Hello! Thanks for the reviews, as usual, you guys are so cool.

I hope you're enjoying this story so far. I just want to say that there's a major trigger warning on this chapter, please, heed it. Especially if you're recovering from suicidal thoughts or currently having them. Stay safe, please. There are hotlines in my profile. I don't condone suicide, I'm simply trying to represent the thoughts and emotions behind it in an accurate way. There are other options, it is never your only choice.

Trigger warnings: suicidal thoughts, plans on suicide, mention of bullying, self hate.

Lafayette smiled and dropped his phone on the bed, as the shrill sound of the door bell rang through the house.

He hurtled down the stairs, two at a time and opened the front door with a smirk on his face. Hercules looked up when he opened the door, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes bright, gleaming against his dark skin. His eyes ran over the injury's on Lafayette's face and his expression hardened somewhat. Band aids had been applied to his chin and hands and his lip was swollen, a read blotch across his lower lip.

"Salut, come on in."

Lafayette stepped aside and Hercules jumped past the threshold, his gait still energetic. It was as though just by being in eachother's presence a mutual air of excitement was created around them.

"Are Mr and Mrs Washington up yet?"

Lafayette chuckled and raised his eyebrows, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Every time they see you they ask you to call them George and Martha, it's been years Herc!"

Hercules rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and shrugged.

"Raised that way I guess. So, are George and Martha up yet?"

Lafayette smirked and shook his head, glancing at his watch.

"Papa always wakes up early. It's nearly nine so he'll be down soon. Maman might be a little longer."

Hercules nodded and walked with Lafayette into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair and sat down while Lafayette pulled two mugs from the cupboard and began spooning instant coffee into each one.

"Is your face alright Laf?"

He couldn't keep the concern out of his voice, it became softer and the humour it had carried before was subdued slightly. Lafayette turned around, his eyes softened and he nodded.

"Yeah. It doesn't hurt all that much. My lip is just a bit swollen."

Hercules nodded slowly and they fell into comfortable silence. There's a point of friendship you reach with someone in which silence between you is as natural as talking, as ordinary and contented too. There's also a point in friendship where it sometimes becomes more than the aforementioned title, but that's getting ahead of things.

Lafayette put the coffee down in front of his friend and warmed his hands on the warm ceramic of his own mug.

"Alex okay?"

Hercules watched Lafayette over the rim of his glass shrewdly, his friend's face darkened slightly and Hercules made a small of knowing.

"He's too stubborn to say anything about well... anything!"

Hercules swallowed his mouthful of the drink and shrugged.

"I don't think that's really his fault. It's the way he's been conditioned to act."

Lafayette huffed and pushed some hair from his eyes. It was out in a large afro, still damp and drying from his shower.

"I just wish he would talk to me more. He used to. He'd come to me if he was upset about something, he'd talk about shit, you know?"

Hercules nodded and spoke again.

"What do you think changed?"

Lafayette shrugged and thought for a moment, looking pensively out the window.

"I guess Charles Lee and George Frederick. School was kinda the turning point. God, j'espère qu'ils brûleront en enfer."

Hercules smiled slightly and drank another mouthful of his coffee. Lafayette did the same, though his movements were angrier. It was more like he was taking a shot than a sip of morning coffee and he brought the mug down on the table hard, the liquid almost spilling over the sides of the blue ceramic.

"I worry about him a lot, he doesn't take care of himself."

Hercules stared into his coffee for a moment before picking up his mug and tipping some into his mouth.

"Why do you think that is?"

Lafayette laughed slightly bitterly at that, "you sound like a fucking therapist."

Hercules laughed shortly and glanced up at Lafayette, catching his eye and grinning. The French boy grinned back and Hercules broke the stare, slightly embarrassed.

"What is, how you say, their deal? George and Lee. You've known them longer than I have."

Hercules put his coffee down and thought for a moment.

"Well... Lee has pretty much always been an asshole. Since elementary school he was throwing rubbers at people and tripping us up at recess."

Lafayette grunted slightly, as though agreeing and motioned for Hercules to continue.

"George, he was bullied in like fifth and sixth grade. I used to feel sorry for him. I think that's how he became friends with Lee. He stood up for him, used to beat up anyone who tried to hurt George. I guess they had stuff in common, being Briish mainly."

Lafayette let out a quiet 'huh' and looked into his coffee. He'd always gotten the impression George was more introverted and less aggressively inclined than his friend. There was a kind of leader/ follower dynamic to their relationship that had been brought into relief the prior day. George had wanted to leave, he hadn't wanted trouble. Lee however, Lee had thirsted for it.

"Do you think Alex will be up yet?"

Lafayette shrugged and looked up towards the ceiling. We're they directly under Alex's room? Hercules wasn't sure.

"I asked if he wanted to hang today. He didn't give me a straight answer. With him that usually means no."

Hercules sighed and drained the last of his coffee, grimacing slightly when the unstirred, grimy texture of residue coffee power met his tongue.

"John went home?"

Hercules nodded, "he was just leaving when I got here. He texted me. I reckon he'll be here sooner than mid day, shouldn't take him too long."

Lafayette nodded and took their mugs over to the sink. He rinsed them out quickly and motioned for Hercules to follow him to the living room.

"Let's watch some TV or something."

oo

An hour or so later, Lafayette and Hercules were lain across the sofa lazily, watching TV with their legs tangled together on the pouf in front of them.

Lafayette had leant his head closer to Hercules' bicep, prompting the taller boy to chuckle internally and shuffle slightly closer to the French teen.

Halfway through the third episode of the show they were watching, Hercules' phone buzzed and he picked it up, glancing at the screen before holding it up to Lafayette.

John (just now): Be at yours in two minutes. Get your stuff, we'll leave as soon as I get there.

Lafayette stretched his arms and stood up, leaving the side of Hercules' arm and parts of his calves still warm from where Lafayette's body had been moments prior.

The French teen stood up and darted out of the room, his footsteps hammered excitedly on the stairs and he called out to Hercules as he ran.

"I'm just grabbing my stuff!"

"Okay!"

Hercules walked into the hallway, pulling on his bomber and the boots he'd chosen to match the lining of his jacket. He and Lafayette shared a similar trait of fashion consciousness both John and Alex seemed to lack of at least care little about. John was doing art with him this year so he at least matched colours well, although, Hercules often found himself dispairing over the wasted potential of some of his items.

Lafayette came down a moment with his jacket and shoes on, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his hair tied up.

"Did you ask Alex if he wanted to come?"

Lafayette sighed and jumped the last few steps, landing on the wooden floor with a small crash. Everywhere the teenager went there was noise, he tended to run and jump around a lot.

"I wanted to but his bedroom door is locked and I didn't want to knock in case he was asleep."

Hercules shrugged and nodded, zipping up his jacket. Lafayette eyed the movement and bit his lip, stepping forwards and adjusting the jacket so that the top of Hercules' shirt collar wasn't poking out from underneath. They were quite close now, if Hercules took a step inwards they'd be nose to nose.

"There, much better."

Hercules smiled at Lafayette for a moment and they locked eyes. Lafayette grinned that sideways smirk of his and patted his friend's shoulder affectionately.

"Martha's up. She feels bad she didn't get the chance to make us pancakes. And I thought I would have to beg!"

Hercules grinned and shrugged again, "we can get something in town. It doesn't matter."

Lafayette nodded and at that moment Martha appeared at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a dressing gown with her phone on her hand, scrolling ardently.

"Morning Hercules, Gil."

She smiled and put her phone into the pocket of the robe, clapping her hands together good naturedly.

"So, you're going into to town to..."

Hercules cleared his throat and straightened his posture slightly.

"Get some coffee and hopefully do some revision, ma'am."

He added in the 'ma'am' as an afterthought, smiling at Martha politely but internally wincing slightly. He sounded like such a suck up. She chuckled and ran a hand through her hair.

"You're so polite Herc, but please, ma'am makes me feel old. Martha is just fine."

Lafayette laughed and elbowed him gently in the ribs, Hercules grinned again and nodded.

"Sure thing, Martha."

Lafayette's mom smiled and she walked the few steps down so that she was level with the two teenagers. Suddenly, both Lafayette and Hercules seemed much taller than her.

"Have you asked Alex if he'd like to come?"

Her voice was more serious now, anxious even. The atmosphere in the room seemed to change and Hercules could tell Alexander was a subject of tension and concern within the household.

"I asked last night and tried to this morning. He doesn't seem to want to."

Martha bit her lip and glanced towards the top of the stairs.

"George is sleeping in today too, it's not like him. Usually he'd have been up for hours by now."

She glanced at her watch and sighed, "it's just past ten. I don't want to wake him, he's been so tired these past few days. Alex too. I think I'll let them sleep on."

Lafayette nodded and Hercules shifted his position awkwardly. To save from a tense few moments of silence, there was a knock at the door and John's voice greeted them from the porch.

Lafayette grinned and opened up, clapping his friend on the shoulder as soon as he was in sight.

John was clad in a black quilted jacket and a thick sweater. It wasn't a bad outfit; Hercules himself had helped him choose it that morning.

Martha smiled at John and he held up his hand in greeting.

"Morning Martha! George around?"

The woman grinned and shook her head, "he's sleeping late today. Deserves it, this campaign has him up all hours. How's Mr Laurens?"

The Washingtons and the Laurens weren't exactly on eachother's Christmas card lists but Martha had liked Eleanor before the couple had divorced three years ago and she'd moved to South Carolina, and of course, who could dislike John? He was so different from his father. She made it a point to ask about the family.

John hesitated for a moment.

"He's... fine."

Martha, sensing some animosity around the subject, had a vague idea of what the tensions might have been caused by and didn't probe any further.

"I'll leave you to it, have a good time and be back before it gets too dark."

Lafayette hugged his mother for a moment and whispered quickly in her ear,

"Get Alex to text me. I'm worried about him."

She nodded so slightly it was almost undetectable and smiled at him briefly before closing the front door with a final wave.

Lafayette hooked his arm around Hercules' and slapped John on the back before giving the window of Alex's bedroom one last glance. It was dark and empty looking, the navy curtain hung eerily still behind the thick glass.

Lafayette turned away and pushed thoughts of Alex from the forefront of his mind. Of course, he couldn't rid himself of them entirely. Part of his brain was always focused on his foster brother. He was always calculating the amount he'd had at dinner the previous night or the time for which had slept, how he'd been behaving... Alex was branded into Lafayette's thoughts for good now. There was no brushing him off.

oo

George lay in bed surrounded by a sea of warmth and disarray. The many blankets, usually neat and spread out on the bed were tangled and twisted like bracken. Martha was downstairs, he guessed and rolled over off his wrist to check his watch.

It was past ten. He'd not slept that late since his college years. Normally he'd have been up for more than three hours by now. He yawned and stretched, feeling his muscles stretch and throb slightly. He must have slept in an odd position, either that or he'd spent too long on the rowing machine at the gym.

Though unwelcome, this late awakening wasn't exactly surprising to him. He'd never been as tired as he had been in the last few weeks. Now that nominations for each party were official, it was only a matter of time until the primary election.

John Lee was doing his very best to make sure he didn't make it that far. Nevertheless, he worked his hardest and he fancied that Lee had given in to the inevitability that he would run against him in the coming months. The other democratic nominees were more or less formalities. It had only ever been George Washington or John Lee. Two drastically different politicians, one as left as the other was right.

George got out of bed and dressed quickly in jeans and a button down. He could hear Martha singing to herself downstairs, her voice warm and smooth as she made breakfast.

George left his room and on the way out passed Alex's door. He stopped for a moment, listening for any noises or signs the boy was awake. There was however, no light coming from underneath the door so even if he was awake, he hadn't deigned to open the curtains which most likely meant he wanted to be left alone.

George sighed and knocked gently, soft enough so that if Alexander was asleep he would not hear it but firm enough so that it would be obvious to him if he was awake.

There was no movement or whispering of blankets, no footsteps across a carpeted floor or the click of a lock sliding open. George closed his eyes for a moment then turned away, his fist which had been clenched to knock on the wood slowly unfurled and hung at his side.

He walked the few paces to the staircase and started down them, not looking back at the door behind him.

oo

Alex lay awake in bed as the sun rose, throwing steadily brighter stripes of light in through the curtains and across his bed. The sky outside was still dark when he awoke and he watched it turn from a washed out grey to a stark white, clouds creating a thick layer of protection between any blue sky and their town.

He didn't make a sound or any hint of a movement when Lafayette first stepped out onto the landing outside, his familiar gait as excitable and boundlessly energetic as usual. Nor did he move when Hercules' loud laughter greeted his foster brother from the porch some forty minutes later.

He stayed still and quiet, eventually hearing John at the door some time later. He guessed the three of them were going out. He didn't know where, nor did he particularly care. He wasn't going.

George was funnily enough, the last to wake. His heavy footsteps stopped outside Alexander's door for a few moments and he knocked gently. Alexander feigned sleep.

When he was positive that he was the only person on the upper floor of the house he sat up. He'd slept in only a tee shirt and boxers and had no plans on changing. He wasn't going to leave his room until it was absolutely necessary. Probably in a body bag.

Alexander examined his forearm for a few seconds, tracing the scabs with a hesitant finger. He supposed he should bind them with something but it seemed pointless now, besides, he'd have to go downstairs and face the Washingtons.

He turned to the mirror on the wall of the bathroom and took in his appearance. His hair was sticking up in places he hadnt even thought hair could stick up and his tee shirt reached his knees when it should have ended at his mid thigh.

It might have been one of Lafayette's that had gotten mixed up in the laundry. One of his feet was clad in a grey sock, the other was bare. Drool and tears had dried into loose strands of his hair as he'd slept and his lips were cracked and dry, devoid of much colour that wasn't crimson where he'd bitten at a piece dry skin.

He looked like he'd been living in a basement for three years.

He set about trying to remedy some of these issues, not seeing fit to wash his hair but wetting the stands around his face and rubbing them dry with a towel. He put on a fresh pair of boxers, another sock and washed his face. He felt slightly more human then, not that it really mattered.

Again, his eyes fell on the pills on his bedside table. This time though, he walked over to them and picked them up. When he slid the rows of pills out of the box the silver foil crinkled slightly and some bent sheets of instructions and side effects fell onto the table.

He counted the pills in one tray and multiplied that by the amount of trays of pills in the box. Around twenty eight of the Prozac, and since the prescription of the iron was of the same amount and taken at the same times as the Prozac, there would be twenty eight of that too.

He didn't put the pills back in their boxes, instead leaving them strewn out on the table, visible every time he let his eyes stray back there.

Next, he picked up his notebook and opened it to the last page he'd been working on. An essay about the pros and cons of affirmative action he'd started a few weeks ago and hadn't managed to finish. This was unusual for him, normally he'd jump at the chance to rip entitled republicans and sleazy centrists a new one.

He reached behind him and grabbed a pen from his desk, fingers brushing momentarily over the boxes of pills there. He snapped his hand back, pen clutched tightly between his fingers and set it to the paper. The words came, like they always did, this time in a slow procession like tired soldiers, stumbling and off the beat of the marching drum.

He wrote a sentence every few minutes or so, almost as though the ink in his pen were the words and they were running out, becoming fainter until they were only furrows in the page, until he shook the pen or pressed the nib to his tongue, at which point the words would flow again for some time, only to fade out once more.

After nearly an hour, he flipped the book shut and put it back on his desk before lying back down on his unmade bed and pulling himself further into the mess of the covers.

His mind was too hazy, too loud and crowded for him to think about anything other than escaping. Finding a way out, any way out.

He was vaguely aware of there being a persistent knocking at the door, it registered somewhere in a rather hazy compartment of his mind but he couldn't quite pull himself up, summon the energy to answer. But now, his name was being called from behind the door and there was a touch of anxiety in the voice. He sat up lethargically, stumbling slightly over a discarded sock.

"I'm- just a second."

He tugged his shirt further down so it brushed his knee caps and moved towards the door. He would pull on some jeans but he'd kept who ever it was waiting for far too long, any unnecessary day at this point seemed rude.

He slid the lock open, silently thanking whoever had installed it for its existence. God knows he didn't want who ever it was to have walked in on him staring blankly up at the ceiling like he wanted the roof to be torn off and to be sucked into space.

He pulled the door open and tugged again at the hem of his tee shirt, not making eye contact with Martha even as she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Are you alright in there?" She questioned, her eyes performing a quick once over of his 'literally just rolled out of bed' look.

He twitched his mouth into a quarter smile, one dimple appearing shallowly on his washed out looking cheek.

"Fine."

Martha looked over his shoulder at the unmade bed and the few items of clothing strewn across the floor.

"You haven't eaten breakfast yet, what do you want?"

Alex shrugged, indifferent at this point. Was George still around?

"Is George around?"

Martha frowned slightly but shook her head.

"No. He went out to run some errands and have a meeting with some HRC lobbyists."

Alex made a noise of (admittedly surface level) interest and shrugged.

"I ate only last night. I'm not too hungry to be honest."

To be truly honest, he didn't want to spend any more time with Martha than he had to. The guilt of being around her was too imposing and all encompassing. Best to burn his bridges now, make it hurt less. He'd already made moves towards this in the past week. It was better this way, easier now he'd managed to isolate himself from the majority of his friends and foster family.

Martha looked him up and down, obviously eyeing his bony knees and skinny ankles, sure... he wasn't hungry.

"Alexander, please."

Martha reached out and took one of his hands, squeezing it in what he guessed was supposed to be a comforting manner.

He flinched at the sudden movement and reflexively, snatched his hand back.

A look of hurt flashed momentarily across Martha's face but it was quickly replaced with her usual compassion, this didn't however stop the stab of guilt to Alexander's stomach.

Alex took a step back from the door and flashed a glance to the room behind him. Martha evidently got the message that he wanted to be left alone.

"Will you have lunch later?"

Alexander didn't really want this, he'd much rather stay in his room but he sensed Martha would be intransigent on this and trying to work his way out of this seemed futile and frankly, rude.

"Of course I will."

Martha smiled again and nodded. She ran her eyes once more over his room and raised her eyebrows playfully.

"Maybe think about tidying up a little. Tell me if there's anything that should go in the laundry, okay."

Alex nodded sluggishly, already retreating back into his bedroom and making to pick up a sock at the foot of his bed. Usually he was a tidy person, in fairness, this was likely attributed to the fact he'd never had enough possessions to make a mess. He'd had to be ready to pick up his life in a moments notice and move halfway across the country these last few years.

These last few days though, the willingness to tidy up after himself had left him.

He finished quickly and lay back down on his bed, not really sure what to do. He didn't want to write. He shifted slightly, watching the shadow of the leaves from outside his window flutter on the wall across from him.

Alexander glanced at his watch. He'd woken up extremely early, maybe around five, and it was now 11:30. Martha had mentioned he should eat lunch alter and he'd agreed.

So much for isolating himself, goddamn it, how could he face her?

Well, he'd have to burn that bridge when he came to it.

For now, it seemed like the only thing left to do was prepare. He looked around the room, his eyes skimming over all the surfaces and cabinets. Items here and there laid out in what seemed a meaningless agglomeration. Their place had had a purpose when he'd put them there but he didn't think it would matter from now on, he wouldn't be using any of them again.

He tidied everything on his desk into neat piles, all his pens and pencil put into his case and his books stacked into towers. He put his personal notebooks all into pile away from the rest, he'd considered burning them but... what anybody thought of the contents would mean nothing to him soon enough. Besides, he couldn't bear to destroy all of what he'd worked so hard on for years.

Next he turned to his drawers. He opened them and organised everything again, into stacks. Jeans, shirts, sweatpants, sweaters, boxers. It didn't take long.

Despite the shopping trip Lafayette had taken him on at the end of August, his wardrobe consisted of just a few pairs of jeans, a few tee shirts, one pair of sweatpants and two sweaters.

Next he made his bed, stripping the sheet off entirely, airing it out and then making the entire bed back up again as neat as he was able.

He surveyed the room, his hands on his hips. His mind was strangely blank, unsure and nervous yes, but still hazy and cast with a cloudy fog.

He thought it might have been poor judgement on his part to clear everything up before lunch, lest Martha decide to check in on the state of his room.

Well, fuck it. He was fatalistic in that way.

He straightened the piles on his desk a final time and smoothed the creases on his bed. His room now looked like one of a person just moving in.

Or moving out, if you're the type to look at it that way.

Martha was calling his name now, it sounded strange and muffled through the layers of plaster and insulation that made up the walls and floors of the house.

He closed the door after him, glad there was no one in the house who could look in at his room while he was downstairs.

He walked into the kitchen and nodded slightly at Martha. Her hair was pulled back with a thick scrunchie and she was dressed in comfortable looking jeans and a jumper, patterned with pastel coloured geometric shapes.

"I've just made some sandwiches, cheese and tomato okay?"

As though he would say no.

"Yeah, thank you."

She smiled as he sat down tensely. His back not touching the chair and his posture stiff. He didn't want to leave any of himself around the house, best he pretend he was already a ghost.

He ate slowly, the cheese was strong but in the way that meant it was expensive, not out of date like he'd been used to. The tomatoes weren't tinned. They were fresh. He still wasn't used to this, all his life canned things had been cheaper so that was what he'd eaten.

Martha sat opposite him, reading the paper. He was glad for this excuse not to talk, she must have sensed he didn't want to.

He finished not long after Martha. She'd remained at the table with him however, glancing up every so often to watch his progress.

He brought the plate to the sink and rinsed it quickly before walking to the door. When he passed Martha however, he stopped. She put down the paper and smiled at him. She'd always had such a nice smile. It was so warm, so kind. If Fitzgerald was right and you only see five or so of these smiles in your whole life, Martha was one of them.

He put his arm loosely round her shoulder in a half hug and held it for a few moments, breathing in the smell he'd stop trying to identify and had now simply labelled, 'Washington'.

"Much homework for Monday?"

She smiled, stroking the side of his fave gently. Alexander nodded, his heart felt as though it was ice on the verge of splintering.

"Yeah. I'll be ages working on it tonight."

She patted his arm affectionately and he straightened up again, moving closer towards the kitchen door. He sent her one last smile before turning back around and heading down the hallway and up the stairs.

Up in his room he scanned through his notebooks and folded down pages he wanted read. There were some pages about John, prose attempting to describe how he'd felt that day at the coffee shop, journal entries stressing over how much he'd liked him, one attempt at sketching him as payment for the portrait John had done of him. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't amazing either.

He folded down journal entries about the Washingtons too. Paragraphs about how he really felt about them. His desperation about being good enough for them. The crushing gratefulness he felt at their kindness. He also marked down anything he'd written about Lafayette and his endless patience and humour. Everything he'd said about Hercules' boundless love for his friends and amazing talent in art. He knew they'd be read, this was his note.

The clock had just struck one. He couldn't do it yet. He knew he should wait, do it when it was the early hours of the morning or late at night. Decrease the chances of anyone walking in too soon. Increase the chances of it working.

He set about popping the pills out of their trays, one by one. The soud of foil breaking and caving against the pressure was like an explosion against the silence that had leaked back into his room.

He finished the Prozac, a sizeable pile of white pills next to his left hand. Then he started on the iron. There was the exact same amount.

He just had to bide his time now, watch the tension grow and grow until he snapped it, clean and for good.