Hello! Announcement! Basically, I'm writing historical Hamilton fanfiction, look out for those, one will be out soon enough.

Anyway, I hope you guys have seen my short story 'Doubts' about Charles Lee and George Frederick. Go to my profile and read it if you haven't. It's important to the series so you should read it, otherwise my characterisation of George in future chapters will seem wrong to you.

Oh, also, I wrote a short story for John Laurens' birthday that I'm actually really proud of. I like it a lot and I put quite a bit if work in, so if you feel like reading it, give it a try. It's complete fluff, very cute and sweet.

Guest: it just got good? Wow, thanks. You're right though lol.

Can't wait: well, here you go! New, long ass chapter.

Guest: lol, everyone like that line a lot. I guess it's kinda funny. Totally, d'accord! Yeah, it's one hundred percent a winter's ball reference. I was thinking about calling the cat something shorter than Alexander like 'lex' or 'xander' but I thought it might be funny to have everyone calling for Alexander and the cat coming along, or vice versa.

Trigger warnings: hospitals, mention of recreational drugs, mention of self harm, suicide, mention of homophobia, mention of abuse.

John slid his leather jacket over his shoulders and toed on his shoes, aware Hercules was watching him silently from the kitchen doorway, his expression no doubt disapproving and conflicted.

It was Tuesday afternoon, three days since Alexander had taken an overdose. John hadn't seen him for at least four days, possibly longer.

It felt like years.

Lafayette had been to see him in the hospital yesterday, he'd called to tell John. The situation had sounded less dire, more just miserably bleak.

John and Hercules weren't immediate family, so they hadn't been put on the visitor list yet. Though, Martha had assured him, when Alexander woke up this would change.

"Are you sure you want to go in? You don't have to. Mom called the school, they said Mrs. Wa- Martha rang."

John shook his head and picked up his art folder, where he left it leant against the wall. It was full to the point where the sides were slightly curved outwards, the handle was well worn and the corners of the folder itself were battered.

"I'm only going in for art. They'll understand, honestly. Mr. Sima is cool, he'll get it. Plus, I have important work due in today. If I miss handing it in they'll take longer to grade it, I want it back quickly."

Hercules frowned and folded his arms. Privately, he thought John was in absolutely no state to be going into school. He was dishevelled looking, his skin ashy and his eyes red-rimmed and underlined with dark shadows.

He would say this, but he'd gained quite a reputation for being the mom friend. He'd only be laughed at, and he wouldn't be able to stop John anyway.

John pulled him into a quick hug and squeezed his shoulder gently, smiling at him slightly, it was hardly even a quick upper twist of his lips, with no teeth and none of the usual light in his eyes.

"I'll see you soon."

John opened the door and retreated down the driveway with a small wave to Hercules.

The leaves on the trees were various shades of red and yellow now, flying around him frantically in the strong wind. The houses around him all glowed warmly from the windows, ambient golden light suffusing onto the sidewalk.

It was a biting cold Autumn and he could feel the tips of his fingers starting to tingle and go numb.

He pulled his jacket tighter around his frame and lowered his head against the harsh wind, feeling it whip his hair behind him in dark tendrils. He turned up his collar for added protection and pressed ahead.

John boarded a bus in the direction of the school, pulling up the hood of his jumper he'd put on underneath the leather jacket and sitting at the very back of the bus, putting his earphones in.

John spent the fifteen minute bus ride listening to the same song over and over again, not realising that his music was on repeat. He only registered this when he looked out the window and saw his stop a hundred feet or so ahead.

He walked into school through the throngs of students that had just been let out for lunch. He'd missed the first four classes, art being his fifth. It was around ten minutes until the bell went, then he would have art.

He didn't really want to be here, to be completely honest. Art was his favourite subject, along with biology, yet he didn't want to have to sit in a classroom for an hour and take notes, watch the board and listen to the teacher.

Yet, with Christmas exams approaching and the sheer amount of work expected of him and his classmates, it was imperative that he show up to the classes most important to him.

As he walked through the courtyard he caught sight of George Frederick sitting alone in the spot he normally frequented with Lee, sometimes Seabury too. He was on his phone, scrolling lethargically.

As John passed, he looked up. Strangely, there was no mocking grin or trace of animosity on his face. He merely looked tired. He also had a long cut across his left cheekbone that John knew he wasn't responsible for. He'd scratched up his face a bit, but no nail could make that kind of incision.

John moved into the stairwell without a word to him, his mind turning over these strange details. He made a mental note to mention them to Hercules and Lafayette.

He made his way to the art classrooms and walked in just as the bell went. Mr. Sima was sat at his desk, grading what looked to be a stack of theory exams.

He looked up when John walked to his desk, his face was surprised and he tilted his head slightly.

"I just got an email from the office saying you would be in today."

John shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"We had work due. I just came in any way, couldn't be bothered to go to any other classes."

Mr. Sima clicked his tongue in a mock telling-off and grinned. He was a relatively young teacher, having only joined last year. John had taken an instant liking to him, he was funny, endeavoured to help his students enjoy art and never criticised anyone's work without complimenting them on at least one aspect of it.

"You shouldn't be telling me this, but I'm flattered."

John grinned and moved towards his desk. The classroom was still empty and it would probably be a few minutes until anyone else arrived.

"Is everything all right at home? You look- You look quite tired."

John looked down at his desk and shrugged, feeling suddenly awkward and small in his seat.

"It's- it's not something I'd really like to talk about."

He was silent for a few moments and John looked up again, running a hand absentmindedly through his hair.

"That's okay."

Mr. Sima looked away awkwardly, shuffling the papers on his desk and taking a sip from the cup next to his arm. He wrinkled his nose and spat back into the mug, shaking his head in disgust.

"Paint water. I finished my coffee an hour ago."

John laughed, glad at the sudden change of subject. He'd made the same mistake many times before, not that coffee remotely looked like dirty paint water, just that he tended to get absorbed in his work.

He thought that if Alexander were an artist it was exactly the kind of thing he would do.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his stomach churning at the thought of his friend. His friend, who was now in hospital; who'd taken a bunch of pills with the aim of not waking up.

Not for the first time in the last few days, a sense of boiling, seething rage overwhelmed him. He hated that he was angry at Alexander, but that couldn't change the thoughts that made his face hot and his fists clench.

Had he not been enough for Alex? Had Alex even thought about what this would do to him? To Lafayette, to Martha, to George, to Hercules?

He hasn't even left a fucking note. He hadn't even called John, or spoken to him, or said goodbye. He'd just taken those pills one night, stumbled downstairs and chugged some scotch. Had he even considered what would happen next?

Had he considered that someone would have to be the person to discover him, that Lafayette might be that someone?

Had he even thought of him?

John was brought back to reality with the sound of the classroom door opening. He jumped and looked up, gazing over to where students were flooding in. All laughing, chatting and making jokes.

It was like he existed in a bubble that none of them could penetrate. It was as though he heard their voices like he was underwater. He felt so removed from them all, even more than he had been in the past few weeks with everything that was happening at home.

It was as though everything around him was the background noise in a dream, so forgettable that you don't even notice it at the time.

He pulled his art things from his folder and something inside his sketchbook slipped out from between its pages and drifted to the floor. He sighed and bent down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands.

It was a drawing of Alexander.

Not the one he had done in the coffee shop, no. It was when they had just met. Within the first two or so weeks of Alexander coming to Virginia.

In the drawing, he was sat on the on the Washingtons' sofa, next to Lafayette. They were laughing about something, though John couldn't remember what. He didn't even remember if he'd drawn from a reference photo or had just remembered the scene so clearly that he hadn't needed one.

He folded the work back into his sketchbook and slid it away from him, focusing instead on the front of the classroom where Mr. Sima was just beginning the lesson.

oo

The office was quiet and tastefully lit, soft orange lamps placed thoughtfully around the room on polished wood sideboards and mahogany tables. There was a desk against the far wall, right in the eye line of anyone to walk into the office.

Framed photographs hung on the burgundy painted walls. In one, a tall, dark-haired man shook hands with Jeff Sessions, the Attorney General. In another was a family, all dark-haired and pale with high cheekbones and clear, blue eyes. Each one of them looked proud but slightly stiff and unconcerned.

It was almost like a Victorian family portrait, the father holding his wife's shoulder with an iron grip and a look of stern discipline.

It was not difficult to guess, upon walking into this room, that the occupant was rich, affluent and possibly a narcissist.

You know that statistic they tell you; one in five CEOs are psychopaths? Merely walking into the office or speaking a few short words to John Lee might have you wondering whether this statistic applied to politicians too.

John Lee himself sat at the aforementioned desk, his red tie knotted in a half-Windsor and his shirt collar ironed so crisply, it looked 2D.

His hands hovered over the laptop keyboard, posed to begin typing. The phone rang and he sighed angrily, picking up the receiver and sitting back on his chair with his mouth set in a grim line.

"What?"

He didn't bother with pleasantries or introductions. There was a small list of numbers his Secretary could let through without asking him first, and no one on that list would really give a shit if he spoke to them like that.

It was his campaign manager, he sounded ever so slightly stressed but there was a definite note of glee in his tone.

"George Washington's allegedly taken a break from the campaign."

Lee sat up straighter in his chair, not exactly sure he had heard correctly.

"Where did you hear this?"

His campaign manager was speaking quickly now and Lee could hear the sounds of a keyboard clicking in the background. He was evidently typing something, and at a furious pace.

"A contact in his office. Apparently, he hasn't been in to work in three days or so and is citing family issues. It looks good. I'm trying to find out as much as I can."

Lee closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to relish in the victory for a second before replying.

"What's the family issue? Is it anything we can use?"

There was a noncommittal grunt from his campaign manager's throat and Lee rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure. I'm looking into it, in case it's something that could benefit us. If not, it's still good to know what this is about."

Lee sighed and clasped his hands together behind his head.

"So how long can he take off before him coming back would be pointless?"

His campaign manager hummed thoughtfully and the typing stopped momentarily.

"I don't know, the Democrats won't be too happy if he's off longer than a week. This probably won't affect much, we can only hope whatever's happened is big enough to make him drop the campaign."

Lee laughed and twirled a pen between two fingers, his face spread into a wide grin.

"And if not, he's out of our way for the time being."

His campaign manager made a humoured noise of agreement.

"Listen, I'm going to get on this. I'll call you back."

"Don't call me until you have something. I need to get on this speech."

"Okay, oh and Lee?"

"What?"

"Let's hope this shit is good, we could beat him with good enough dirt."

"Well, let's hope you can do your job."

He hung up.

oo

George didn't even want to check his phone. He knew what he'd find. Missed call after missed call, email after email. He knew logically, at the risk of sounding a little presumptuous, that this would all be worth it when he became Senator, the first black Senator of Virginia at that. But still...

Sometimes, he forgot this. Sometimes he couldn't see why he putting himself, his family, through this.

He was at home, listening to the recording someone had made of a meeting for him. Taking notes, jotting down ideas and rolling his eyes at some of Knox's idiotic comments.

There were few benefits to listening to the recording of a meeting rather than being there, but one of them was that he could scoff or roll his eyes at what people said without fearing repercussion. To be totally honest, he did this anyway, but not nearly as much as he would have liked to.

Another positive of listening to pre-recorded meetings was that he could stay in pyjamas, but that was besides the point.

Martha had gone to buy groceries. They had both taken temporary leave from their work for obvious reasons. If something happened to Alexander they had to be able to be there at a moment's notice. Work tended to stand in the way of that.

Lafayette had gone on a walk, said he needed some time alone to think. George was worried about him. Lafayette had, after all, been the one to find Alexander.

According to Martha, after John, Hercules and Lafayette had come home from school on the day of their fight with Lee and Frederick, Lafayette and Alexander had argued.

He always looked upset nowadays, miserable. Obviously, this was to expected. He and Alexander had grown extremely close in the time they'd known each other, so much so that one might assume they'd grown up together, rather than the reality; that they'd only known each other for about three months.

The boy was distant now though, lapsing back into French almost every time he spoke to them. Even when he was speaking English, his accent was strong and his words hesitant and jumbled. George only hoped that Lafayette would recover along with Alexander.

He hoped Alexander would be the only one in need of therapy after this was all over.

oo

"How did I not know you had a brother?"

James shrugged and twisted his hands together uncomfortably. He was sat on his bed in his dorm, squished between an old, creaking wooden desk and a wall. Student accommodation was ever so luxurious.

"How old is he, you said he was younger didn't you?"

Cyril, his roommate and friend for nearly a year now, sat on the desk next to him. He was surveying James, looking as though his entire reality had been brought into question. He could be a little dramatic sometimes.

"He's nearly sixteen."

Cyril frowned and re-crossed his legs, looking pensively at the Oasis poster he'd pinned up ironically, duh.

"How come he didn't move here with you?"

James sighed and twitched his shoulders in a slight shrug. This was a chapter of his life he didn't exactly enjoy talking about.

"Mum and dad could only take in one child, not too much money coming in those days. Anyway, it's hard enough to get a visa for one person. Two is near impossible."

Cyril pouted thoughtfully and shook some hair out of his eyes.

"What's he like?"

James smiled slightly and looked at his nails, remembering Nevis and his mother and Alexander as clearly as though it had been yesterday.

"He's a fucking shy kid unless you know him. Then he never shuts up. Crazy smart too."

Cyril laughed and they made eye contact. James knew he'd be able to see the pain in his face but found he didn't mind so much. He trusted Cyril, he was a good friend.

"Do you have any photos of him? Does he look much like you?"

James moved to the shelves on the other side of the room. He pulled a box from the very top and opened it, rummaging through the contents. He pushed aside old cinema tickets and school dance photos until he found what he was looking for.

He held out the photo to Cyril, letting him take it in his hands and examine it carefully.

"He sent it to me maybe a year ago, when he was living in New York. There was this foster mum he moved in with, Katherine. Alex really liked her. We talked loads in the months he stayed with her."

The photo was of a tanned teenager, roughly aged fourteen with long, windswept hair and a sheepish grin. He strongly resembled James, with his sharp, defined features and dark hair and eyes.

He was a skinny kid, Cyril noted, but his smile was definitely genuine and he looked like a nice guy.

In the background of the photo were tall trees and shrubbery blooming with flowers. Alexander had written central park across the back of the photo in sharpie.

"He looks like you, but with long hair."

James smiled at Cyril, feeling that the alternative would be him crying.

"I'm really sorry James."

He looked away, eyes fixing on that stupid Oasis poster.

"You said he was living in Virginia?"

"Yeah, Newport news. It's a city, but they live in a more rural area. I've been googling the family a bit."

Cyril raised his eyebrows, shifting on the desk a centimetre or so.

"Anything interesting?"

James nodded and scratched his head, pulling out his phone.

"George and Martha Washington. George Washington is running for the US Senate this year."

Cyril whistled in awe and James held his phone out to his friend, showing him a photo of his brother's foster father.

"And the mum?"

James shrugged and turned off his phone, pocketing it.

"Couldn't find too much on her. She seems nice though."

"When did she call you?"

James tucked his legs into his chest and rested his chin atop his kneecaps.

"Sunday. She texted me on Monday to say that things seemed hopeful and I could probably FaceTime on Wednesday or Thursday."

Cyril moved off the desk to sit next to his friend, putting one hand on his shoulder gently in an attempt at comfort.

"Did you ever think he'd do something like that? I mean... uh- sorry, that came out wrong."

James sighed and scrubbed at his eyes with his palms.

"It's not the first time he's- I mean, nearly two years ago when he lived in a boys' home, he took some sleeping pills one night. It was enough to do some harm, but he was okay. This time feels different though. He took more... seemed more set on it."

Cyril bit his lip and watched James, patting him gently on the back.

"What was he like as a kid?"

James shrugged and toyed with the string on his hoodie.

"He was always an anxious kinda kid. He'd get scared of things like loud noises or people yelling. He was terrified of our dad in the last year or so before he walked out. Because dad would just yell all the time at mum, at us."

Cyril could sense his friend didn't want to talk about this anymore so he remained quiet as they sat there, only moving ten minutes later for a box of tissues when James' eyes began to water slightly.

"I haven't heard the sound of his voice in three years, and that could have just been it. You know? I could have just never seen him again."

"But you will, soon."

James nodded and wiped his eyes hurriedly before any tears had time to fall.

"Yeah, yeah. I will."

oo

There were sounds first, a high pitch frequency ringing in his ears, the kind you only notice in silence so oppressive your brain searches for something to fill the space.

Next was the feeling of blood pumping in his ears, he could hear it and feel it, hot and alive and frantic. Then colours as he opened his eyes. Blurred greys and nebulous blues that followed his vision and didn't stay in one place.

He could hear something that resembled beeping in the background, sharp and metallic and piercing. It was slowly speeding up and he could feel himself began to panic, his entire body seizing up with the anxiety now flooding through him. The beeping in the background was even faster now, more irregular and frantic.

He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the clouds of faint colour surrounding him. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know what had happened...

He could hear voices in the corridor outside and suddenly there were people in the room next to him. He groaned and tried to move away from the sound and the lights, pressing his palms firmly down against his eyes and trying to focus on anything other than the horrible, throbbing pain in his head.

He could sense people around him, hear them too. Everything was far too loud and so, so bright, it burned his eyes.

He tried to move onto his stomach, press his face into the pillow and drown out everything around him, but he could feel the uncomfortable press of wires on his chest, on his forearm and at his nose too.

He instead brought up his hands and clutched his head tightly, blocking out any sounds and curling into a tight ball.

He could feel someone's hand on his shoulder and instinctively shifted away from the touch, still bewildered as to where he was and what was happening.

The voices around him had quietened but he could still feel the presence of people.

"Kid?"

A voice rang through the dim and bewildered haze around him and he stiffened slightly, trying to match a face or a name to the person speaking.

He couldn't- he didn't know wherever he was, who was with him or what had happened. He remembered taking some pills and then going downstairs, but after that everything was cast in a kind of shadow that his memory couldn't seem to penetrate.

He turned slowly so he was facing the direction in which the voice had spoken and unfurled himself cautiously, lifting his head and opening his eyes.

At first, his vision consisted entirely of blurry colours and the brief suggestion of daylight from somewhere to his left. Then, colours became clearer shapes. The shapes of people, clad all in blue. At least four of them surrounding him, leaning over where he was lying.

It came to him then, that he must be in hospital. Nowhere else would be as white and bleached looking with that unmistakable smell of chemical cleanliness.

So it hadn't worked then. He was alive.

He blinked a few more times and scanned his eyes across the faces in front of him. Nurses, he supposed. He could almost see properly now, everything was still fuzzy around the edges but details no longer lingered in ambiguity.

"I'm going to get Doc, someone call his parents."

One of the nurses jogged out of the room and disappeared out the door, closely followed by another man. This left only two people next to him.

"How do you feel?"

One of the remaining nurses crouched down next to his bed and smiled gently, she had dark ochre skin and a bright blue hijab to match the blue scrubs the other nurses wore.

He didn't answer, only pulled his arm out from under the blanket and examined where a tube lead into the vein there.

"IV drip, Cyproheptadine. Don't worry about it."

She smiled warmly and Alexander reached a hand to tap the sticker type things at his chest.

"They measure your heart rate, you won't need them soon."

He looked around the room and squinted slightly, trying to obtain a clearer understanding of his surroundings.

"Wha-" he coughed, his throat burned, "what happened?"

His voice was hoarse and he winced as he spoke, feeling as though his throat was being set on fire with the movement of the muscles there.

"Three days ago now, your dad and brother brought you in. You took some pills, didn't you?"

Her face was still kind, but it had lost its cheerfulness, now she merely looked concerned.

He closed his eyes and nodded, remembering his shaking hands and a sharp pain in his throat as he swallowed the pills. He thought back to how his hands had clutched the carpet desperately and the needles of white-hot pain in his head.

Her hand reached out and rested gently on his shoulder as he opened his eyes, watching her cautiously.

"It's okay, you're parents will be here soon. Your brother too, I've met him."

Alexander sat up a little straighter and tensed under her hand on his shoulder, feeling his breathing quicken at the thought of Lafayette.

"W-was he- when you met him- was h-he okay?"

The nurse bit her lip and Alexander fought the urge to hide his face under the bed covers. He wasn't a child.

"It will be good for him to see you, I think."

He said nothing, instead burrowing further into the covers and pulling the blankets tighter around himself.

"What- h-happened after I- I..."

He didn't finish the sentence, trailing off and letting her mind fill in the blanks.

"Well, you came here three days ago. You had a seizure almost a soon as you got here, because of the amount of serotonin in the Prozac you took."

He clenched his fists hard around the sheets and looked at her with wide eyes as she continued speaking.

"You had to have your stomach pumped, which only half worked. You had another seizure on Sunday night, now you have this IV drip of Cyproheptadine - that's basically just a serotonin 'antidote', if you will. You'll be okay, you're reacting well to treatment."

She winced slightly at her last words, obviously realizing that 'being okay' was the last thing that he wanted, that because this was the opposite of his endeavour, he was here.

Well shit, he'd managed to do some actual serious damage but not even been successful in killing himself.

He said nothing, however, just picked at a hangnail absentmindedly. Alexander looked at his bedside table and frowned, taking in the stacks of books there. They were from his room at the Washingtons' house. Some were school books, one was a notebook and one was his copy of The Goblet Of Fire.

"Lafayette brought those the other day, he was here with your parents."

"Foster parents."

She grinned sheepishly and nodded as the second nurse began walking around him, adjusting the drip and the other wires and tubes around him. He reached a hand up to his nose and touched the little oxygen cannula there, frowning.

"Why- why do I h-have this?"

The second nurse, a man, adjusted it slightly at his nose and went back to fumbling around with the machines around them.

"Just to make sure you're breathing okay, you won't need it soon."

He fell silent then, looking out the large window to his left, while the nurse was on right. It was a grey kind of day, with patches of clouds layered on top each other until he couldn't even tell where the sun was. What time was it? Where was he?

"How do you feel?"

He looked back at the nurse next to him and shrugged.

"My head hurts. E-everything's really b-bright."

She looked at the nurse still adjusting the machines by his bed, who pointed towards the window and inclined his head.

"You can draw the blinds."

She got up from where she'd crouched down next to him and pulled at the blinds so that the room was instantly darker. He blinked a few times and adjusted his eyes to the change in lighting, already feeling his head hurt a little less.

"Do you hurt anywhere else? Any troubles seeing or hearing?"

He lifted a trembling hand to his throat and touched it gently, shrugging sheepishly as he did so.

"My throat... B-but I can see fine... Hear too."

She nodded and smiled, straightening up and taking a step back.

"I can get you some water if you'd like?"

"Okay... Thank you."

She was only gone for about a minute, coming back with a plastic cup of water in one hand and what Alexander thought was a granola bar, or something similar, in the other.

She handed him the water and he sipped at it slowly, feeling it soothe his scratchy, burning throat. She put the granola bar on the bedside table, next to his history textbook.

"Your foster parents have been called, I'm sure they're on their way now."

He nodded and put the cup on his bedside table, half finished. He was saving the rest for later.

Alexander closed his eyes and turned onto his side, facing the wall and the window rather than the nurse.

It hadn't worked.

He was still here.

He felt his chest tighten and his stomach churn with so many feelings he couldn't pick out any lone one of them.

He wondered who had found him. He wondered if James knew. How had John reacted? George? The two people who he had thought hated him, who probably detested him even more because of this.

Would he be moved on to another foster home? It was likely. When he'd tried to kill himself in that boys' home two years ago they'd wanted him gone instantly, he'd moved from a grey suburb of upstate New York to the city; to families who had been actively abuse, rather than passively so.

He clutched at the sheets harder and bit down hard on his lip to avoid crying audibly, he didn't want the nurse hearing him.

He couldn't believe it hadn't worked, he'd done everything he could to make sure his body would just give up.

When he had not slept and starved himself for days on end he hadn't been consciously suicidal, but part of him, he thought, had hoped his body would just cave.

He had thought his already poor state of health coupled with the pills and the alcohol would do it. Evidently, it had not.

He couldn't even kill himself right.

Now he had to face the consequences of his foster family, his friends, the people in his school (if they knew) and of his brother.

This was exactly why he'd done it in the first place. He couldn't cope with all of it any longer, the people in his life that made him feel shit, the people that made him feel alive, and the people that did both.

He had just wanted to leave it all.

He heard the nurse by his bed stand up and her footsteps moved across the room to the door. The second nurse seemed to have finished adjusting the things around his bed and he touched Alexander's shoulder lightly, making him jump.

"Do you need anything, kiddo?"

He didn't turn around because he didn't want the nurse to see the redness of his eyes or the tears wet on his cheeks.

"No, thank you."

oo

John pressed the tip of his paintbrush more firmly into the watercolour and picked up as much pigment as he could, mixing the water further into the paint as he did so.

The classroom was quiet and he relished in the peacefulness and escapism of art, how he could only think of his grip on the paintbrush and how each stroke on the paper would turn out.

There was a knock on the classroom door and he looked up with the rest of the class, watching students put their brushes back into pots of water or else balance them on top of their palettes.

"Come in."

Mr. Sima sipped his coffee, yes coffee this time, as the door opened to reveal one of the office staff. An administrator who worked at the front desk some days.

"Uh, is John Laurens in this class?"

He tensed slightly and made eye contact with his teacher, slowly standing up out of his chair.

"Your brother is here to pick you up."

Pick him up? For wha-

Oh, oh.

He scrambled to gather his things together and threw his pencil case and sketchbook into his bag. He stumbled towards the front of his class, feeling the eyes of his classmates on him, and placed his homework hurriedly on Mr. Sima's desk.

As soon as he was outside the classroom he nodded at the administrator and sprinted down the corridor, then through the large set of double doors that led to the staircase.

He jumped down the last four or so steps and reached the office out of breath, clutching the handle of his art folder tightly.

He hoped Alex had woken up, please say this was good news. Please say nothing had happened.

Please.

He scribbled his name and the time hastily into the book on the desk and ran out into the parking lot of the school, scanning frantically for his brother's car.

He spotted it and ran over, jumping in next to Hercules, who was at in the back seat.

"What happened? Is he okay?"

Hercules nodded and his face spread into a smile.

"Martha called about five minutes ago to say he'd woken up, she, George and Laf were about to leave."

Hercules pulled John into a bone-crushing hug and they pulled out of where they'd parked.

Henry grinned back at the two of them and pressed harder on the accelerator so that they were moving down the road exactly at the speed limit.

"Dad's been asking about you."

John sighed and felt Hercules' grip tighten slightly, looking at his friend he saw that his face was set angrily, watching Henry with a stony expression. His friends hadn't always gotten on well with his dad and there had been a sharp downward curve in their liking for him recently.

"He's been asking if you're coming home when he's out, if you're doing okay. That kinda stuff."

John grit his teeth and looked out the window. He honestly loved his dad, he really did. It was difficult to sort through his emotions sometimes though, because he could be such an asshole sometimes. He wondered if his dad was sorry for what had happened.

"Does he know about what's happened with Alex?"

Henry shook his head but then glanced back at the two of them with a hesitant expression.

"He doesn't but I should, uh- I should mention, people have been talking a bit about it. There were loads of people in the emergency room apparently, around my age, someone must have recognized Mr. Washington. I've just heard people chatting, you know?"

John glanced at Hercules in alarm and saw his expression mirrored on his friend's face.

"How much do they know?"

Henry shrugged and they turned right past a gas station.

"I don't know. I heard someone say that 'the kid' looked like he was on Tsikuni. That's different though, I guess."

John bit down hard on his lip and looked out the window of the car, feeling his stomach boiling with rage. Hercules, however, looked confused.

"Tsikuni?"

John sighed and pushed some hair out of his face.

"Promethazine. It's like cough syrup mixed with soda, the shit lil' Wayne got hooked on."

Hercules groaned and rubbed the back of his head, his eyes closed.

"Just the reputation Alex needs, people thinking he's a fucking druggie."

Hercules hardly ever swore. It was a testament to his anger and frustration at the situation that he cursed so easily.

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the freeway was relatively quiet and there were no speed cameras, this was rural Virginia, so John thought they might have just tipped over the legal limit.

They pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and John jumped out before the car had even stopped, Hercules stepping down onto the asphalt a moment later.

"John, shall I pick you up or what?"

He didn't know how long this would take, if Lafayette would want them to sleep at his that night or if he would spend the night at the hospital.

"I'll text you."

They ran immediately through the double doors of the emergency room and towards the reception desk. There was no sign of Martha, George or Lafayette, who were presumably either already with Alex or somewhere else in the hospital.

Hercules cleared his throat and the woman at the desk looked up, pushing her glasses further up her nose.

"We're here to see a friend, Alexander Hamilton. We should be on his visitors list now."

The woman clicked on her computer a few times and typed some words on her keyboard before nodding her head and directing them towards the second set of doors.

"Three people came to see him just five minutes ago. Talk to Marian over there. She was supposed to bring you to him."

She pointed at a young, tanned nurse wearing a blue hijab over at the side of the room. They hastened towards her and upon seeing them, she jumped to her feet.

"Follow me, he woke up only about ten minutes ago. Your friend and his parents are here already."

She held open the door for them as they moved through the hospital, past different wings and rooms, through corridors with dim lighting and brightly painted children's units.

She showed them through a door bearing the plaque 'Children's psychiatric ward' and into a small, brightly lit office overflowing with filing cabinets and cupboards. Qualifications and certificates were framed on the walls and a few messily drawn kids' pictures were tacked up on a cork board behind the desk.

Martha, George, and Lafayette were sitting on chairs in front of a man wearing a white doctors' overcoat and dark, thickly framed glasses.

Lafayette smiled somewhat shakily at them as they sat down in two more chairs and he reached out to take Hercules hand the moment the teenager was close enough.

Hercules did not pull away, on the contrary, he shifted closer to his friend and from the way the skin over his knuckles was visibly pulled taught, he had squeezed Lafayette's hand reassuringly.

Martha smiled at John as he sat down and he noticed her and George's hands were also clutched tightly together, and that her husband's thumb was stroking soft circles into the back of her hand.

He ached for Alexander, he felt like the third wheel here. He hadn't held Alexander's hand in what felt like years, and he missed the way their fingers fit perfectly together.

"So, Alexander woke up this afternoon, quicker than we thought he would. He's obviously going to be in some distress so it's important you don't push him or ask him too many difficult questions about what's happened, yet."

He straightened his glasses and looked down at his sheet.

"He'll have to stay here for a few weeks yet, not only to recover from the overdose itself but to be monitored by psychiatrists and medical professionals."

John watched Hercules stroke the back of Lafayette's hand soothingly with his thumb.

"Really, I just felt it was important to tell you that he'll be okay, physically and that you need to be careful with him when you visit."

John bit his lip and took a deep breath, looking up at the doctor.

"How long will he be here?"

The doctor consulted his notes again and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Probably around two or three weeks as an inpatient but a few more as an outpatient, coming in regularly for check-ups."

George nodded at this information and the doctor smiled at them all, pushing the chain that secured his glasses around his neck further behind his ear.

"Just one more thing, normally we have visitation limits of three people at one time. Today, we'll make an exception due to the circumstance, but usually, we allow no more than three."

Everyone remained silent, not having much to say. No one really had any thoughts other than those of Alex, of seeing him as soon as possible.

"I can bring you to him now."

The nurse smiled at them from the doorway and almost instantaneously, everyone got to their feet with much clattering of chairs and fumbling.

They moved only a few doors down the corridor to the very last room, where Martha, George, and Lafayette had been but John and Hercules had yet to see.

The nurse showed them the combination code for the lock, 1/7/7/8 in case they ever visited without the direction of a nurse or doctor.

John wished at that moment he had someone's hand to hold, clenching his fist tightly as the door was pushed open. Then, he felt Lafayette free hand slip into his, squeezing gently.

John almost closed his eyes when they entered the room but wasn't quite able to deny himself the sight of Alexander for which he had craved for so long.

It was not a particularly large room, so when they walked in Alexander was immediately apparent in the bed next to a large window. The blinds had been drawn so that the room was engulfed in a grey tinted shade. It was not dark exactly, only dim.

Alexander sat up in the bed, fiddling with the end of his bedsheet. He was pale and sickly looking, with pink, puffy under-eye bags, and colourless lips. He looked an entire world away from the golden-skinned, cheerful teenager John had sketched in the coffee shop earlier that month.

He seemed to shrink away from them as they entered the room, retreating into the covers that drowned his bony frame. His clothes were folded on the bedside table next to him and he appeared to be wearing a hospital gown. An oxygen cannula was connected to his nose and from his forearm and chest, numerous wires and tubes lead to various machines around him.

John felt ever so slightly weak at the knees and though that, perhaps, he would have stumbled if it were not for Lafayette's firm grip on his hand.

They all stood still, wordless, in the doorway for a moment before Lafayette had broken free of Hercules and John, rushing towards Alexander with a tirade of gasping French on his lips.

"Je m'inquiétais tellement pour toi, j'étais tellement inquiet! J'ai cru que tu allais mourir! Si seulement j'avais pu en faire plus pour toi, Alexandre. Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé..."

I was so worried for you, I was so worried for you. I thought you would die, Alexandre, I wish I could have done more for you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Lafayette had thrown his arms around him, sobbing and speaking in French so garbled and fast, neither John nor Alexander could understand it.

Alexander stiffened at the sudden embrace but brought his hands gingerly out from under the covers to wrap around Lafayette, speaking to him in quiet French.

"Je suis là, Je ne te quitterai plus."

I'm here, I'm not leaving you again.

There were tears rolling down Alexander's face now and as John and Hercules stepped closer, they intensified into sobs. Lafayette wiped away his own tears and clutched at Alexander's hand tightly, as though trying to tether Alexander to him.

John stepped forward cautiously, as though in slow motion. He watched Alexander look up at him and saw the pain in his face and the tears shining on his cheeks.

He crouched down next to Lafayette and took Alexander's second hand, squeezing it tightly and embracing him with his free arm. He could feel Alexander's ragged breathing beneath him and felt tears of his own sting his eyes.

Alexander was speaking now, quietly, repeating the same words over and over again.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Alexander seemed to just let go there, his whole body heaved and shuddered with the wracking motion of his sobs – the sheer physicality shocked him, how he was crying with his entire body; he felt as though it would register on the Richter scale from the way he was quaking.

Hercules was vaguely aware that the nurse had left and the door closed behind her. He had maintained his grip on Lafayette's hand and was crouched next to him, his free arm hugging Alexander tightly.

Lafayette was shaking his head at Alexander's words, his grip becoming noticeably firmer on both Hercules' and Alex's hand.

"Non, c'est bon. Pas besoin de t'excuser. Don't apologise."

Alexander had lowered his head, hiding his expression with the many strands of dark hair that had fallen around his face. He was taking deep, shaky breaths and was clearly trying to calm himself.

The anger that John had been wallowing in, letting fester inside him, had died. He could not be angry at Alexander for this. He'd thought he was doing them a favour, he'd convinced himself that they'd been better off without him.

Alexander's problem wasn't that he hadn't thought enough about this; it was that he'd thought too much.

It took a few minutes for Alexander to calm down properly and at one point John had thought about trying to find a nurse, Alex just seemed so out of breath, so shaken.

He shook his hair out of his face, however, and closed his eyes, biting his lip and heaving deep breaths. He sat up slightly and smiled weakly at them, squeezing down on John and Lafayette's hand tightly.

"Hey..."

He looked around at them all, one dimple appearing deep in his cheek as he smiled slightly. John looked down at Alexander's hand to see he was digging his nail hard into the skin there; a bad habit. He pulled his friend's finger away clutched even tighter at his hand.

Lafayette gestured to the items on the bedside table and smiled, speaking in French again; trying to fill the awkward silence

"On t'a apporté des livres, tes manuels, et... J'ai trouvé cette photo dans ta chambre."

We brought you some books, your textbooks and... I found this photo in your room.

John turned to where George and Martha stood, preparing to translate. He gestured at the books and items on the bedside table then lazily flicked his hand back at where Alexander and Lafayette were talking. They seemed to understand.

Alexander broke his grip on Lafayette's hand to take the photo he was being offered. He gazed at it for a few moments before passing it to John, wiping his brow, which was glistening with sweat.

"Ma mere. My mom, before she had me."

He examined the photo carefully, marvelling at how familiar her face was. Alexander looked so much like her, same sharp jaw and defined nose. The slightly feminine features he'd always had now made sense, they were so clearly from his mother.

He handed it back to Alexander, watching him as he pulled the covers protectively back around himself, the photo of his mother still clutched in his hand.

George and Martha had moved forward now, Martha's eyes were shining slightly and George was stood slightly behind his wife, his jaw set firmly.

Martha crouched down next to Lafayette and embraced Alexander warmly, holding him with gentle arms and stroking his head softly. His arm gripped her shoulder tightly and as they hugged he whispered in her ear,

"Martha, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

She shushed him and leaned back slightly to look at him, taking in his dark under-eye circles and pallor.

"Don't ever be sorry."

He smiled tentatively, wondering for what had to be the millionth time, why fate had deemed he deserved these people.

George moved closer now, biting the inside of his cheek. The last proper conversation he'd had with Alexander was when they'd both said things they regretted, horrible things.

Alexander's eyes fell on him and the teenager sighed, his eyebrows furrowing. He didn't look angry though, just concentrated.

"I'm sorry," he managed, making eye contact with George for the first time in days.

He shook his head and grasped Alex's hand.

"I know you didn't mean anything of it, I'm sorry too."

Lafayette looked from George to Alexander and then to Martha, confused.

"De quoi parlez-vous?"

What are you talking about?

Alexander shook his head and glanced conspiratorially at Martha.

"Rien. Ce n'est pas important."

Lafayette frowned but said nothing, accepting the chair that Martha slid towards him and sitting down next to Alexander's bed.

"So- Can you tell me... What happened?" Asked Alexander, watching them nervously.

Lafayette lowered his head momentarily and Alexander saw his hand grip Hercules' tightly.

"I- Je t'ai trouvé... I woke up Sunday and heard something. I went outside to your bedroom and found you. Papa and me took with you to the ER."

Lafayette grimaced, though Alexander wasn't so sure if it was a reaction to the memory or embarrassment at his English. He reasoned that it was probably a combination of both.

He hadn't meant for it to work out like that. He had wanted to get into bed, have his bedroom door locked. Everything had just happened too fast, it had been all he could do to crawl at least halfway into his room.

"I'm sorry, I'm sor-"

His voice broke slightly and he rubbed his eyes, dragging his teeth across his lip.

"I didn't want it to go the way it did."

He looked down at his hands and John watched him, narrowing his eyes.

So how did you want it to go? You just dying, right?

A very small, bitter part of John's brain supplied this but he said nothing, knowing that comment was irrational and cruel. He didn't agree with these thoughts, he only wished Alexander would be alright. That was all he cared about now.

Someone had found more chairs and everyone was sat down now, silent and pensive. Everything had changed between them, and it would be a miracle if they could all get through this unscathed.

Indeed, Alexander, John, and Lafayette had suffered enough in the past week- and this was only to be the beginning of a long ordeal. It was looking less likely that things could just go back to the way they'd been before.

Creds to ErmyPop, who helped with the french!