Hey! Second half of last chapter! Make sure you've read the last chapter I posted this morning, otherwise this won't make sense. Obviously.

Anyways, I'll respond to any reviews next chapter. Thanks for reading!

Trigger warnings: fainting, concussion, hospitals, parent- child argument, self harm.

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.

A minutes later he became aware of voices murmuring around him and the sound of hurried footsteps outside in the corridor. He was still on the floor of his maths classroom, his legs bent awkwardly against the legs of a desk. The warm linoleum floor pressed uncomfortably against his cheek. He could feel the presence of people around him, particularly someone kneeling very close to his head.

Alexander twitched slightly and rolled over, not trusting himself to be able to stand. He looked up and blinked a few times, confused as to why he was on the floor.

He let out a groan and rubbed his eyes, confused.

He blinked again and a face above him came into focus, Lafayette. His foster brother's eyes were wide and concerned, the skin around them creased with worry and confusion.

"Alex, ça va bien? Qu'est qui s'est passé?"

Alex, are you okay? What happened?

He groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead, pressing down hard. Nothing was making sense, words were muddled and mixed up in his head. He couldn't put his finger on the right ones.

"Je ne-Je ne sais pas... ¿Qué pasó? ¿Dónde estoy?"

I don't- I don't know. What happened? Where am I?

Lafayette's brows furrowed and he shook Alex slightly by the shoulders, his hands restraining and tight. Familiar panic gripped Alexander, causing the teenager to groan and try to squirm away.

"A-arrête!"

Stop!

Lafayette let go if his shoulders, his head still above Alex, a curly strand of hair hanging down above his face,

Alex couldn't sort through the words flooding through his mind. He couldn't conjure up the right English words to say, and the French ones were escaping him too.

"Laf, nous..." He struggled to remember the word. It was the verb être, he was sure of it...

"nous sommes à l'ècole?"

Laf, are we at school?

Lafayette's face relaxed at the familiar language, "oui, le cours de maths."

Yeah, maths class.

Alex was still confused, his head was spinning. Why was he on the floor, why was his nose bleeding?

"Me duele la cabeza, ¿Qué pasó?"

My head hurts, what happened?

Lafayette glanced hopelessly around at some of the other people in the room and Alex groaned again, his head hurt so much...

A boy, around their age knelt down next to Alex, who tried to sit up but was pushed back down by Lafayette's firm hand.

The boy bore a striking resemblance to Hercules, in fact, if it wasn't for the admittedly substantial height difference and the slight variances in nose and face shape, he wouldn't have been able to tell them apart. He had his hair short, like Hercules, but hadn't the bandana wrapped around his forehead that Hercules often wore. He spoke to Alex, but not in English like Alex expected; he spoke Spanish instead.

"Te desmayaste, está bien. El profesor llamaste tu padre."

You fainted, it's okay. The teacher called your dad.

He spoke Spanish with a southern accent, it was almost amusing, the way he dragged out the 'aa' sound in padre and didn't roll his 'r' made the sentence sound very American indeed.

Alex frowned, this didn't make any sense. He was trying to picture what had happened in his mind but he could only get bits of it.

He sat up again, pushing Laf off when he tried to get him to lie back down. He caught John's eye, who was leant against a desk above him, a shocked and concerned expression on his face.

"You got up to do a question on the board and just passed out."

Alex rubbed his forehead and closes his eyes. He could remember Lee shoving his head against the wall and coming into maths class, but after that was foggy.

He closed his eyes and leant his head back against the leg of his chair, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the students staring at him. He could hear Lafayette admonishing them, telling them to sit back in their seats. When Alex opened his eyes only Lafayette, John and the southern boy were still in front of him.

He smiled weakly at Lafayette, trying to reassure the boy he was at least slightly okay.

He ran his eyes over the southern boy again. He knew he had seen him before, he recognised his face but couldn't quite match it to a name.

"¿C-cómo se llama?"

The boy started slightly at being addressed but smiled anyway, holding out his hand for Alex to shake. Alexander was surprised by this rather formal gesture. It was actually the kind of thing he himself would do.

"James Madison."

He knew that name. Perhaps from English or French class? He didn't know. Alexander closed his eyes again as a sudden pain tore through his head. He felt Lafayette next to him stiffen.

"Je suis desolé. Est-ce que George..."

He couldn't remember the right word in french, it was slipping from his mind like quicksilver. He felt his eyes prick with frustrated tears and clenched his fist slightly. He felt so stupid for not being able to remember such a simple phrase.

"...venir?"

I'm sorry. Is George...to come?

He knew this was wrong, but couldn't be bothered to try and correct himself.

Lafayette noticed this was wrong immediately but said nothing, despite the grammatical inaccuracy.

Lafayette nodded, "I can come with you if you'd like."

Alex tried to consider this but his head was still fuzzy and confused, so he shrugged instead.

Lafayette glanced back at John who shrugged himself.

"You can go. I'll hang with Herc."

Alex was about to say something to John, an apology, a greeting, he didn't know. Something that would make the expression in John's eyes closer to forgiveness than pity.

But then, be fire he could summon the right words, the door opened and their maths teacher stepped in, George behind him wrapped in a long, grey overcoat. His face was anxious and from the floor, he looked even taller and more imposing. Alex braced his hands against the linoleum and tried to push himself to his feet, finally managing this task with the help of Lafayette and John, who took hold of his arms and hauled him up.

Alex tried to open his mouth and say something, an apology, an explanation, anything; but the words in his head were muddled and flying around, moving nearer and nearer to where he could reach them before being snatched away and evading him, like a dog trying to chase the tide.

"Je-je suis desolé."

He managed, the English in his mind fuzzy. Of course, he knew how to say sorry in George's language but the words were heavy on his tongue and thick in his throat, too unfamiliar and strange to get out properly.

George's eyes creased in confusion and he took Alex's arm gently, bringing him and Lafayette out into the corridor.

"Je suis évanoui, je suis desolé."

I fainted, I'm sorry

He didn't know why he was telling George what had happened, when he already knew, much less in a language he didn't understand.

George was just nodding, he could understand the apologies well enough but had no idea why his foster son was speaking french. He was reminded all too well of Lafayette when he had first come to their home.

He led Alex down the corridor, his foster son's face was confused and anxious, George noticed there were streaks of blood directly under his nose.

Lafayette was saying quiet things to him in french, his voice low and reassuring. Alex seemed to be trying to take everything in, nodding his head rapidly and blinking often, looking around at his surroundings. Almost as though he was trying to make sense of the situation.

"I think he has a concussion, but I'm not sure." Lafayette murmured, leaning closer to George's ear. His dark eyes were narrowed with what looked like a mix of suspicious anger and bewilderment.

George rubbed his jaw and nodded. They walked slowly through the main office and George stopped for a moment by the battered wooden desk, signing his name quickly at the end of a register to prove he'd taken Lafayette and Alex from school.

He had a brief discussion with the bored looking, young receptionist about the situation while Lafayette went into the nearby staff room and bought Alex a bottle of water from the musty looking vending machine that must have been there since the nineties.

George put up his aegean blue umbrella and they walked out into the small school parking lot, Alex shivering and closing his eyes against the rain. His hair was bedraggled and his face pale. George mentally hit himself for not doing more for the boy, he'd been looking ill and fatigued all week. Why had it taken him fainting for them to do something?

They got to the car, parked in a space near the gates to the main road. George gently placed a hand on his foster son's back, carefully helping Alex into the car and letting Laf get into the passenger seat. Alex was quiet in the back, through the mirror above the windshield, George could see he had a hand pressed to the back of his head and was rubbing it, a pained expression on his face.

"I-I don't really know what..." He searched for the right word. "...What happened. I'm s-sorry you had to leave work."

George was just glad he was speaking English, he shook his head. He put the car into first gear and backed out of the space, accelerating and starting onto the main road.

"It's okay Alex, Martha was going to come but I volunteered, does your head hurt?"

Lafayette twisted around to look at Alex, who nodded.

"Yeah, it does."

George took a turn in the opposite direction, away from the house and towards the local emergency room. The trees were shedding their leaves now, the remaining green cloaks shrouding them however were lush and heavy with raindrops, dancing excitedly against the pressure of the rain and wind.

"Where are we going? Are we going to the hospital?"

George nodded.

"Why did you pass out? What happened?"

Lafayette had twisted around to look at Alex, long legs stretched out in front of him and more out if his seat than in it, looking behind him at Alex.

Alex rubbed his face and closes his eyes. He just wanted to sleep.

"J'ai fatigué. Je suis fatigue."

I was tired. I am tired.

Lafayette's eyes narrowed and he glared, exasperated at Alex, speaking rapidly in french to him, of which George could only pick out bits.

"I said you looked tired! You didn't listen! You told me not to tell Martha! Christ Alexandre, you need to take care of yourself! You don't eat, you don't sleep, you aren't invincible, sooner or later you get ill!"

Alex said nothing, he rested his head against the glass of the car window and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. What had happened was coming back and the words in his head were slowing down, not dancing and spinning as fast as before. He just wanted to sleep. He was so, so tired.

Lafayette was staring straight ahead at the road, his teeth grit together tightly.

George looked at his foster son of five years and frowned, disapproving of his sharp attitude towards his brother. He shot him a stern look and turned to glance at Alex in the back seat.

"Did you hit your head?"

Alex opened his eyes slightly, his eyelids heavy and his eyes glazed over, he looked exhausted.

He shrugged and closed his eyes again, leaning back against the window and sighing slightly. Lafayette looked aggrieved and threw out his hands in an most laughably French, expressive gesture.

"Un haussement d'épaules! Qu'est-ce que cela peut bien vouloir dire?"

A shrug! What the hell does that mean?

George knew he always spoke in french when emotional... George also knew that the only emotion at play wasn't just anger.

Alex opened his eyes slightly wider and took his head off the window. His expression was still one of dissociation and weariness.

"Charles Lee punched me in the face and banged my head. Mais, nous nous sommes battus. C'etait une bagarre. He didn't just beat me up."

George looked at Lafayette, his eyes wide, who translated.

"He said he got in a fight."

George wasn't sure if he totally believed this. He knew that Alex would have no problem with defending himself physically and would probably taunt and insult a tormentor too, but he wasn't sure if he'd willingly enter into a fist fight.

Alex had closed his eyes again and seemed properly asleep this time, which was shame. They were about two minutes away from the emergency room.

George parked the car and he and Lafayette got out, the latter opening the back door and gently waking his foster brother up.

Alex got up, waving off his foster brother's attempts to help him and walking slightly unsteadily, albeit determinedly alongside George and Lafayette.

The waiting room, mercifully, was almost empty. It was a Wednesday afternoon in suburban Virginia, that wasn't exactly a recipe for accidents and emergencies.

Alex sat in a chair next to Lafayette, his head pressed against the boy's shoulder and taking deep breaths.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything?" Asked George, his thick eyebrows creased.

Alex shook his head, "No. I'm alright, I- I just don't like hospitals."

His voice came out muffled, his face still buried in his brother's shoulder.

A haggard looking nurse came out a minute later, dark circles under his eyes like Alex and his hair dishevelled.

"I'm nurse Bradner. You can come into the examination room now."

Lafayette stood up and made to go with Alex, his hand wrapped protectively around his shoulder.

"Only parents or guardians are allowed in the room with minors."

The man added that last phrase, looking Lafayette up and down. The French boy looked outraged and spun around to his father, hands thrown out in the air.

"Mais, papa! S'il te plaît!"

But dad! Please!

George shook his head and took off his coat, draping it across the chair next to Alex's bag.

"You heard the nurse, call your mother and tell her what's happening."

He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar note.

"Buy something if you get hungry and we're still in there, I saw a few vending machines and a coffee stand back there."

Lafayette took the money grudgingly and put it in the pocket of his expensive black jeans.

Alex perked up at the mention of coffee.

"Laf, can you get me a coffee if you find a place?"

The nurse held out his hand and shook his head. He bent down and looked at Alex for a few moments, examining his face and stature. He tilted his chin up with two fingers and felt his pulse. Alex shifted uncomfortably and glared at the man.

"You're sleep deprived and possibly concussed. You shouldn't consume any caffeine."

George nodded seriously and shot a pointed look at Lafayette. Alex scowled at the nurse.

"Says you..."

He murmured under his breath, eyeing Nurse Brandner's dark under eye circles.

The nurse rolled his eyes and grinned slightly, straightening up and motioning for George and Alex to follow him.

The exam took less than twenty minutes. Alex had been tested for concussions before, many times. They did all the usual tests, following a light with his eyes, catching a ruler dropped in front of him.

Apparently the concussion was mild but combined with his state of sleep deprivation and malnutrition had caused him to faint.

"Studying a little too hard huh?" The nurse asked, adjusting the strap around Alex's bicep to measure his blood pressure.

Alex rolled his eyes, irritated. He just wanted to get some goddamn sleep.

"This is unnecessary," he motioned to the blood pressure reading.

"You know what's wrong, can I just go home?"

George looked at the nurse apologetically and sent Alex a sharp look.

"Alexander, think who you're talking to."

Alex sighed again and tilted his head to the ceiling as though bored.

"Of course, nurse Bradner, the mTBI to my occipital lobe has been identified and diagnosed, I find the rest of this process unnecessary."

George stared at Alex in shock, his eyes stern and surprised.

"Alexander!"

Nurse Bradner let out a loud laugh and threw his head back, taking the arm band off Alex.

"It's alright. Symptoms of a concussion include irritability. Really did study too hard huh?"

Alex looked away and shook his arm free, folding it across his chest. He leant against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, vaguely listening as the nurse talked to George about recovery. He'd heard all this before anyway.

Lafayette was lying across three chairs in the waiting room, tapping at his phone with a coffee next to his hand on the table.

"Gil, let's go."

The French teen sat up and scrambled to grab his things, hoisting his as well as Alex's bag onto his back. George put on his coat and took out his car keys, striding towards the automatic doors.

Alex sighed and rubbed the back if his head, wincing.

"Il est fou. I was rude to the nurse."

He's mad.

Lafayette waved his hand.

"I'm sure he's not, he looks more worried than anything."

This of course, did little to cheer Alexander up. He fell asleep in the back of the car, comforted by the soft purr of the engine and the warmth of Lafayette's shoulder.

The drive was quick, they pulled into the driveway of the house at around one and George got out of the car, unlocking the front door with steady hand.

George hung up his coat on the hook and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge for some milk to make tea.

They were out. He sighed and called over his shoulder to Lafayette.

"Gilbert! We're out of milk! Do you want to cycle to the store? It's stopped raining."

Gilbert walked through the kitchen door, his expression annoyed.

"Why does it have to be me?"

George raised a dark eyebrow, "do you want Alex to go?"

"You could!"

"I have to stay here with Alex."

Lafayette rolled his eyes and grabbed the garage keys, where he kept his bike.

"Fine. I'll use the money you gave me. Semi skimmed, two percent or whole?"

George took out two mugs.

"Semi skimmed."

Lafayette nodded and went out to the garage. George faintly heard the clicking of a bike wheel and the test ring of a bell. A minute later the smooth sound of rubber tire was gliding past the driveway.

He walked into the living room where Alex was curled up on the sofa, pulling off his coat.

"We need to have a conversation."

Alex looked up at George, surprised and clearly sleepy, but nodded.

"When was the last time you slept properly?"

Alex hung his head and didn't answer immediately.

"Uh- a little while."

George sighed and sat down next to Alex, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Why do you need to study all night? Your grades are excellent."

Alex's eyes shone for a second at this praise and he looked at George eagerly.

"I've been meaning to tell you! My teachers want to move me to eleventh garde."

George frowned and Alex looked slightly disheartened, his face falling slightly.

"I'm-I'm getting straight A's..."

George shook his head, "I don't doubt the fact that you're extremely intelligent, but I'm concerned. I'm not sure if that's the best idea."

Alex straightened up slightly and stared at his foster father, his expression one of upmost shock.

"What?"

George rubbed his jaw, feeling the stubbly five o'clock shadow beneath his fingers.

"You don't... you haven't slept in days, haven't eaten in longer and you're only in grade ten. Who knows how bad this could get with the added stress of being moved up a year."

Alex hesitated for a moment, his eyes furious and his chin trembling.

"Every single night I didn't sleep these past weeks I was writing my way into junior year, and you're telling me you won't let me?"

George sighed, he'd known this talk would be difficult.

"Alex, with the place you're at right now, I'm not sure if this is the best idea, I'd have to talk to Martha but I think she'd probably feel the same way."

Alex stood up, his fists clenched and his shoulders tense.

"I've worked so godamn hard for this, it's the only thing I've wanted for months!"

George stood up himself now, calmer and more composed than Alex but his heart still pounding.

"Alex, I'm pretty sure the last you ate was about three days ago, you haven't slept in longer. I'm concerned for you. I think we should take this slow."

Alex drew himself up to his full height, his eyes livid and desperate.

"We? There's no 'we'! You're not the one who's been given the opportunity to actually do something!"

George placed a hand on his foster son's shoulder but was shrugged off, Alex took a few steps back.

"Son-"

Alex practically snarled, his jaw taught and his lower lip trembling with a combination of fury and exhaustion.

"I am not your son!"

George corrected himself quickly, worried about how the situation was progressing.

"Alex, I think you should rest, moving up to a more demanding year isn't a good idea."

"Oh, you think I won't be able to handle it?"

George shook his head, this was getting out if control. He realised his fists were clenched and he had subconsciously drew himself up to his full height.

"No- that's not- that's not what I mean!"

Alex smirked, the same sarcastic, irritable one he'd given the nurse just twenty minute ago.

"I just- I just worry about you when you don't take care of yourself."

Alex scoffed and George clenched his fists tighter, taking a step forward. He could feel his stomach bubbling with frustration.

"What?" He asked, confused at Alex's scoff.

"Yeah right you," he did air quotes with his fingers around his next word, "worry about me."

George scowled, "of course I do, what do you mean?"

"Please, I never see you. You're at work more than you're here, this place is no different to all the other rich ass homes I've been shoved into."

George raised his fist in frustration and Alex cowered back, his expression momentarily fearful. Of course, George hadn't been intending to hit his foster son at all, it was a habitual, frustrated reaction to the argument.

"Oh? You're more similar to my other foster fathers than I thought."

George glared at Alex, his eyes livid. Alexander didn't actually think he would have hit him?

"You know that's not what I-"

Alex rolled his eyes, "please."

George took another step forward and tried to take Alex's shoulder in comforting manner but he was pushed away.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

George stared at his foster son in shock and narrowed his eyes.

"Watch your language Alexander, don't speak like that to me. You know I want to help."

The teenager laughed mirthlessly.

"You're just like everyone else in this goddamn town," he gestured to the leather couch they'd been sitting on a minute earlier.

"You see that? I wonder how much that cost? I reckon my mother would work a year or so to get a loan for it."

George gritted his teeth and took a deep breath, he was trying to remain calm but Alexander was obviously trying to get a rise out of him.

"This house, how much money Martha and I have, has nothing to do with your health!"

Alex shook his head, a defiant gleam in his eye and that aggravating smirk back across his face.

"That's all I am to you, something to cushion your conscience. You've taken in some bastard orphan to feel better, so you can work with sleazy politicians and live in this fucking mansion and not feel so bad about it."

George thundered, his thoughts clouded with anger and his hand against his leg trembling.

"That's not true at all Alexander..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "you know that's not true."

Alex clenched his fist and took a step forwards.

"So prove to me that you care and let me move to the eleventh grade."

George looked up to the ceiling, his fists clenched with frustration and his eyes squeezed shut. He needed to remain calm.

"Alexander, you're smart, you understand my reasoning on this matter, I don't need to explain it to you again."

Alex's smirk dropped and his eyes became dark and reproached.

"I can't believe you. I thought you'd be proud of me." He let out a laugh but it broke halfway out of his lips and fell crumpled to land at his feet.

George tried again to rest a hand on his son's shoulder but was pushed back, Alexander's face twisted with emotion.

"Alex, we'll consider it together, Martha and I. Maybe in a few months time, but right now..."

Alexander took a shuddering breath and glared up at his foster father in a way he never had before. He didn't know why he was saying all this, he didn't even know if he believed any of it, but right now he just wanted to feel something, anything.

He wanted George to yell at him, he wanted to sever any ties they might have had. He wasn't part of this family, they didn't care about him; and god did his head hurt...

"Well fuck everything I've worked for then. Should I just buckle down, do my work the same as everyone else? Go out and watch TV like everyone else? Be normal? Would you fucking like that?"

George stood stock still for a moment moment and took a sudden step forward, "Alexander for the last time, do not talk to me in that way!"

His foster son shrugged and looked at the ground for a moment, a small smirk on his face.

George stared at him for a moment, confused and livid, his chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he was letting out.

"Don't tell me how to speak, I'll call it like I see it."

George was finding it hard to remain calm now, his concern for Alex and instinct to help him when he was so obviously distressed was fighting with the fury and aggravation he felt towards his foster son and what was coming from his mouth.

"I think," he closed his eyes, his voice dangerouly low, "you should go to your room Alexander, get some rest."

Alex smirked, a dry smile on his face.

"I guess you need to make a phone call to my social worker. $25 bucks a day wasn't worth it then?"

Alex stared defiantly up at George, the height difference between them more evident the longer they stood there in silence. Alex dug his fingernails into his palm hard, feeling the skin split and sting. He enjoyed the small fragments of pain. Finally, the silence broke.

"I don't plan on calling anyone."

Alex shifted on his feet slightly and sneered.

"Don't act like you actually care about what happens to me. I'm sure you regretted this," he gestured down at himself, a frantic and hurt look in his eye, "since the beginning. Why don't you just go to back work? I'm sure you'd much rather be writing some sanctimonious essay than sharing the same fucking room as me."

George's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward, his attempts at remaining calm rapidly retreating to the vicinity of his brain that shut off when he was angry. His voice rose an octave louder and the anger in his voice was less controlled now. More unsteady, shaking like his hand was.

"You don't know what you're saying, I suggest you stop this now. I've warned you not to speak to me like that!"

The juxtaposition between the two was evident, Alex was all sharp sneers and carefully chosen sentences. He ranted and kept his voice low and taunting when he was angry, he was used to using words rather than fists. George however, rarely let his calm demeanour slip. His rage was unsteady and frustrated; he spoke in short, choppy sentences and paused a lot, not able to think straight through the din of his emotions. Alex was practiced in aggression, George was not.

Alex took a step forwards, even closer to his foster father now. His head was pounding and his mind wasn't as clear as he would have liked it to be during an argument. He knew well he was seeking out a confrontation, he recognised that he wouldn't be saying these things if his head was clearer, but George was there and he was going to stop Alex from succeeding, so in his very unfocused and clouded mind, he had a reason to be yelling.

"Are you mad you've found someone who can match you? Someone who isn't gonna blindly do whatever you tell them?"

George seethed and slammed his fist down on the side board next to them, his strength against the wood making loud thudding sound that Alex had always associated with trouble.

"What the hell has gotten into you? I've had it up to here! I think it's best you leave, Alexander. Go-go you your room now!"

His voice was trembling and he was so clearly trying to calm himself that Alex felt a sharp stab of guilt in his gut. George didn't want to be angry at him... But then he remembered all the sleep less nights and aching, cramped hands. How he'd gone without food and worked so goddamn hard!

"I understand, you need to get back to the office and do that stack of paper work I so inconveniently tore you away from."

George looked for a moment like he was about to scream at him, his jaw was tense and both fists were clenched into tight balls, his eyes stormy.

Go on, hit me, I dare you, hit me.

He scowled at his foster father, practically daring him to lash out. Alex just wanted something familiar, something he knew, that he could understand. That something just happened to be pain. He deserved to be punched and thrown down and kicked and beaten. He needed it. It was all be knew.

Please.

George of course, did nothing of the sort. He glowered down at Alex for a moment and let out in a hissing, low murmur that Alex had never heard him use before;

"Shoved through nine foster homes, I wonder why."

He stepped back from Alex, his eyes full of reproach, hurt and rage. Then George turned slowly around and walked out of the living room. His footsteps were like the beating of a war drum on the hall floor.

Alex could hear the creak of a chair in the kitchen and imagined George sitting at the table there, most likely with his head in his hands.

He stood there for a while, his fingernails retreating from their harsh position in his skin nanometer by nanometer.

He heard the sound of rubber tire against their driveway and the ringing of a bell. Lafayette.

With unsteady legs he walked up the stairs to his bedroom and locked the door, sliding the small bolt into place with such an air of finality that the clicking of the metal sounded almost like the cocking of a gun.

Alexander moved slowly towards his school bag, not frantic and desperate like he had been four days ago, instead slow and methodical. Clumsy and stumbling in his sleep deprived state. His hands fumbled with exhaustion and confusion on the zip for a moment before he pulled out his school pencil case with trembling hands.

The cold metal of the compass shocked his feverishly warm hands and stung even more when he dug it forcefully into the skin on his arm, gritting his teeth in agony as he pulled.

When he was done he ran his arm under the tap and wrapped the cuts with tissue paper. He practically fell into his bed a moment later, one shoe still on and his hoodie partially pulled off him, his injured arm tugged out of his sleeve. He didn't even bother to get under the covers, he fell asleep the instant his face touched bed. He wouldn't wake up for another twenty hours.