Sup, how are you guys?

Thanks for so many reviews, hell, you guys are so supportive and great.

NexaRust: wow! Thanks so much, how is the French so far? I try to make it as correct as I can. If you could help me out that would be really cool, do you have an account I could DM you on? Mullette... ah, mullette. Wait for it.

Chilazon: Yeah, he's not in a good place at all. I guess you'll see what will happen soon. I don't think you have to have an eating disorder to at least partially understand what it must be like. Everyone, like you said, sometimes has unhealthy thoughts towards that kind of thing. I think some people can't always tell which side of their brain is the logical one, certainly for Alex, if not eating is what he's been taught for years, it become logic because it keeps him out of danger. You sound like you know something about this, who is anyone to judge who can and can not talk about this stuff?

Caroline Phillips: thank you?

Liz (reviews one and two): I think we all see Lafayette as quite mature and father like but in this chapter I think we see the more teenage, immature side of him. Thanks, I try to make my descriptions nice. Sometimes I like them, sometimes they sound kinda pretentious.

LamsPickles: Just you wait, Just yoouuuu waaaiiit.

GUEST: eek.

By the way, I know John Laurens was the oldest in real life but in this I've given him one older brother, Henry, who in real life was younger. Call it artistic license, I don't know. Oh, I've also missed Lafayette's birthday... so I think I'll put it in December... I'm sorry!

Trigger warnings: Unhealthy attitude towards eating, self-hate, mention of abuse, mention of bullying, references to suicide.

A gentle knocking sound rang through the room, dull and muffled against the strong wood of Alex's door, abruptly pulling the teenager awake.

Alex groaned slightly and propped himself up on his elbows, resting his chin on his palm and watching the door with heavily lidded eyes and a sleep glazed gaze.

He didn't want to look or be looked at right now, instead going for the more reclusive option of simply calling out to the person outside.

"What is it?"

His voice was hoarse and grainy, it was all too obvious he'd only just woken up and not from a particularly pleasant sleep either.

Martha's voice replied, not exactly commanding or angry but firm. It wasn't a tone that one in theory might think would suit her, a five foot four petite woman, but in actuality, she proved a rather regimental figure.

"Dinner, Alex. I'd like you to eat something."

Meirda, did she know he'd thrown out breakfast?

He cleared his throat slightly and sat up quickly, making his posture straighter as though she could see him. It was funny, the effect a voice could have on someone.

"I- Do I have to? I'm not all that hungry."

This was of course, an outright lie. He was as hungry as he had been when Pace had locked the kitchen for days on end and the meals at school cost more than the dime he'd had in his pocket. He was hungrier than all the times the Harveys had fed his food to the strays when he'd forgotten to vacuum or when they'd refused to give him money for school lunch because he'd talked back.

Martha's tone didn't rise, he'd had yet to experience her yell at him, but it did seem more exasperated. Less indulgent than her usual attitude around him.

"Alex, I'd really like if you ate something. It's only a light meal."

He sighed and got up, made sure the sleeves of his hoodie were rolled down and opened the door.

Martha smiled slightly at him and reached a small, delicate hand out to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear.

"I just worry about how little you eat, George is home now. He wants to make sure you have dinner too."

Alex had been about to shrug and smile appreciatively, but the mention of George's name brought him crashing back to reality. He would have to sit at the same table as him, be silently or maybe even not so silently hated by him. He felt his shoulders slump a little and Martha seemed to notice his sudden pallor.

She hesitated slightly, realising she'd said the wrong thing.

"No conversations tonight... If you don't what to. I just want you to eat something, that's all."

He nodded, resigned and followed his foster mother down the stairs, their footsteps falling into naturally into sync, his softer than her more assured ones so that a strange sort of thumping percussion harmony was created.

Dinner was set out on the table when he walked in behind Martha, it was noodles or something of the like tonight. That was hardly a light meal, he thought to himself.

Heavy carbohydrates like noodles or pasta sit in your stomach like lead weights.

He obstinately refused to make eye contact with either George or Lafayette, both of whom undoubtedly harboured strong feelings of anger and resentment towards him at the current moment.

It struck him that it was likely they'd both resented him from the very start. Even Martha, the person in the family who had been most forgiving and friendly towards him these last few months was starting to seem weary and jaded in his presence. She was probably the reason he'd been taken in by the family.

Normally mothers want a new child to fuss over and care for when their other foster child becomes less of a novelty. Maybe it was like he'd said to George the day before. Maybe they just needed a troubled teenager to 'fix'; cusion their consciences a little.

Alexander took a deep breath and stopped himself, horrified. Why was he thinking these things about the Washingtons? It was no doubt all three of them were worn out from his pathetic neediness and insatiable urge to self destruct, but he had no qualms in believing their reasons for fostering him were of good, kind intentions.

They were just a loving, caring family that didn't know what they were getting themselves into with him. This was his fault, the unhappiness here was a by-product of his malaise, not of the lack of foresight or well meaning on the Washingtons' part.

He picked up his knife and fork with unsteady, almost numb fingers and watched the rest of the family start to eat. He counted to thirty before slowly twisting the noodles around his fork, the habit of starting to eat last still one at the forefront of his mind at mealtimes.

He ate the first mouthful and instantly was hungry for more. He then realised the last time he'd eaten might have actually been the day he'd stayed at home after the cinema, or else a small snack after the hospital the afternoon before.

He chewed slowly, exercising every ounce of his will power to not throw himself into the task of self preservation. Asceticism was of the up most importance right now, in front of the Washingtons he couldn't let on how hungry he really was.

Alex took a sip of water and watched George over the rim of his glass, his eyes fixed on an area just past his ear so that if the man looked up he could pass his stare off as looking at something just over his shoulder.

His foster father looked tired. This wasn't surprising to Alexander. Although George was a man who seemed to cope well under pressure, he currently had to look after a self-destructive, temperamental teenager who was simultaneously too nervous to leave the house and too insolent for his own good— and all the while run a campaign for his own seat in the Senate against republican politicians all doing their best to drag him down; trip him up with petty jibes and school yard taunts.

In Alex's opinion that must transcend mere 'pressure'. He started to think of synonyms.

Adversity, stress, burden.

Burden. That was him alright. It didn't matter what the Washingtons told him. If they were telling the truth when they said they were worried about him, then he could fairly assume that meant he was burden on them. If they had lied and they didn't care about him in the way they said, well, doesn't looking after a foster teen you hate qualify as a burden?

Either way; they'd be better off without him.

He realised his gaze was still fixed on a point just next to George's face and that the larger man had stopped eating and was watching him.

He slowly slid his gaze away from the spot over George's shoulder, turning his attention the the condensation on the side of Lafayette's glass. He could feel his foster father's eyes on him still and wondered if George knew Alex had realised he was watching him. He bridled slightly but kept his focus on his plate, not shifting his eyes to anywhere in the vicinity of his foster father's face.

He laid his knife and fork back down on his plate, crossed together over the food in an 'x' symbol.

The room was unusually silent. Dinners here were normally chatty, lively. Alex didn't often take part in the flow of conversation or the jokes the three of them would crack at eachother but the absence of it seemed out of place. Like this was one of those odd dreams where everything is normal apart from the fact that one detail is slightly off, large enough to be noticeable but inexplicably ignored by everyone else.

Yeah, it felt like one of those dreams. The elephant in the room- one could say that. He was the elephant. There in everyone's presence but undiscussed and taboo.

He felt his fingers drum a restless beat on the edge of the table and his jaw was gritted tightly together, the muscles tense and almost pained.

He imagined clenching down so hard he could spit bloody molars and incisors into his sink and smile with broken china teeth.

But that was impossible, even if he tried. The human jaw has enough power to do so but the brain subconsciously stops the muscles from exerting enough pressure to do any damage. He'd read this in some textbook at his old school, that no matter how hard you try the opposing forces if your biology work against you.

Martha cleared her throat slightly and Alex jumped, realising he'd been staring at the same spot in the distance for a few minutes now. He braced his hands against the table as though ready to push himself out of his chair and flee. A nervous habit.

Martha pretended to ignore this and smiled at him, pushing some hair behind her ear.

"Alex, how is- How is 'The Kite Runner' going?"

She turned to George and Lafayette, her finger bouncing lightly on the table.

"He's reading it at school, you know."

Lafayette nodded slightly and let out a soft 'huh'.

"It's-it's good."

Alex began chopping a noodle into tiny pieces with the side of his fork.

Martha looked slightly disheartened but nodded and grinned anyway.

"Gil, what book are you studying?"

He looked up from his meal momentarily, his fork halfway to his mouth.

"The Kite Runner, aussi."

He had finished his meal now and Alex eyed his frame. Healthy looking, strong. Not brittle or drowned in fabric. He wandered if he would look more like that if he found the time or the will to eat more often.

Glancing around at the other plates on the table, he was the only one left with food on it still to be eaten. It felt like when you come into school on pride day and you're the only one not wearing school colours. He coughed a little and put another fork full of noodles into his mouth, chewing slowly and staring straight ahead while he did it.

George had stood up now and was collecting their plates and glasses. He got to Alex and made piercing eye contact, raising one eyebrow inquisitively and looking at his plate.

"Not hungry?"

His tone was brusque but Alex could detect a hint of something sheepish or maybe even humorous in it. A vain attempt at a jovial attitude.

Alex inwardly seethed at this. How could he just waltz up to him, like everything was normal and know how they'd argued the previous day? Wasn't he furious at Alex? He should be. He knew he himself was.

Alexander threw a glare at George under the dark strands of hair falling around his eyes.

"No."

He saw the man raise his eyebrows even further, reproached lines appearing on his forehead, but he didn't wait around to be yelled at or hit. He stood up and put the plate slightly too forcefully into his foster father's hands.

"Thanks for dinner."

His tone was abrupt, irritated; he didn't want to deal with this shit right now.

Alexander turned on his heel, his posture rigid and marched out of the room, fists tightly clenched and chin stuck in the air defiantly.

oo

George watched Alex storm out of the dining room, his hand frozen in the act of picking up an empty glass. He heard footsteps patter rapidly up the stairs, the sound of Alex's anger getting quieter and quieter until he heard a door slam distantly. Further up the house, no doubtedly Alex's room.

He turned around, the glass clutched in his hand and his knuckles white. Martha was stood by the sink with her arms folded and her expression wooden. Lafayette was watching the place where Alex had been just thirty seconds ago, his eyes wide as saucers.

"I only asked if he was hungry..."

George held up his hands, his own expression completely bemused and indignant.

Lafayette raised one eyebrow, an ability that he and George shared which Martha had always found amusing.

"Uhh... Did I miss something?"

George put the glass in the sink and glanced at Martha. A knowing look passed between them and George cleared his throat, snapping his gaze away from his wife and turning on the tap.

"It's fine Gil. Do you have any homework to do for tomorrow?"

His foster son looked at him incredulously, put down the glass he was holding and folded his arms.

"Firstly, tomorrow is Saturday in case you didn't notice, secondly, don't try and change the subject."

Martha put a plate in the cupboard and sent George a 'It's your problem not mine' look, busying herself with tidying away.

"Alex is just stressed, I am too. We all are."

He didn't elaborate, instead wiping down the kitchen counter with a cloth while Martha pushed a tablet into the dishwasher.

"Is there something I should know that I don't?"

George sighed and dropped the cloth into the sink before washing his hands.

"No. Just- just go and see if he's alright, okay?"

Lafayette huffed and the baby hairs that hung around his forehead quivered.

"I don't know why you're acting so secretive, tout à coup."

All of a sudden

Lafayette shot Martha a reciprocal look of irritation and turned out of the kitchen without a word, his arms folded and a frown remaining on his face.

He jogged up the stairs, Lafayette never walked; he had too much spare, unspent energy and stopped in front of Alex's room. Hesitantly, he reached up a fist to knock at the door, rapping firmly three times against the wood.

"Alexandre? Tous va bien?"

Is everything okay?

He heard a rustling sound and footsteps moving muffled across the carpet.

Lafayette heard the lock on the other side of the door being slid open and stepped back a few centimetres, his stomach twisting in concern.

Alexander opened the door a few moments later and smiled weakly at him, his expression defeated and his posture tired.

"Laf, quoi de neuf?"

Laf, what's up?

Lafayette stepped past him into the room and flopped down onto his bed, hands clasped together underneath his head.

"Tous va bien, oui, non?"

Is everything okay, yes or no?

He surveyed Alex with keen, shrewd eyes causing the younger teenager to shrink away slightly, uncomfortable with being watched.

"Je vais bein. Ne t'en fais pas pour moi."

I'm fine, don't worry about me.

Lafayette gave the biggest eye roll Alex had ever seen, his eyebrows raised and his mouth twisted in a frown.

Alex quickly changed the subject, turning his attention to the first thing that popped into his brain.

"No school tomorrow. At least we won't have to see Lee."

Lafayette shrugged and toyed with an eraser on Alex's desk.

"Qu'est que tu veux faire?"

What do you want to do?

Alex leant against the desk and frowned, his eyes dark in the dim lighting. He fiddled with the string on his hoodie, not making eye contact with Lafayette.

"Je-Je ne sais pas. I mean... If Martha or George are busy, want me out of the house for a bit I can go to the library or-"

I don't know.

Lafayette furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head in exasperation and astonishment.

"No, bien sûr que non, I thought we could do something for fun."

No, of course not.

Alex looked up for a second, meeting his foster brother's eyes for a moment, a conflicted expression clear there.

"For fun..."

He echoed, as though trying out the words on his tongue.

"Yeah. You see, it's this thing people have sometimes, normally with friends and or-"

"I get it."

Alex interrupted shortly, scowling at his foster brother. Lafayette rolled his eyes and sat up again, kicking his heels against the side of Alex's bed.

"Can we talk about Lee and Frederick, Alexandre?"

His face was suddenly serious, older looking. Sometimes Alex forgot they were only fifteen. Well, soon to be sixteen. It felt like he'd already lived more than once. He tended to compartmentalize his life, his childhood before his father left, his childhood after his father left, the group home, New York.

"I-I... What is there to say?"

Lafayette patted the space of bed next to him but Alex didn't sit. He hopped onto the edge of his desk and perched there instead, surveying the taller teenager with apprehension.

"So much. Like how long this has been going on for?"

Alex said nothing and rolled a pen between his fingers.

"Huh?"

Lafayette was evidently impatient now, his foot tapping rapidly against the carpeted floor.

"Since the first week of school, if you must know."

He wasn't looking at his foster brother but heard his noise of angry exclamation very clearly.

"Putain, Alex! This is ridiculous - do you know how bad this could have gotten? Charles Lee is fucking insane. I've known him since middle school."

Alex closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, his hands clenched tightly around his pen.

"Do you think I don't know that?"

Lafayette threw his hands in the air and sat up straighter, his shoulders back and his feet planted firmly on the ground.

"All the more reason to do something about it, merde!"

Alex slid of the desk and clenched his fist, furious.

"You have no effing clue Laf."

His foster brother laughed mirthlessly and smacked his hand on his thigh, his eyes full of anger and upset.

"Oh, I think I do. Lee made my life hell all last year, but you know what, the first time he hit me I told someone. I didn't just lie back and take it!"

His voice shook slightly and his eyes were shining with frustrated tears, not likely to spill over his cheeks but the kind that stung and embarrassed you anyway.

"I'm sorry. In my experience, telling people shit only gets me hurt worse."

His voice was low and quiet. It wasn't the same trembling yell he'd used with George yesterday, his energy was spent. He couldn't be bothered to deal with this right now. God, he just wanted to sleep.

"Alex, things are different now! You're with us."

The shorter boy scoffed. His face resentful and pensive

"Took the Harveys a month to hit me for the first time."

Lafayette gaped at him, his muscles tensed up and his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Maman, Papa, they would never..."

Alex looked indifferent and shrugged.

"I'm only making the point that I never know what to expect."

He started shuffling through the papers on his desk and Lafayette saw him gathering up spilt stationary from across his desk. A pen or two, a ruler, a compass.

"Alex- I- You can talk to me."

His foster brother made no move to turn and face him, there was a subtle shrug of the shoulders and silence punctuated by the ticking of a small clock on the window ledge.

"I'm tired Laf. I'd kinda just like to go to bed."

"C'est huit heurs et dix."

It's ten past eight.

Alex shrugged and closed his pencil case, finally turning around to face his foster brother.

"I'm tired."

Lafayette scowled and stood up again, moving towards the door.

"You know, it's easy not to feel so tired. Most people just sleep. Maybe if you did you wouldn't pass out all the time- make me miss school."

He walked out of the room then, his face set angrily and his eyes set ahead of him, not moving to rest on his foster brother.

He closed the door behind him. It wasn't a slam, but it wasn't exactly gentle either. The noise echoed very slightly through his room and he could still hear Lafayette's angry footsteps across the hall. He had a wooden floor in his room. Whenever he moved around Alex could hear it. He often paced up and down in the evenings. Alex was never sure if it was because he was calling someone or if it was just a habit.

He rubbed his eyes and stretched, lying back on the bed. He was too tired, too numb to be properly shocked or taken aback by Lafayette's words. He knew it all anyway. He'd said it to himself enough times that it had lost its shock value.

He'd forced Lafayette to go out of his way for him. He just fucked everything up because of his stupidity. You're going to pass out if you don't sleep. No shit, Sherlock.

He dug his fingernails tightly into the skin of his forearm and his gaze fall on the Prozac and iron sitting on his table. He wondered how many pills were left in each box. It was a month's prescription, with two pills for each day. It was half way through the month so maybe about thirty of the Prozac and thirty of the iron. That was a whole of pills.

Enough?

He swallowed and turned onto his other side, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. The image of those pills on his table were burnt into the backs of his eyelids.

oo

Lafayette rolled over and groaned as a patch of light filtered through the curtains and fell upon his face. He fumbled on his bedside table and clumsily unplugged his phone from where it was charging.

He blinked a few times and yawned, sitting up in bed and kicking the bed cover back over his feet.

Three new messages from Hercules-Mulligan at 7:56, 8:00 and 8:03

Hercules-Mulligan (fifteen minutes ago): We doing anything today?

Hercules-Mulligan (eleven minutes ago): Coffee?

Hercules-Mulligan (eight minutes ago): If John is busy we can do something together.

Lafayette smiled to himself, still not fully awake but his heart beating slightly faster than it usually would at this early hour.

One new message from John at 8:46

John (twenty five minutes ago): My nose hurts like a bitch, you?

Lafayette pressed his finger to his lower lip and winced, the cut still stung painfully to the touch and now that he was feeling it, he realised the area around the injury was quite swollen. As for his chin and palms, one quick look in the camera on his phone told him they had scabbed over to create a less than pretty sight.

Lafrançasie (just now): I look like crap. Much to do today?

He had only to wait a few seconds before his phone buzzed and John had responsed.

John (just now): I have to grab some stuff from my house. My dad will be out so I'll do it then.

Lafayette sighed and tapped a quick response, the bright white of his phone screen causing his eyes to blur, making his text full of typos.

Lafrançasie (just now): Stay away from him, I'm worried baout you. He careful. Hang afterwards?

Lafrançasie (just now): *about

Lafrançasie (just now): *be

John (just now): I will. Yeah. Yours or nah?

Lafayette took a moment to consider this. He and John weren't on the best terms with Alexander at the moment and he thought it might be poor judgement on his part to put the three of them in a situation wherein they might argue.

Lafrançasie (just now): Nah. Coffee? Nous allons pouvoir étudier donc tu apportes ton portable et je vais apporter mes manuels.

We can study so you bring your laptop and I'll bring my textbooks.

It was funny how easily he slipped from French into English. He tended to only do it with people he'd spoken French with before or when he was emotional. Normally it happened with longer, more complex sentences or with words he knew he wouldn't be able to pronounce properly in English. He was proud of his English though, in the last two years it had gotten to a respectable level in which he could jump out of the language and into another very quickly.

John (just now): d'ac. My laptop is at my dad's, I'll pick it up and be at yours for like mid day?

Lafrançasie (just now): Cool. Herc is going to come over. Then we can go get coffee quand tu viens.

John (just now): hmmm. You're crushing on him aren't you?

Lafayette grinned to himself and felt his throat tighten, but not exactly in a bad way. In a kinda exited way; the expectant gulp of adrenaline when the rollercoaster reaches the pique of the hill.

Lafrançasie (just now): ugh. You can't talk. I'm not the one who got caught making out with their supposed 'friend'.

John (just now): ugh. I'll see you soon, d'accord.

Lafrançasie (just now): d'ac

Lafayette texted Hercules next, taking longer than he had with John to check over his texts and figure out what his exact words would be.

Lafrançasie (just now): Coffee sounds good. Come to mine first, we can hang here until John arrives then get some coffee (:

He bit his lip and waited for a response, tapping restlessly on the side of his phone. It dinged and he looked down at it instantly, he'd been quick to respond...

Hercules-Mulligan (just now): Sounds good. John told me the plan, we just got up.

Hercules-Mulligan sent a photo

Lafayette opened the photo and grinned. It was of John and Hercules, the former teenager with a mug of coffee half way to his mouth, his hair a wreck and Hercules in the foreground grinning.

Lafrançasie (just now): Ha! It's 8:10 now. Do you want to be over for nine?

Hercules-Mulligan (just now): Yeah, sounds good.

Lafayette got out of bed and stripped off his pyjamas, walking to the shower and texting Hercules again.

Lafrançasie (just now): if you haven't eaten breakfast yet, you can have it here. I'm going to get maman to make pancakes.

Hercules-Mulligan (just now): you're just in time, I was about to start making something. Sounds good tho.

Lafayette adjusted the heat settings on the shower and pulled his hair out of its ponytail.

Lafrançasie (just now): Imma get ready. See you soon.

Hercules-Mulligan (just now): Cool. See ya.

oo

John nervously fiddled with the end of his jacket as he drew nearer and nearer to his house. He knew his father would be out, he always had meetings on Saturday mornings with other republicans in the district. On top of this, his car was gone, so there was no chance he would run into the man.

He walked up the driveway and pulled out his key. Luckily he'd remembered to bring it that morning a couple of days ago. He wasn't too sure who was home, he didn't want to wake any of his siblings up either.

He slid the key into the lock and opened up, immediately being greeted with the smell of toast and the sound of feminine laughter in the kitchen.

"Hello?"

He called out down the hallway, his curiosity piqued. His sister was ten, whoever was laughing didn't sound that young at all.

He walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, relaxing somewhat when he saw his older brother Henry leant against the kitchen counter, his girlfriend Helena standing next to him.

"Hey Henry."

They had always been on pretty good terms, he and his brother. Only two and a half years apart, they were quite different but got on well.

Henry was more similar to their mother than their father. He had lighter skin than John did but shared his curly hair. Although, whereas John kept his quite long, Henry had the sides of his shaved and the section at the top mid length so that it sat in large curls there. He was still in pyjamas and had a concerned expression on his face when he turned to speak to his brother.

"John, it's good to see you. Is everything okay? I know shit's been going down but..."

John shrugged and sat up on the kitchen stool.

"Dad doesn't like me going out with boys, as you know."

Henry smiled ruefully and wrapped his arm around Helena's waist. She was a pretty girl. Brown hair, glasses and fair skin. He'd always liked her. He remembred the two had met in a social studies course last year. They both went to NYU and had recently rented an apartment together in downtown New York.

She frowned at Henry and looked at John, her face sympathetic but not patronizing.

"Your dad is like that, huh?"

John and Henry nodded vigorously in unison, the years in their upbringing of strict Christian, conservative teachings still branded into their minds.

Henry took a sip from a mug behind him. He winced at the evidently burning drink and coughed awkwardly.

"What happened exactly? He didn't catch you with a boy did-"

"No!"

John shook his head violently and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I went out with a guy in my year, didn't really make much effort to hide it."

Henry sighed and Helena ran a hand through the curls atop his head.

"He didn't tell me; did he kick you out or did you leave?"

John picked up his brother's mug and took a sip; coffee.

"He threatened to kick me out but then the morning after the date we had an argument. He hit me Henry, he's never hit any of us!"

Henry slid his arm from his girlfriend's waist and draped it over John's shoulder. Helena looked on, her small face upset and frightened looking.

"So you walked out?"

John nodded and scowled, remembering the morning it had all happened.

"Who's the boy?"

John looked up surprised and tried to suppress a smile. Unfortunately, Hnery noticed and laughed.

"Is he nice, cute?"

John sighed and nodded, pulling away from his brother and sitting back on the stool.

"Yeah. You know Lafayette?"

Henry grinned again and glanced at Helena, who looked confused. John didn't blame her, Lafayette wasn't exactly a normal name, at least not in America.

"French kid George Washington fosters. Well, actually, they adopted him didn't they?"

John nodded and took another sip of his brother's coffee. Henry rolled his eyes and took it back, putting it where John couldn't reach it again.

"Yeah. Well, they took in another kid like two or three months ago. He's our age. Name's Alexander Hamilton."

Helena looked up in surprise, her face showing something akin to recognition.

John's eyes widened. Helena was from downtown New York, where Alex had lived prior to the Washingtons' house.

Henry turned to his girlfriend, his eyebrows raised.

"You know him?"

She nodded slowly and shrugged.

"Not well. Used to frequent an internet café I worked at last year. He stopped coming though, I didn't think too much about it. Quiet kid. I don't really know why I remember his name."

John nodded, "that sounds like him. Latino? Short?"

Helena nodded and put her arm back around Henry's shoulder.

Henry nodded approvingly, "where's he from?"

John grinned, knowing his brother would like the answer.

"Carribbean. Like us, with a bit of French too I think."

Henry grinned and took another sip of his coffee, his face falling back to seriousness a second later.

"So, what are you doing here. Coming home to stay or..."

John shook his head and pulled off his jacket, slinging it over his arm.

"I'm picking up a few things. My laptop, more clothes, money."

Henry frowned and took a step towards his brother, taking his shoulder gently.

"Where are you living anyway? With Lafayette?"

John shook his head, sighing.

"I'm safe, it's okay. I'm living with Herc right now. His place is near the York. Not too far."

Henry's face visibly relaxed and he nodded.

"I like that kid, good."

John rolled his eyes and pushed his brother playfully.

"'Kid'? We're only like two years younger than you."

Helena laughed and put a hand on John's back, her expression fond. John grinned at her and stepped away, walking towards the kitchen door.

"When will dad be back?"

Henry exhaled slowly and filled a glass up with water at the sink.

"You have like half an hour. He's coming back earlier today, I won't tell him you were here."

John nodded and moved out into the hallway, then he stopped in his tracks and poked his head back into the kitchen.

"And if he asks?"

Henry hesitated for a moment before grinning, "I'll tell him you came to grab stuff. The truth. I think that would infuriate him more than if he thought you didn't come back."

John laughed, "thanks."

He walked quietly back upstairs and passed his younger siblings' rooms silently, careful not to wake them.

He pulled his charger from the plug socket and wrapped it around his laptop, which he'd left lying on his bed. He put it into a tote bag hanging from his door handle and pulled some pairs of boxers, jeans and some shirts out of his drawer and packed them into his bag. He fumbled under his bed for the tin of savings he'd stashed there for specifically this occasion and dumped the contents onto his lap.

$235 and 56¢ fell onto his denim clad thighs and he smiled slightly. All that saving had paid off.

John threw everything back into the tin and packed that away too, finally throwing in a library book that was overdue as an after thought. He didn't want to come back here agin for a while.

He pulled his jacket back on and left the tote bag on the landing, stepping quietly into Martha and Mary's room. He sat down right on the edge of Martha's bed and tickled her playfully through the covers. She squirmed a little and woke up, a small laugh on her lips.

"Jacky!"

She squealed happily and flung her arms around his neck, her long hair brushing his cheek softly.

He blinked back the traces of tears in his eyes and laughed, reciprocating the hug.

"I missed you Martha, have you been good?"

His younger sister nodded, her fringe bobbing eagerly with the movement. In the bed on the other side of the room, he heard his youngest sister Mary stirring.

"Jacky?"

Her voice was husky with sleep and high with youth, she was only just five years old.

He grinned at Martha and moved over to Mary's bed, wrapping his arms gently around her small body.

"I missed you, how's school?"

She smiled sleepily at him and tapped the freckles on his nose with a small, gentle finger.

"Fun! Daddy's been really quiet all week Jack. Is it because of you? He says you're sick and have to stay somewhere else."

John choked slightly and shook his head, brushing Mary's hair from her eyes.

"No, I'm not sick Mary. I just like boys."

Mary frowned, her small mouth pouting in a concentrated manner.

"Like how Henry likes Helena?"

He smiled and nodded, tickling her under the arm gently.

"Yeah. Like that."

She rubbed her eyes sleepily and John looked around to where Martha had sat up in her bed.

"Are you... gay?"

He sighed, Martha was nearly eleven. He supposed she must have some idea about these sorts of things.

He nodded wearily and Martha frowned.

"Dad always says that's its wrong to be... gay."

She whispered the word gay as though it was a swear, though John supposed in their house it might as well have been.

John shook his head, "dad is wrong. It's not his fault, he just doesn't really understand."

She nodded slowly and got up, waking towards him still clutching her teddy by its ear.

"Are you coming back for good?"

John shook his head and stood up. He had to leave now, otherwise he'd end up running into his father. He did not want that to happen.

"I have to go Martha. Mary, be good at school. I'll drop around as soon as I can, okay?"

She nodded and hugged him, her head coming up to just above his elbow.

"Don't be gone for too long, okay?"

He nodded and pressed a quick kiss to hers and Mary's forehead in return.

"I'll be back, don't worry."

He left the room quickly and picked up his tote bag, walking back downstairs towards the kitchen.

oo

Henry watched as his younger brother disappeared around the door frame and listened to his footsteps patterning quickly up the stairs. He sighed and leant against the kitchen counter, sipping his mug.

"John's a good kid. He doesn't deserve all this."

Helena sighed and leant her head against his shoulder, tracing her finger in small circles on his bicep.

"I remember Alexander Hamilton's name for a reason, Henry."

He looked down at her, a few inches or so taller and frowned.

"Why?"

She pushed herself up onto the kitchen counter and looked out into the garden, her eyes scanning the trees and shrubs intently.

"Every time I saw him he was covered in bruises. I asked my boss about it once, he said he'd been coming in like that for God knows how long."

Henry bit his lip and looked at the spot John had been a moment earlier.

"Reckon John knows?"

Helena shrugged and frowned for a moment, lines appearing on her usually smooth forehead.

"Well, foster parents get files on their kids normally. If not, they get a briefing by the agency. The parents probably know. I don't know about John."

Henry drew in a deep breath and put down his coffee, he could hear faint noises of laughter and chatter upstairs and smiled sadly to himself.

He was eighteen years old, broke and not sure of many things.

He was sure however, that John didn't fucking deserve this.

I wanted to get this out quick so I only proof read it once or twice. I probably caught like 99% of my mistakes but forgive me if I didn't. Review and follow/ favourite if you like!