoulder.
Slowly, they moved him back onto the stretcher, despite his insistence that he could walk just fine.
"Let it be son," Alex tensed and guilt flooded George. "Sorry, Alex, just get into the stretcher, it's alright, I'm here."
Alex obeyed silently, laying back and closing his eyes, weary.
They brought him into the hospital and onto one of those wheely beds, he curled up and buried his head into his knees as they pushed him through the hospital leaving George behind, helpless in the waiting room.
Alex was brought into a private treatment room and told to lie down. He couldn't quite controll his breathing and just as it seemed he was on the verge of another panic attack did the doctors were kind enough to put an oxygen mask over his mouth to prevent him from hyperventilating.
Around ten minutes later he had calmed down sufficiently to explain what had happened. After a few minutes of deliberation between the doctor and the nurses, he was passed a hospital gown and told to change as they needed to take his weight, blood pressure and take a few other tests.
He was left alone in the room for a few minutes and the panic started to set in again. They would see his bruises, all his scars. What if they suspected the Washingtons? They had seen George, seen how muscle bound and tall he was, what if they thought he had hurt him?
His breathing quickened again as he whimpered and hugged his knees against himself. He didn't have long until they'd be back, wanting to take him and do all their strange science experiments on him, put tubes in his throat and lock him up or whatever else they did to broken freaks like him in hospitals.
Alex's hands were shaking as he peeled off his hoodie and jeans, then his tee-shirt. Leaving on only his boxers and socks he slid on the the gown and looked at himself im the mirror. He winced.
The boy in front of him was not a pretty sight. The ring of finger shaped bruise that circled his throat and wrists that had not even begun to heal yet. His arms were just as bad, if not worse. Splotches like stains of blue and purple marred his skin.
He could see the long white scar across his upper arm where Pace had held the edge of a burning frying pan to his bicep, and the curved scar across the top of his shoulder where Mr Johnson had gotten carried away with his belt.
Even putting aside the bruises, he was painfully thin and he could almost get his thumb and index finger to wrap around his ankle.
Alex gulped and looked at his bandaged knuckles uncertainly, would they realise he'd got the cuts on his knuckles in self deference or would the nurses and doctors be scared if him, think him dangerous?
Alex jumped when the door opened and one of the nurses stepped in. His eyes widened momentarily when his eyes fell on Alex's battered form.
Then, his eyes softened gently and he beckoned for Alex to follow him, leading the way to another wing in the hospital. Alex cringed as the eyes of patients and doctors alike gawped at him, as though he was some sort of freak show.
They're all staring because they hate you. They think you're a freak who should never have been born. Even the nicer ones just pity you, you're so pathetic.
Over the next hour or so Alex was prodded and pulled all around the hospital. As he was being weighed he heard some of the doctors' conversation.
"Signs of abuse... talk to the man that brought him here."
"He's underweight, discoloration of fingernails suggests long periods of time without food."
Alex gulped and was lead again out of the room around the hospital again, eventually being seated in a dreary looking office.
After a few minutes a woman came in and sat at the desk across from him. She was around average height and had short, shiny black hair. Alex didn't know exactly where she was from but her accent when she intro herself was professional and her English was excellent, albeit tinged with something eastern European.
"I'm Doctor Samantha Warren, a child psychiatrist here at Saint John's"
Her smile was warm and friendly but Alex was too weary to reciprocate.
"I'm just here to ask you a few questions concerning some issues the staff have raised."
They hate you, they what you to be moved to another hospital. Or preferably back to the Washington's, maybe out if the country. Off the planet...
"Can I talk to you about your living situation?"
Alex nodded before Dr. Warren continued.
"Our file on you says you were moved out of a Mr. Pace's home in New York two days ago to a Mr. and Mrs. Washington's house here in Virginia."
Alex nodded again, these questions were just going to be the usual ones she got from teachers and parents.
How did you get those bruises?
Did you get those in a fight?
Why do you pick fights when you get this?
"Did Mr. or Mrs. Washington hurt you?"
Wait, what? That was not one of the usual questions! They suspected the Washingtons!
Shit. After all they've done for you, you've gotten them in trouble and now they're gonna kick you out. Maybe you should just leave, you might as well, save them all the trouble with paper work and phone calls...
He shook his head slowly but firmly, terrified but determined to defend his foster parents.
"No."
Dr Warren raised a perfectly drawn eyebrow.
"So who did?"
Alex took a deep breath, trying to prevent himself from hyperventilating.
"M-Mr. Pace, a few days ago. The Washingtons didn't hurt me, ask any of the nurses. They'll tell you the bruises are older than the time I've been with George and Martha."
Samantha nodded her head and stood up, calling to one of the nurses waiting outside.
"Nathaniel, can you tell me how old these bruises are?"
He looked at her strangely but examined Alex's arms carefully.
"A few days at least judging by the tinges of yellow, probably around four or five days. The ones on his wrists and neck have had some sort of ointment applied."
"I see. Thank you Nathaniel, I'll consult with you soon."
The nurse nodded politely and shot Alex a sympathetic look before leaving quietly.
Alex spoke again before Dr. Warren could.
"Mr. and Mrs. Washington put the ointment on this morning, they only know about those bruises, they're good people."
After a while Alex had managed to convince the doctor that George wasn't the perpetrator, that he just wanted to reast and he was okay. Well, he hadn't actually convinced her of that last one, never the less, he was brought to a small children's ward and given a bed to sleep in for a few hours, overnight if the doctors deemed it necessary.
He closed his eyes, absolutely exhausted, having gotten just about ten hours sleep over the past three days. As soon as his head touched the pillow he was gone, the energy knocked out of him and his body weary.
When he awoke it was dark outside and two people were sitting on chairs by his bed conversing quietly. George and Martha. George was clenching his fists and his jaw was set. Alex had never seen him so angry.
Reminded all to clearly of the danger signs he watched out for in foster fathers, he hid his head under the covers and breathed deeply.
Martha was off her chair at once when she saw he was conscious and rubbed slow circles into his shoulder, whispering comforting things at him through the blanket that although he couldn't hear, calmed him down enough to sit up properly.
He looked at George nervously for a moment or two but that man seemed to have calmed down substantially and was no longer speaking with Martha in terse, angry whispers.
"Alex, we've been so worried about you, we're so sorry we let you run off, we shoukd never have left you " Martha was speaking so sincerely it broke his heart and he shook his head quickly.
"No, no, it's nothing to do with you, it's all my fault. I'm so sorry I kept you so busy all day, Martha, you had work and I kept you from it! I can't apologise enough."
George shook his head, "Alex, no one blames you, not me, not Martha. Not the hospital."
His eyes darkened at this and Martha put a gentle hand on his arm.
"What's going on George? Martha?"
They both frowned and looked at each other.
"Its just that its taking some convincing on our part to assure them that George didn't do... this." She awkwardly gestured at Alex, "we've managed to discuss it with them further and fortunately, a psychiatrist by the name of Doctor Warren stepped in and luckily helped us out, she claimed she head spoken to you about it.
The hospital also called a hospital in New York that claimed it had records of you treated there for..." she winced, "other injuries.
George took over here.
"Basically we're just a little angry but we can take you home again tomorrow morning. The doctors called the foster care service you were placed in the care of and we were re-approved to have you stay with us. Everything is all cleared up kiddo, okay?"
Alex nodded and smiled his first genuine smile of the day.
"I'm sorry you were blamed for all of this George, I told them you didn't hurt me, that you were good people. I'm glad they believed me and I'm glad I still get to stay with you."
George grinned and it struck Alex how happy and unintimidating the usually stern and near terrifying man could look.
After a few minutes of pleasant chatter, George stood up and pecked Martha on the cheek.
"Sorry, honey, sorry Alex. Gil's flight gets in at 10:30 so I gotta go pick him up from the airport.
Martha nodded, completely unperturbed and gave him a quick hug.
"Take the car to the airport and be here to pick us up for nine thirty tomorrow, okay hun?"
George smiled and nodded, catching the keys as Martha tossed them to him.
Alex was still confused, "uh... who's Gil?"
George turned around, surprised, his expression changing to shock when he realised the question.
"He doesn't know..." muttered Martha.
Alex looked from one adult to the other, hoping for an answer on this 'Gil' character.
"Gil is... Gilbert Washington Yves Lafayette, our other foster son."
Ahhh, I bet you were wondering when the Lancelot of the revolutionary set would appear!
Thanks for reading! Review and follow, if you'd like!
List of hotlines by country, take out spaces in link because doesn't like links...
/ resource / list- international -suicide- hotlines
UK: 0845790909
US: 18002738255
Canada: 5147234000 (Montreal); 18662773553 (outside Montreal)
China: 85223820000
Ireland: +4408457909090
Holland: 09000767
More countries in profile.