Warnings for mentions of self-harm and suicide.

John didn't want to leave Alexander's side ever again—he was afraid to. Alexander had already tried to kill himself once; there was no guarantee that he wouldn't try again, to John's absolute terror.

Of course, always staying wasn't an option, not as long as Alexander was in the hospital. Visiting hours were in effect even for suicide patients, and there were always doctors and nurses in and out, some of whom wanted to speak to Alexander alone and were more than willing to kick John out to do so, no matter how much both boys protested.

One doctor, however, wanted to talk to just John, taking him into the hall to be away from Alexander's listening.

"You're his boyfriend, yes?"

John nodded slowly. This wasn't South Carolina, so homophobia wasn't as rampant, but it still existed.

"How often do you see him?"

"We live together."

The doctor nodded. "Given that you live together, did you know of his suicidal intents?"

John sighed. "I've been in South Carolina since the semester ended. My father wanted me home for the summer, but he doesn't approve of my being gay and having a boyfriend, so Alexander stayed behind. I thought that it was going to be safer for both of us, but clearly that wasn't true."

The doctor nodded, looking closely at John. "It wasn't your fault. I know that you're probably blaming yourself—you left him alone—but it isn't your fault."

The doctor had hit the nail on the head. Since he had first heard the nurse at the desk say suicide, John had been blaming himself.

"But if I hadn't left Alexander alone, this wouldn't have happened," John muttered.

"Suicide isn't often an isolated event," the doctor pointed out. "It's a symptom of bigger problems. How long has he been self-harming?"

That felt like a punch in the stomach. "I…don't know. Not long. He wasn't doing it when I left for South Carolina."

"Are you sure?"

John blushed. "Yeah. I'm sure." He wasn't about to actively say this to the doctor, but he had seen Alexander naked often enough to be sure.

The doctor nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Laurens."

John reentered the hospital room and Alexander looked up at him curiously.

"She wanted to know if I had known that you were suicidal, as well as telling me that it wasn't my fault for leaving you alone."

Alexander nodded. "Never you."

"She also told me that you've been self-harming. God, Alexander."

Alexander looked away for a moment, but then pulled up one side of his hospital gown to reveal a few angry red marks on his hip, angry red marks laid over existing scars.

John had thought he could handle it, but the stress was too much. He burst into tears, which made Alexander start crying as well.

Then, to make matters worse, John's phone rang.

Henry Laurens.

Damn.

"I have to take this," John whispered, then answered the phone.

"Yes?"

"When are you returning home for the rest of the summer? Soon, I imagine, given that you didn't even need to go up at all."

John shook his head, then remembered that his father couldn't see him. "I'm not. I mean, I'll be down to get my bags and my car, but I can't stay. I need to be here."

"Your family is more important than…than Alexander, Jack."

He still couldn't actually say boyfriend, John noted. "No, it's not. Alexander needs me more than y'all do." Damn, the accent was back. He always picked it back up when he was home or talking to people from home, but hid it around his Northern—or French, or Caribbean—friends. It came out when he was upset, though, and that was certainly the case now, to the point where he had to leave the room. John could see that his raised voice was upsetting Alexander, and that was the last thing that he wanted to do. He headed down the hall, far enough away that there was no way that Alexander would be able to hear him from inside the room.

"I don't believe that. What the hell could have happened that you think you can just leave like that, and then stay?" Henry demanded.

"I have commitments beyond just you," John snapped back, ignoring the dirty looks the people around him were giving him. "I'm nearly twenty. My life doesn't revolve around you and your whims."

"Jack," his father warned.

"You can't do anything," John snapped back. "I know—you know—that you can't force me to come back, and you can't kick me out because you need to keep your image."

"That may be true, but campaign season is upon us, Jack, and you know how important it is for me to have my family by my side for as much time as possible during that time. The voters like to see my family, and since it isn't during the school year, they're going to wonder after you."

"Alexander tried to commit suicide!" John shouted.

There was dead silence from the other end.

"You can't make me stay there. I'm needed here more."

"Fine."

John hung up and almost threw his phone across the room. His father made him so goddamn furious, which terrified him. He didn't want to be anything at all like his father, not ever, but he could see the similarities when he lost his temper.

The only reason that John didn't throw his phone was that he had more calls he needed to make. Figuring that Lafayette was the most likely to answer their phone, despite that it was nearly midnight in France, John called them first.

"Bonjour, John!" Lafayette said excitedly. "How is South Carolina?"

"I'm not in South Carolina right now," John replied, voice dead.

Lafayette paused. "What is wrong, mon ami?"

John took a deep breath. "You have to promise not to tell anyone. I'm talking to Herc and the Schuyler sisters to tell them, not you."

"…very well."

"Alexander's in the hospital. He…he tried to kill himself." It was a lot harder to say when he wasn't shouting it in a rage.

Lafayette didn't say anything, but John could hear the muffled sounds of crying on the other end of the line, which made John cry again as well.

"I left him, Laf. I knew that my father wouldn't let me bring him to South Carolina, but I could have tried. I could have refused to go down there for the summer. I should have known better. God almighty, Laf—I don't even know what to do, what to say, anything. The nurse told me that he almost bled out on the emergency room floor, which means that he took himself to the hospital. But what if he hadn't? Would I have come home from South Carolina to find my boyfriend dead in our apartment?"

Lafayette didn't answer, which made John cry harder. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor—standing was too much work.

"I have to go," he managed, then hung up and buried his face in his knees, sobbing. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. Voicing the unimaginable what-if to Lafayette had only made it far more real. He couldn't think about it. John had been in South Carolina avoiding his father and having fun with his siblings and Alexander had been at home, locked in his own head and self-destructing.

Hercules and the Schuyler sisters had to know as soon as possible. John had to pull himself together and let them know. The four of them were busier than Lafayette, however, so John sent them a quick text.

To: Hercules, Angelica, Eliza, Peggy

Call me as soon as you get a chance.

His phone rang almost immediately. The Schuylers (or Peggy, at least) must have had some downtime on their European adventures. John didn't know which country they were in, but they weren't asleep, at least.

"Hey, Peggy," John said, voice shaking.

"All three of us are here," she replied. "Are you okay? You sound like you've been crying. And it sounds busy around you—you've said that you hate crying in front of people, so something must be really wrong."

That was Peggy, always so observant.

"I'm at the hospital," John replied.

"Are you okay?" Eliza asked immediately.

John took a deep breath. "I'm fine. Well, I'm fine physically. I'm home from South Carolina, and I'm actually here because of Alexander. Alexander, who almost bled out on the emergency room floor after he tried to kill himself."

Someone shrieked—John was pretty sure that it was Eliza.

"How is he? Can we talk to him?" Angelica asked.

"He's…I can't say fine, given that he tried to kill himself, but he's alive and awake. As for talking to him, I'll see if he's up to it. I mean, he hates talking on the phone anyway, given the whole aphasia thing, but I'll ask him."

John headed back to Alexander's room.

"Hey, sweetheart, the Schuyler sisters are on the phone. They want to talk to you. Are you up for it?"

Alexander looked panicked for a moment, then nodded. "Have to."

"You don't have to," John said.

"Worry. Have to."

John nodded, then put his phone on speaker.

"Hi," Alexander said, even quieter than he had been since losing his voice.

"Alexander Hamilton!" Angelica sounded furious, and John couldn't blame her. She, of course, could get away with yelling at Alexander, something that John himself couldn't do. "You don't get to do things like that."

If it wasn't for the gravity of the situation, John would have found the look on Alexander's face almost comical. He had a movie-perfect look of terror on his face, not that John could blame him.

Angelica yelled at Alexander for another few minutes, not allowing Alexander to get a word in edgewise. Finally, she finished—"What the hell do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sorry," Alexander muttered.

"Is that it?" she demanded.

"Angelica," John cut in. "First of all, I imagine he already feels awful." Alexander nodded, eyes downcast. "Secondly, you know perfectly well that he can't say much more than that. Don't give him that kind of hell."

"I'm sorry, Alexander," Eliza said. "For both that you felt that low and my sister's words."

"I second that," Peggy chimed in.

"Thanks." Alexander looked at John. "No more."

John nodded. He knew that talking on the phone was exhausting for Alexander. At least in person or over Skype he had some level of use of facial expressions and body language, but on the phone he had no such ability.

Barely a minute after John had apologized to the Schuyler sisters and hung up, a nurse came into the room. "Visiting hours are over; I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Arguing was going to do no good, so John nodded. "Give me one minute."

The nurse agreed and left.

"Hey, I love you. I'll be back tomorrow, I promise."

"Okay," Alexander said, although he was pouting.

"If they would let me, I would stay," John told him. "But there's no way that they would let me. You're not a child and you're not dying, so I have to go. I'll try to be here as soon as visiting hours start. Of course, my car is still in South Carolina—I have to go back to get it and my other things—but I will try my best." He kissed Alexander quickly, resisting his boyfriend's attempts to deepen it. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Hercules didn't call until almost ten—until after the shop he worked at had closed, John assumed. It wasn't a problem; all John had been doing was sitting on the couch and staring at the television, which he wasn't actually watching, for all it was turned on.

"What's up?" Hercules asked as soon as John answered. "Your family giving you hell?"

John looked up at his South Carolina flag, hung next to the Saint Kitts and Nevis flag that Alexander pretended not to be proud of. "I'm home."

Hercules sounded confused. "Yeah, I know. You went home for the summer."

John hadn't realized that he had been referring to his life with Alexander as home until Hercules had mentioned it. It made sense, though—Alexander and their apartment and their friends and even school were far more home than South Carolina had ever been.

"I'm home from South Carolina."

"Did something happen down there? Do I need to punch someone for hurting my friend?"

"Nothing happened there—just the usual bullshit. Here, though…"

Hercules repeated his question. "Do I need to punch someone for hurting my friend? Is Alexander okay? What happened?"

"Alexander isn't okay. But there's no one for you to punch."

"Bullshit. Alexander is hurt, which means someone hurt him. I know him, and he probably picked a fight with someone. Do we know who?"

John bit his lip. "Yes. Alexander."

Hercules sounded utterly bewildered. "What?"

"Alexander tried to kill himself, Hercules. Only Alexander hurt Alexander. The nurse said that he almost bled out on the emergency room floor—he almost succeeded. And he's been self-harming on top of that."

"My god." Hercules didn't sound anything like his usual cocky self. It was the most subdued that John had ever heard him. "He's alive, at least. I know it's little help, but hold onto that. We didn't lose him."

"He only started once I left," John murmured. "That makes it my fault."

"No, it doesn't. Stop feeling sorry for yourself—you can't help Alexander in that state. He's always had his coping methods; I'm pretty sure that one was sleeping with you. At any rate, he was always more clingy and handsy when he was upset."

John had to admit that Hercules was right; Alexander had always tried to get John to fuck him or something related when something was wrong. "But that still makes it my fault. I left him."

"This suicide attempt and the self-harm, they were caused by problems within Alexander's head and it is no fault of yours. Stop blaming yourself. It won't help anything—in fact, I feel like it's only going to make things worse." There was muffled shouting in the background. "Listen, I have to go. Everything's going to be fine. And remember, classes start in three weeks, so we'll all be back soon. We're always here for you, though. If you need anything, let me know and I'll do my best."

John nodded, sniffling. "Thanks."

"No prob. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Herc."

Once he hung up, John went to get ready for bed but froze as soon as he entered the room. He couldn't do this. He stared at the bed he shared with Alexander and found that he couldn't make himself sleep there, not while Alexander was still in the hospital. It just served as a reminder of how much he had nearly lost.

He hurried to get pajamas, needing to be out of the room as soon as he could be. He got a pair of sweatpants out of a drawer and was just going to wear the first t-shirt he grabbed, but caught sight of his South Carolina shirt on the floor. That shirt was Alexander's favorite, which meant that it probably smelled like him.

John was right; the shirt did smell like Alexander. He curled up on the couch under a thin blanket, surrounded by the scent of his boyfriend. He couldn't wait to hold Alexander again, to reassure him that he was loved and wanted and was still so wonderful and smart and god almighty he wasn't sure how he was going to get through any of this. There was no way that he could really do this. It was his fault; he had been supposed to take care of Alexander and he had failed.

A few days later, Alexander came home. John had spent almost every day in the hospital by his side—he had spent the last day before Alexander's discharge going through the house for anything sharp and either getting rid of it or locking it up where Alexander wouldn't be able to get it—but it was nothing compared to having Alexander home.

As soon as they got home, John dragged Alexander to the bedroom, to which Alexander responded with a look of amusement.

"I'm not letting you go. I'm not leaving you again," John murmured as he wrapped all his limbs around Alexander. "Not ever. I promise."

Hey, new chapter. This one's mostly filler, though.