Hello! I have a new beta reader! LamsNotLambs! I'm super excited to continue working with them, I'm not an easy writer to work with so I hope you'll be able to stand me! Thanks so much to everyone who offered to beta read, to anyone who reviewed or followed or favourited and to all the people that are so nice on messaging.

I respond to reviewers without accounts here, if you have an account I'll message you.

Lams Pickles: Aw! I'm sorry, that really sucks. John is... a complicated human. Like most of us. I think in his place I wouldn't be much better tbh. What he's going through sucks. Buut Alex hasn't been dumped... they were technically never together.

Tinybabyleafs: Thanks so much for reviewing! I'm so sorry I hurt you! I guess my aim when writing is to make my readers feel something so I should feel happy about this lol. Yeah, he's like me! I can't say it's one hundred percent healthy though. He does forgo basic human needs like food and sleep just to write. *Also like me.

Tinybabyleafs again: Angst is my speciality! I'm glad I'm able to create tension. I don't know, my trick is to focus on smaller details like the trembling if someone's hand or the shifters chopper sentences they speak in rather than big things. I find it throws reader off balance a bit. This chapter and the next one. Ooooh noooo. Sorry... it's kind funny how I end my chapters so dramatically and my authors note is so casual and playful. It's ironic huh. Thanks for all your reviews seriously, I like reading long ones and you always give me feed back!

Guest09: uhhhhhhhh. Give em time.

Emma: aww, thanks! Yeah, I'm a brit. I get muddled sometimes, though I used 'bandaids' here. The one thing I will not compromise is British spelling. IT IS COLOUR DODDAMNIT!

Trigger warnings: bullying, self destructive behaviour, self denial of sleep and food.

Okay, this one is a really long one, the next part will be posted TONIGHT, so watch out for it. I didn't want to keep you waiting too long. It will be out TONIGHT.

John didn't talk to Alex at all that day. He'd seen him in a few classes, sat next to him in math, listened to him make points in science, but hadn't made any eye contact. He didn't think Alex had even looked at him once. At least while John was watching.

He was waiting at the gate for Hercules after school, having just watched Lafayette walk out the gate with Alexander. Lafayette was still talking to John, hanging out with him too, but there was an awkward subtext to every conversation. John couldn't help but feel that his friend was mad at him.

Herc soon loped out of the building and raised his hand in a wave, grinning at John.

"Hey! I texted my mom, let her know the deal."

John nodded curtly and smiled back after a few beats of hesitation. He hated having to rely on the hospitality of others, he hated the sense of pity he couldn't help detect from everyone who knew about his situation with his dad. To be fair to Hercules, he approached the whole situation with an attitude that could only be described as friendly and compassionate. John didn't get the same feeling of self righteousness and pity from him.

They took the New Kent bus from a stop nearby and made their way further out of the town they went to school in. Hercules didn't live too far out from the school, maybe a twenty-minute bus drive, but it was still further out than John or Lafayette's house.

Eventually, they got out and took the two-minute walk to Hercules' house. The sun was setting a radiant, Klimt gold and traces of clouds were littered across the vast sky. India ink sketched telephone wires and TV aerials across the apricot edged azure.

The neighbourhood was suburban and friendly looking, all hand-painted, white picket fences and basket ball hoops on garage doors.

Pink kneed, laughing kids played ball together in the street and neighbours were barbecuing on their front lawns. Music drifted like a cool breeze from an open window, mixed with the cacophonous sounds of TVs and cutlery scraping plates, John caught the smooth, golden sound of jazz as they passed.

Hercules' house was at the end of the road, near a gate that led down to a regional park, close to York river. John found himself jealous of this small, lively community, thinking of his family's vast, empty house so far removed from their neighbours.

Hercules' house had a large porch over the street where muddy trainers and basketballs had been dumped alongside an old sun chair and a hammock.

Hercules opened the door (it wasn't locked, John noted) and dumped his bag on the hall floor, inviting his friend to do the same.

They walked into the living room and John flung himself onto the couch, relaxing at the familiar and cosy decorations of Hercules' home. School yearbook photos of his many siblings, old drawings done by the younger kids pinned to a cork board by the TV and a warm looking, knitted blanket draped over the sofa.

"I've always liked this area," commented John, picking absent-mindedly at the thread on the blanket.

Hercules shrugged, tapping nimble fingers on the wooden side board.

"Gets noisy some times, we have this one neighbour who won't stop blasting freaking 70's disco all night."

John laughed, wishing he was kept up by loud music at home. His house was so silent at night, it was eerie.

"You don't mind sleeping on the couch for now, do you? Hugh goes back to college soon so if you're still here by then, you can have his room."

John nodded, "It's totally cool. The couch is fine."

Truthfully, he felt better without a proper bed. If they had been too accommodating and hospitable, he would have felt even more awkward.

Hercules helped him connect to their WiFi and get his stuff set up a bit more, lending him a few tee shirts to wear he ran out.

John still felt awful about Alex and the argument he'd had with his father, but somehow, he felt more at home with Hercules than he had in his house for the past four years. He couldn't help but feel at home here. Amusing, that a friend's house he'd only even stayed the night in was instantly more comfortable than the place he'd lived in since he was a baby.

That night he slept better than he had in months, even despite the awful disco music that played from about two AM onwards.

oo

Alex hadn't slept for 72 hours, or three days. He'd kept track, it was now half past six in the morning and he was still slumped over his desk, a pen clutched in his hand and his eyelids drooping shut like a magnetic pull. Every second longer he stayed awake, the more he was tempted to succumb to the lull of sleep.

Next to him was a growing pile of essays he'd written for his humanities classes, stacks of words and sentences building structures on his desk that seemed to grow every day.

To be fair to his teachers, it wasn't the inordinate amount of homework he'd been given or the complexity of the essays required, it was Alexander's sheer determination to succeed and his self-destructing habit to push himself further and further away from the realm of health.

He examined his latest sentence and scribbled it out in frustration. He couldn't quite think of the perfect word. Something exact and specific enough to clarify his intentions yet not so out of place in the essay that it ruined the flow and tone of his writing.

Alex finally found the word he was searching for and wrote the sentence out again, smiling slightly to himself when he added a full stop, bringing the essay to its culmination.

He looked at his watch and groaned, wondering how he was going to make it through the next school day.

The sky outside was bright, filling Alex with a sense of dread. He couldn't fight the rising sun, only lie helpless as it dragged him into another day of a life he'd grown sick of. The sameness and isolation of his existence crushing him at every available moment, like a beetle under a traveller's boot.

Even his writing was becoming less and less of a distraction from the intrusive thoughts that struggled inside his head. Some of these thoughts were heard in the voices of Lee or George, but some, even more disturbingly, were the words of John, or in the French accented tone of Lafayette.

He pressed his palms into his eyes and took thirteen deep breaths, for luck. It was strange, the American fear of the number thirteen. In most parts of the world, it was considered a lucky number.

Alex stood up and tugged off his pyjamas, stepping into the shower and turning the water all the way up. It burned his skin like red fire ants were crawling all over his body, the steam rising around him like fog.

He closed his eyes and yawned loudly, stretching his arms in the shower and rolling his shoulders. He knew he'd need a lot of coffee to keep himself awake and it was looking more and more likely that actual sleep would be necessary the coming night.

He dressed quickly, tying his wet hair into a bun and packing his school bag, his hands fumbling on the zip for a moment, uncoordinated and awkward due to the nebulous blur of sleep deprivation clouding his vision.

He heard the familiar alarm on Lafayette's phone go off in the next room and the usual groaning and slow, clumsy movements that followed.

He put his bag on his chair and walked downstairs, pulling an empty bowl from the cupboard and setting it in front of him at the table, along with a mug of coffee. To Martha, George, and Lafayette, it would look like he'd eaten something.

His foster brother was first to come down, he'd taken down the twists he'd gotten Martha to do for him and done his usual ponytail, only with two braids leading into it.

"Salut, t'as bien dormi?"

Hi, sleep well?

Alex nodded, his throat tightening painfully and his hands shaking.

"Tu as les cernés sous tes yeux."

You have bags underneath your eyes.

Lafayette's gaze was concerned and apprehensive, his eyebrows were raised in an attempt of amused scepticism, but there was nothing funny about the situation.

Alex feigned a small laugh.

"I've always had these. Je pense que ils sont héréditaire."

I think they're hereditary.

His foster brother frowned, taking a sip of Alex's coffee.

"Well, If- CHRIST! C'est vraiment amer!"

It's so bitter!

Lafayette swallowed with a grimace and gaped at Alex.

"How can you drink that, it tastes comme 'cyanure'!"

Like cyanide.

Alex grinned and shrugged, taking a purposefully long gulp of the drink.

"And, more importantly, why do you need coffee that strong unless you are very tired?"

Alex put down the coffee and looked out the window, refusing to make eye contact with Lafayette. He was right, Alex usually took his coffee with three teaspoons of the granules, this one had five.

"I've-I've always t-taken my coffee like this. I guess I've built up a tolerance."

He ended this sentence with a half hearted smile and took another draught out of the mug, staring into the dark coffee rather than looking at his foster brother.

"If you can't sleep, just knock at my room. We can play video games or something."

Alex nodded into his cup, knowing he'd probably not take Lafayette up on this offer, even on nights when he stayed up because he couldn't sleep rather than him being busy writing.

Martha came down then, wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair still held back in the wrap she put it in overnight.

"Morning Alex, Gil."

She smiled sleepily and walked to the kettle, pouring herself some coffee. Alex looked at Lafayette pointedly, then decided to be honest. In French. So Martha wouldn't understand.

"Ça va bien, Laf. Juste, ne lui dit pas. Elle va s'inquiéter."

I'm fine, Laf, just don't tell her. She'll worry.

Laf furrowed his brows and sat back in his chair, arms folded and a conflicted expression on his face.

"What are you two chatting about? I heard you from upstairs, speaking French."

She was grinning good naturedly, assuming it would be something trivial like school or tv.

"Just about what we think will happen to a character on a show we're watching."

Alex lied smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee with a false smile on his face. Lafayette raised his eyebrows surreptitiously, saying nothing but planning out what he was going to say to his friend when they were alone.

Martha grinned and walked down the driveway to collect the paper, bringing it upstairs to George a moment later.

Lafayette finished the last of his breakfast and cleared up, rinsing out his and Alex's bowl (which he assumed had been used) and pouring himself a glass of water.

"When did you last sleep?"

"I slept a little last night..." Alex lied. He was definitely not going to tell Lafayette that he hadn't slept (or eaten, for that matter) in three days.

Lafayette sighed and shook his head.

"You are going to sleep tonight if it takes ten elephant tranquilizers to take you down."

Alex smiled slightly and stood up.

"I'm going to get my bag."

He made his way up the stairs slowly, his legs not moving in the automatic, assured way he was used to. Instead, they were faltering and slow, like he was moving gingerly along a thin wall. He dismissed this, putting it down to lack of sleep he'd gotten in the last few days; a problem he could easily fix soon enough.

Alex walked to school with Lafayette, as usual, his eyes fixed ahead of him, using every fibre of his being to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

Lafayette was doing something on his phone as they walked, so he had no problem moving slowly and didn't seem notice Alexander's exhaustion.

Alex found himself thinking of things to distract himself from his fatigue. He thought of the colour the sun was making as it filtered the leaves on that tree over there, he tried focusing on the cracks in the pavement and the leaves that made a dark carpet beneath them.

They had all turned various shades of brown, warm terracotta like the rooves in an Italian village. A rich, alluring burgundy like the inside of a blackberry and dark chestnut like the undertones in John's skin. John...

This thought made Alex wide awake, the horrible, aching guilt he'd been too exhausted to relive flooding through him again. He hadn't spoken to John in four days. Had it really been four days? It felt more like four centuries.

He turned to Lafayette who was still texting someone and clutched the straps of his bag tighter.

"How is... How is John?" Alex asked tentatively, holding his breath and looking up at the sky.

He heard the sound of tapping on Lafayette's phone cease and they slowed down a little.

"Why don't you talk to him?"

Alex turned his head to the opposite side of the road, away from his foster brother.

"Because, because-" his voice broke slightly but he continued anyway, "because he won't want to talk to me."

Lafayette's face fell and he put his phone into his pocket, moving closer to Alex putting a hand on his shoulder as they walked.

"Alex, John doesn't hate you, or dislike you. The opposite! You're both just stubborn. You need to talk to him."

Alex shook his head, stopping immediately because he was getting dizzy.

"He's practically been kicked out. Now isn't a good time."

Alexander's foster brother sighed and shook his head.

"The longer that you leave a bandaid on, the more it hurts when you rip it off."

He let this out in one breath, as though he'd had the expression saved in his mind for a while. He looked rather pleased with himself.

Alex grinned at this, "Where'd you get that one?"

Lafayette laughed and looked slightly sheepish.

"AQA English textbook, chapter 12."

Alex smiled to himself, an image in his mind of Lafayette when he first arrived to America, learning all the swear words and trying to pronounce American slang. He knew he'd been the same.

They arrived at school a short time later and Alex went to his homeroom, his mind ever so slightly reassured by Lafayette's words but too clouded by drowsiness to properly think them over and stop him from succumbing to his feelings of hopelessness.

His time table that day was not very convenient. Out of his five classes, three he had with Lee and George. The one he was going to now, English, being the first.

He slid into his seat next to Eliza and pulled out the essay he'd finished the night (well, morning) before.

"Damn, Alex, wasn't it supposed to be like two thousand words?"

Elisa was holding out her own essay, neat, cursive writing filling around a page and a half.

He looked down at his own, his usually long, looping scrawl was pointier and more frantic, covering at least four pages.

Alex shrugged and looked away, arranging his pens in a neat line and straightening the text books on his desk.

Eliza shook her head exasperated, grinning and pulled out her phone. She opening it and began tapping on the screen, smiling occasionally when Alex assumed she had received a text.

He opened his English book and read over the work he'd done in the past few lessons, occasionally scribbling out words and rewriting sentences, he almost wished he had a phone to text someone on or play an app. It was pretty awkward when everyone in the room was laughing at some meme or YouTube video and he was sat in the corner writing something.

He kept his head down, firmly staring at his textbook like it was the most fascinating thing in the world when he heard Lee and George enter the room. Eliza next to him sighed quietly and he saw her glare in the direction he assumed they were in.

Alex chanced a look in their direction and caught Lee's eye. God how he hated those eyes, that face, that person...

He was struck by an almost self-destructive and reckless attitude, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly at Lee and looking back down at his book, a small smile on his face.

He could picture Lee's eyes, dangerously narrowed and steely, dark eyebrows raised high.

He didn't care, he was sick of these assholes.

He could hear someone's footsteps coming nearer to his desk and he tensed up slightly, shoulders stiffening. A second later though, he heard Lee's voice on the other side of the room and the familiar hush fell over the class that indicated Miss Monroe had entered the class room. He was safe for now.

Miss Monroe smiled at him as she took a seat at her desk, which he returned hesitantly. She collected in their essays, grinning slightly when she took in Alexander's unnecessarily long piece of writing.

"How do you have time to write like this?" She exclaimed, leaning into Alex desk and smiling slightly.

Alex shrugged, feeling the class watching him with interest. He glared around at some of them and sat back in his chair, turning a pen over in his hands.

Miss Monroe started the class, as usual, they read some of the Kite Runner, the class had nearly reached the third part.

Alex couldn't help but steal glances at Lee throughout the lesson, watching his face to find any acknowledgment of anger at Alex.

After English class, Miss Monroe called Alex back again, this time to ask if he'd thought the offer over.

"I-I haven't managed to ask them about it yet- Mr. and Mrs. Washington I mean."

He tugged the strap of his bag tighter around his shoulder and shifted on his feet slightly. His headache was squeezing at his skull now, like the pressure around it was building and building.

"That's okay- oh, and Alex, you should be sleeping at night, not writing essays."

He opened his mouth slightly in shock, his silence said everything.

"You look tired, that's all. Get some sleep tonight."

He nodded dumbly and smiled slightly, leaving the classroom with a quiet 'good morning'.

He was a few minutes late to his politics class, sliding into his seat as silently and discretely as possible.

He pulled out his textbooks quickly and noted down the date and heading, looking anxiously at the book of the person next to him, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

"Mr. Hamilton, so nice of you to join us."

His politics teacher had paused, about to write something on the board.

Alex allowed himself a discreet eye roll and put on his most polite, passive aggressive voice be could.

"I'm very sorry sir, Miss Monroe asked me to stay behind for a few minutes. You can e-mail her if you don't believe me, I'm sure she'd be happy to confirm."

Alex finished this with a small smile and picked up his pen again, attentively noting down the information on the board.

His politics teacher frowned slightly but nodded and turned back to the board, writing another detail about the American Senate on the board.

Alex figured that his work ethic and the fact he always got straight A's saved him from being told off here.

He could feel his eyes drooping shut when they turned off the light play a film, the pain in his head was even more oppressive now and he felt weak and shiver-y. Like the feverish feeling you get after being sick.

He bounced his leg up and down, hoping the action would keep him alert and awake. He pinched the skin on his hand at the same time and tried to focus on the screen, doing his best to remember the names of the longest serving senators in America.

He managed to pull through Politics, his left hand pinching his right forearm for the duration of the lesson. The bell for break sounded and he jumped, prompting a few of his classmates to shoot funny looks at him.

Lee and George were laughing and talking to each other in the front row and Alex wondered if they had always been like this.

Was it Lee who turned George to what he was or vice versa, or had they both been like this for their entire lives?

Sometimes it seemed that George was unwilling to hurt Alex too badly. He was clearly more intelligent than his friend often, when Alex was super beat up, George would appear slightly more hesitant to hold him while Lee punched.

Then again, if the there was anything Alexander hated, it was people who didn't do what they knew was right. If George was willing to follow Lee on his every whim, Alex hated him even more.

He headed to the library, hoping he could catch twenty minutes of sleep in a secluded spot of the revision section, the tables were split into four sections and were relatively private.

He walked down the deserted politics corridor and listened to his grubby Chuck Taylors' rubber soles squeak against the linoleum. He opened the door at the end of the corridor and stopped suddenly, catching sight of Charles and George about fifteen feet away from him, next to the staircase that lead down into the maths and science classrooms.

He tried to back out of the corridor before they saw him but it was too late, George had spotted him and his momentary silence had caused Lee to look over as well.

"Alexander. What was with the eye roll earlier?"

Alex shrugged and moved to walk past Lee, purposefully knocking his sharp shoulder bone into the black haired boy.

George grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall of the last politics class room in the corridor, his back colliding painfully with the edge of a display board.

"Ouch," Alex said sarcastically, his shoulders straining uselessly against George's hands.

Lee grinned from behind George's shoulder and pushed closer, using one hand to replace George's strong grip and pin Alex to the wall himself. George stepped back gladly, taking his usual position as Lookout a few paces behind his friend.

Alex rolled his eyes again and once again disregarded any shred of self-preservation he had left.

"Do you have this confident, asshole persona to disguise the fact you're actually just a bitter, boring person?"

Lee laughed coolly.

"Creative. I'll give you that, it's just less impressive when you're, like, five foot two and pinned to a wall."

Alex scowled and tried again to shove Lee off, to no effect.

"I'm five foot six, let me go or I'll hit you."

Lee laughed and tightened his grip.

"You're too short. You couldn't."

"You've sunk low enough to reach my level."

Lee laughed again and Alex felt a sudden, burning desire to punch that stupid smirk off his face. He jerked his shoulder free for a moment and swung at Lee. The punch didn't quite land because Lee had pulled him back at the last second, but his bony elbow came around and hit Lee's nose hard, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Mother fu-"

Alex cut him off with a sharp laugh, his elbow and shoulder throbbing but his heart racing with adrenaline.

Lee pulled his fist back and swung it forwards. Before Alex even had time to register the sudden movement, he had been punched his square in the face, the fist hitting his left eye and the side of his nose with a horrible finality.

Alex yelled and clutched his nose, which was now gushing blood. He opened his eyes for a moment to see Charles in a similar state, crimson splattered below his own sharp, defined nose.

George had pulled Lee off him and was tugging him back from Alex, glaring at the shorter boy.

Alex wiped his nose the best he could, staining the back of his hand with a thick streak of dark blood.

"Aww, a tenth of what he does to me he can't handle."

George snarled and drew his fist back to punch Alex in the stomach. The blow landed painfully, causing Alex to double over, gasping. He lashed out and his foot caught George's shin hard, causing the blonde teenager to grab his leg in pain.

Alex took the opportunity to knee George hard in the chest, causing him to stumble back, having to grab Lee by the arm to keep his balance.

Lee glared at Alex and started forwards, eyes full of rage. George however, held him back.

"He's not worth it Charles, let's just go."

Lee wrenched his arm out of his friend's grip and reached forwards, grabbing Alex by the hair.

"You'll regret this Hamilton. Just you wait."

With a sharp tug, he brought Alex's head back and slammed it into the wall before letting him go, turning on his heel to walk with George down the stairs.

Alex rubbed the back of his head and winced, feeling dizzy. Everything seemed to be blurring in and out of focus, whether it was because of the injury, his lack of sleep and food or a combination of the two, he didn't know.

Alex headed to the nearest men's room, stumbling and disoriented. As though he wasn't sure there'd always be ground below him to walk on.

He pushed into the bathroom and cursed at his reflection, his under eye circles huge and his nose bloody.

Alexander grabbed a wad of tissue and wet it, dabbing at the blood underneath his nose. His head was throbbing even worse now and his eyes were having trouble focusing, objects blurring in and out of relief like a broken camera.

He cleaned the blood off his nose and washed his face with cold water, hoping to wake himself up a little. Sadly, he thought he was past the point were anything but sleep would help him.

The bell for third period (maths) went off and registered dimly somewhere in his mind, as though it was ringing through several layers of wool.

He redid his hair with clumsy fingers and walked out of the bathroom, limp hands clutching weakly to the straps of his bag.

He walked down the flight of stairs to the maths building, the throng of people around him causing his hands to shake and his breathing to quicken. He felt feverish, sick; like he was only half there but at the same time feeling very single sensation against him, as though they had been magnified by ten.

The brush of a shoulder against his arm made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, the sensation of someone's shoe stepping on his giving him goosebumps. Everything was too loud and bright and noisy! He just wanted quiet, his head hurt so much...

Eventually, he stumbled into his maths classroom and all but collapsed into his desk, his head spinning. He could hear Lafayette's excited voice behind him and the familiar grinning tones of John. They were obviously talking about something together, like they usually did with him. But this time, he wasn't necessary to their conversation. He was left at his desk, forgotten.

Their teacher walked in and began the class, his voice loud and booming, making Alex's head ache even more painfully. His eyes were struggling to remain open and he was having trouble listening and staying awake at the same time, he seemed at the moment to be only capable of one. Obviously, his body chose the option that was needed to keep him alive.

"Hamilton!"

He was brought back to attention by the voice of his teacher calling his name sharply from the front.

"Since you find the lesson so easy that you can fall asleep, why don't you come up and do the question on the board?"

Alex stared at his teacher, no recognition or understanding in his face, his head spinning and his heart pounding. The numbers on the board were blurry and complicated. Was that a seven or a one? He couldn't tell what was a plus sign or a times, everything was too out of focus.

He got up on shaky legs, bright white lights pulsing in his vision. This was a bad idea, he couldn't walk; he was going to fall!

He took a tentative step towards the front of the classroom on shaky legs. He tried to raise his arm to take the pen the teacher was holding out to him but his arm was too heavy and his joints too tired. He felt a sharp stab of pain in the back of his head and suddenly bright lights were flashing in front of his eyes.

Then, his legs buckled and air was rushing around him. His vision had gone a dizzying white, similar to a vignette picture; blurred at the edges like a fraying blanket.

He was becoming more familiar with his eyelids, then, darkness.