Hello! Thanks for all the lovely support! The word count for this one is like 5,800
SpyBritishBegone: Its really nice of you to comment about that, thanks for taking the time to see if I was okay. I guess I just want to make sure my readers enjoy this story, I don't want it to cause them pain. That's why I do trigger warnings. Thanks so much!
Guest: Wow, I guess I sent you on a feels trip huh. Heed the trigger warnings my friend, I'd hate to cause you any pain. Am I writing from experience? Yes and no. Less from Lafayette and John's perspective. More from Alexander's. Even so, not really... kinda... I'm not going to get into it.
LamsPickles: I know too much about fluxotine overdoses now. Seriously, this chapter took some serious research (the medical facts are probably only about 75% accurate tbh). Mullette!
Trigger warnings: Suicide, ptsd, flashbacks, mention of self harm, crying.
Hey, I put a poll on my profile about the story and what POVs you guys would like to see more of. Go vote!
John watched Lafayette stand up and stretch, his long limbs pulled taught and his eyes closed. Watching him then in that awfully human position, a stretch and a yawn, made the teenager seem much more vulnerable than his usually carefree character would allow for.
He'd been asleep for a while, since before Martha had arrived, but had woken up just a moment ago. John wished he could have been able to sleep too, it would have been a welcome escape from the cold limbo of the waiting room.
He was almost jealous, he would have been if it hadn't been for the fact that Lafayette's sleep had been anything but peaceful. He had tossed and turned incessantly against John and at one point had woken up after banging his head hard against the side of the vending machine.
John caught him murmuring things to himself in French as he'd slept, though he couldn't quite make them out. Words and phrases and names and places he didn't recognise. It was obvious Lafayette was dreaming about times when he still lived in Paris.
The French teenager had awoken not long after Martha's arrival and immediately had jumped at the chance to change out of his pajamas, into garments that allowed him a greater degree of comfort, and to be frank, dignity.
Lafayette walked towards the entrance to a smaller corridor off the side of the emergency room.
There was small sign was fixed the whitewashed wall labeled men's. He pushed into the restroom, the harsh lights glinting off the sterile tiles like the sun off bleached bones in the desert.
Lafayette opened a cubicle, quickly stripping off his pajamas and changing into the jeans and shirt his mother had brought him.
He thanked the fact that he only ever bought clothes he knew looked good and could be either dressed up or down. Jeans and a tee shirt, though simple, could look pretty good if they were well made and matched right.
He stood in front of the spotted mirror for a while, staring at his reflection but not actually seeing anything. He looked down at the tap and twisted the faucet on. It was one of those old-fashioned ones. Steel, with a star like shape that got stuck when you twisted it up to a ninety-degree angle.
He turned it so that the water was the coldest possible and cupped his hands beneath the flow, splashing his face with the icy water. He could see his reflection in the dull metal basin.
He closed his eyes and the memories of that morning flooded his mind.
Alexander, lying across the threshold of his bedroom, lifeless.
Alexander, his eyes closed and his skin so pale, his lips so blue.
George leant over him, his face frantic, checking for breathing.
The curl of Alexander's fingers like that of a wilted fern.
How his coughs had shaken his entire body and still hadn't been enough to wake him.
Writhing, twisting in pain on the hospital bed, his small frame curled into a ball and his face screwed up against the white mattress.
Lafayette clenched his fists tight and straightened up, feeling the icy water splash down across his Nike tank top. He loved Martha but wished she had chosen something warmer. His arms were bare and he was shivering now.
He tried so, so hard to push the thoughts out of his mind. He really did, but they kept coming back.
Alexander, dangling limply in George's arms and his mother's trembling hands passing a bottle of scotch to her husband.
The plain of Alexander's throat as his head lolled in the back seat of the car. Pale, barely rising and falling with breath.
The way John's voice had sounded over the phone, small and terrified like he'd never heard it before.
The hesitation after he'd asked the nurse whether Alexander would be okay.
He slumped against the bone-white tiles of the restroom wall and slid to the floor, feeling his chest tightening. He willed himself not to cry, he couldn't cry. Not again. He wasn't supposed to cry at all, let alone five times before it was even noon. He was supposed to happy go lucky; insouciant.
Everyone needed him to be the strong one. He had to, for John, for Martha, for Herc...
For Alex...
He drew in sharp breaths and felt his eyes burn with tears, but he kept them shut, not allowing them to spill over his bottoms lashes. They welled up behind his eyes lids until he could no longer open them for fear the drops would roll down his face
He dug his fingers into the sides of his legs tightly and tried to calm himself, to no avail. It was probably just best to wait this moment of fucking weakness out.
There was the sound of the door opening but Lafayette didn't look up, he couldn't allow the tears to fall down his face and make eye contact with someone at the same time.
"Gil- are you... are you alright?"
It was George's voice above him. Deep and concerned and, if it was possible, even more tired sounding than it had been all those nights last week when he'd stayed up past midnight drafting debates and speeches and whatever else was required to run for senator.
He said nothing, keeping his head buried firmly in his knees. He counted the stitches along his jeans by running a trembling finger down them, like he would if he were counting Alexander through a panic attack.
Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix.
George had seen him cry under five times in the last five years, once had been this morning. He didn't want that number to rise any higher.
There was the sound of George moving to crouch next to him and the weight of a hand on his shoulder.
"Gil, look at me, I need to see you're okay."
He shook his head. He wasn't okay.
"Not...okay."
He heard a sigh and tried to shift away, but there was nowhere to move to.
"Why can't you look at me?"
He shook his head in his knees and shuffled an inch away.
"Je vais pleurer. Je ne peux pas pleuver."
I'll cry. I can't cry.
George made a small, frustrated sound but somehow, Lafayette could tell his anger wasn't directed at him.
"Are you able to say that in English? If you can't it's okay, you don't have to."
Lafayette thought for a few moments, reaching for the words in his crowded, spinning mind.
"I- I will cry. Can't cry."
George let out a noise of pain and Lafayette could picture his expression, clear as day. That loathsome poker face replaced with a quiet concern.
"Can you tell me why?"
His voice was calm, almost curious. Lafayette would have rolled his eyes or scoffed. He was reminded of a conversation he'd had with Hercules... had it really been just yesterday?
"Why do you think that is?"
Lafayette laughed slightly bitterly at that, "you sound like a fucking therapist."
He spoke now, slowly and hesitantly, cringing at his voice which was thick and tearful sounding.
"Je dois être forte tout le temps et si je ne le suis pas... Je dois être la personne que tous attendent que je sois.
I have to be strong all the time and if I'm not... I have to be the person everyone expects me to be.
George's hand on his arm seemed to tighten and he realised he'd spoken in French. He knew that always worried his parents.
He rushed to correct his mistake, thus his English being less than fluent sounding.
"Everyone... thinks me- no, needs me to... to be strong."
George was silent for a few moments, they both were, then he spoke. His voice was husky and choked sounding. Fuck, he never sounded like that, was he okay?
"Gil, everyone- everyone's upset. Your brother's in hospital, you have the right to be sad about that."
George tilted Lafayette's chin up so that he was looking at him. Well, facing him, he hadn't yet opened his eyes.
Gil, you can look at me, it's okay."
He cautiously opened them and at once felt the tears spill down his face. He wiped them off aggressively and put his head back in his hands, mortified.
"Gil..."
He looked back up, slowly raising his head to make eye contact with his father. His father, who now had tears in his eyes. Lafayette sat there for a moment, dumbfounded.
He'd seen George get angry before, heard his voice become slightly thick with emotion, but crying? George and crying were like antonyms in the internal Lafayette dictionary.
"It's okay Laf, please, no one thinks you can't show what you're feeling. If anything," he let out a small laugh, "I should be in your place right now. I'm the adult here."
Lafayette felt the tears rising up in his throat again and turned his face away instinctively, looking at the wall. George pulled him into a tight hug and Lafayette leant his head into his shoulder, allowing his gasps to make his entire body shake and tremble.
He realised he was sobbing uncontrollably now but couldn't seem to make himself stop, he could only think of Alex-
- Alex; of how scared he would have been before he'd done it, how his hands must have shaken and how he'd obviously collapsed in pain in the doorway of his bedroom.
After a few minutes, he felt himself slowing down, his breathing becoming more regular and the tears in his eyes no longer welling up.
He sat back abruptly and stood up, turning towards the sink and splashing his face once again with freezing water.
George was on his feet too now, standing by the door. Lafayette found see him in the mirror behind him.
"Je suis desolé."
I'm sorry.
George shook his head and straightened down his coat, his face expressionless again. Lafayette sometimes wished his face showed a little more of what he was feeling. The stony, 'give nothing away' expression that he'd picked up these last few years was a little unnerving sometimes.
"There's no need to be."
Lafayette pulled his hair out of his ponytail and shook it out, pulling his fingers through it so the creases made by his hair band were straightened.
He left his hair like that, feeling the change would wake him up slightly. Make him feel more put together.
"You look like Thomas Jefferson."
George's lips were twisted into a small smirk, his hands in his coat pockets. The bathroom lighting made the higher parts of his face lighter and the deeper places darker, like a Warhol painting.
"Non, Thomas Jefferson looks... looks like me."
George laughed and Lafayette smiled somewhat. He'd have to use that line again sometime when he wasn't stuttering it with poor grammar and a strong accent.
Lafayette turned back to the mirror and examined his eyes. The skin around them looked slightly raw and pink, but he thought he might be able to attribute that to him crying earlier if anyone asked. He didn't want anyone knowing what had happened moments ago.
"Don't bite my head off again, but could you eat something?"
Lafayette sighed but then caught his father's eye in the mirror. He looked almost hesitant to be asking, worried Lafayette would snap again. His eyes held a note of concern and he had dug his hands further into his pocket.
"Bien sûr."
Of course.
George smiled and his hands seemed to release the pressure he was putting on the inside of his pocket.
Lafayette leaned further towards the mirror and pulled at the skin under his eyes. It was pretty obvious he'd been crying, but the redness in his skin was fading now and he thought it looked like it had been a while since he'd cried - rather than a minute or so.
"No one will be able to tell, it doesn't matter any way."
Lafayette sighed slightly and shrugged, turning to face his foster father and giving a weak, quarter smile.
"Encore, je suis desolé."
Again, I'm sorry.
George shook his head and led Lafayette by the shoulder out of the restroom.
"Come on, Martha has a cheese sandwich with your name on it."
They waited for the next few hours in the emergency room waiting lounge. As the college students and other patients of various ages slowly trickled out, the five of them moved to a sofa in the far corner of the room. No one talked much, no one really did anything aside from sitting there, occasionally sleeping or tapping on their phones.
Each of them had their own idiosyncrasies, ways to pass the hours. Hercules bit his nails, a habit John often said didn't suit his fashion conscious, sensible character. Martha fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist and John counted the corners of his phone, tapping at them anxiously.
John was still reading a WebMD page on fluxotine overdoses and had about fifty tabs open in safari, so many that his phone had taken to closing Google because of the overload of data being processed at once.
Hercules just sat there, mainly staring out the window into a little garden for hospitals patients or biting at his nails. Sometimes he would open a sketching app on his phone and for ten minutes or so would work on something, before signing in frustration and turning off his phone.
George kept getting calls. He'd taken the first three or so, walking a few paces away from the rest of them and calmly explaining that there had been an incident within the family and he was going to have to take some time off work. After the fourth call however, he sounded slightly annoyed.
"Surely they would have told each other I wasn't taking calls, can no one there communicate with each eachother?"
He'd turned his phone to silent and had sent an email to his office, passively aggressively explaining that surely, surely, they could handle the simplest of motion definitions for a minor election debate.
John was sitting in the corner of the sofa, pressed against the arm and Lafayette. He was scrolling through another Wikipedia page.
Martha cleared her throat and sat up a little in her corner of the sofa. She was sat next to George on one side, opposite Lafayette, John, and Hercules.
"It's nearly four o'clock. John, Hercules, I think when it turns six you should make preparations to leave. Provided we hear news about Alex by then."
Hercules shrugged and looked at Lafayette, concerned. He was asleep again.
"I... I don't really want to leave in case something happens."
Martha sucked her teeth and pulled at the bracelet on her wrist.
"John, your father won't worry if you're not home? Does he know you're here?"
George looked up at John at that moment and watched his face pale slightly, his eyes taking on a new, apprehensive light that George recognised as the same one Alex got in his face when asked about his previous foster parents. He didn't like it one bit.
John took a deep breath, contemplating telling them he was living with Herc at the time being. He didn't suppose they would make a big deal out of it, they'd probably just disapprove.
"I- Well..."
He looked at Hercules for approval and the taller boy next to him shrugged as if to say 'what do you have to lose?'
"I'm staying at Herc's for the time being. My father and I had a..."
He threatened to kick me out for dating your son and slapped me, so I smashed his expensive vase and ran out.
"...Disagreement."
Martha's mouths formed a small, surprised 'o' shape and she narrowed her eyes in confusion.
"Did he make you leave, or did you?"
George's voice was steady, calm. That poker face he'd learned to put on so well was normally slightly unsettling but currently, it made it easier to talk about the incident.
"I left. Honestly though, it's not a big deal. I just didn't want my siblings to have to put up with me and dad arguing all the time."
John tried at a small laugh but sounded forced, like the lie he'd just told. Well, it was a half lie. He'd left because his father had hit him; something he'd never done before. The fact that his siblings would lead a more peaceful home life was just a happy side effect.
"How long have you been staying at the Mulligans' home?"
John counted on his fingers, it hadn't been that long.
"I don't know, maybe five or six days."
George's gaze had turned shrewd now and he was surveying John with keen eyes, his expression looked awfully knowing.
"What did you argue about?"
Hercules' eyes met his and he hesitated, now surely wasn't the time to come out to Lafayette and Alexander's parents, no matter the suspicions they may or may not have had.
Martha had nudged George subtly with her elbow and shook her head so slightly that Hercules and John didn't notice the movement.
"Nothing... really, it's stupid anyway."
They left it there. George looked like he would have pressed the matter further but remained silent, his eyes didn't leave John however. He wondered if George had seen him when he'd still had that bruise on his cheek.
John closed his eyes and sat back on the sofa. No news had come in about Alex since early that morning, and that had just been what George had told them.
Yet, they hadn't got the dreaded piece of news that had plagued their imaginations all day. The idea that Alexander might not make it had crept into John's head like a ghost, making its presence known through terrifying notions that he didn't want to entertain, through reoccurring fears that itched at the backs of his eyeballs, through unwanted ideas that scratched themselves into the inside of his skull.
Like a prisoner tallying their days of imprisonment.
But John had to remind himself; he couldn't make assumptions too soon. He couldn't get his hopes up, but he couldn't give up on Alexander either. That horrible, suffocating middle ground was in a way, much more difficult than hearing the very worst. He had no idea what to expect, he hadn't even seen Alexander for a few days now.
It was nearly five by the time a nurse walked into the room, asking to see George and Martha. Lafayette was still asleep, Hercules' jacket still wrapped around the French teenager; he'd been shivering.
George and Martha had immediately got to their feet when the nurse had walked in. She was holding a clipboard to her chest and a surgical mask was pulled away from her mouth and over her chin. Dark circles were smudged under her eyes like stains.
John stood up too, his posture was ridged and his shoulders were tensed.
The nurse looked down at the clipboard and then back up at the family.
"George and Martha Washington?"
Both adults nodded assent in unison, Martha's hand frozen in the act of pushing a bead down her bracelet and George's knuckles nearly white against the dark wool of his coat.
She beckoned them over to the doorway of the corridor and held out her clipboard for them to read. The paper was illustrated with many words and graphs, confusing and complex to both the Washingtons' tired brains.
"Hamilton underwent Gastric suction at around forty-five minutes past six this morning due to an overdose taken of Fluoxetine and Ferrous Fumarate at an unspecified time this morning or last night."
Martha's hand had found George's now and their grip was tight, locked together in a hold Thor himself would be hard-pressed to break.
"Approximately 1740mg of the Fluoxetine was ingested and of this, less than half was absorbed into the bloodstream. The gastric suction was successful in removing remaining drugs in the stomach. At six forty-six this morning, a serotonin overdose induced seizure was observed for around forty-five seconds in the patient. To combat the seizure an injection of phenobarbital was administered, as well as Cyproheptadine, an antidote to serotonin."
George glanced at Martha, his expression a mixture of fear and bewilderment. Could she get to the point? None of this meant anything to them, currently they only needed to know if Alexander would be okay.
"Is he okay? Will he be okay?"
The nurse bit her lip and looked back down at her clipboard.
"If you're asking whether he'll live, the answer is most likely the affirmative. I wouldn't get entirely complacent yet, but you can take comfort in knowing that currently, his chances of survival are higher than those of the opposite. His recovery process, however, will take a good deal of time and even then, there will be long-term effects from an overdose of this magnitude."
Martha looked as though she could have wept, from relief of fear, George wasn't sure. Her lip trembled slightly and she closed her eyes, overcome.
George's expression was still stony, his eyes narrowed and he gripped Martha's hand even tighter.
"What do you mean, 'most likely the affirmative'? Is there any doubt?"
The nurse sighed and flipped back through her clipboard.
"He's not yet breathing properly without the help of an oxygen cannula, but we're hoping this issue will be resolved as soon as the serotonin antidotes take effect fully."
George released his grip on Martha's hand and instead draped his hand over her shoulder.
"What long-term effects can we expect?"
The nurse, her name badge was obscured by the clipboard and a green staff lanyard, pulled another sheet from the pile.
"Migraines and seizures are relatively common in the months after an overdose, though neither always require trips to the emergency room. Short term disorientation and headaches can also be expected. Rarer health conditions after Fluoxetine overdoses may be observed, you'll be given more information on those in due course."
George nodded curtly and turned around to face John and Hercules. They were watching the three of them intently, John's fingers had an iron grip on the back of the sofa and George sent the two of them a small smile.
"Oh, there are just a few more things to be observed about your son, aside from the overdose. He's at a very low body weight and it's hospital policy not to discharge patients until they've reached an at least near healthy BMI."
Martha was nodding again now, her hands were trembling somewhat but her voice was steady.
"How long could we expect that time to be?"
The nurse tugged at her lanyard and flipped through the pages on her clipboard.
"Another few weeks, most likely. Another thing noted by staff is that the patient has seemingly self-inflicted cuts along one forearm that really should have been treated professionally when they were inflicted; they're a few days old now. Did either of you know about these?"
George and Martha shook their heads, a plummeting feeling in their stomachs.
"Not any that required the hospital. I mean, we knew he'd self-harmed before, but..."
The nurse pursed her lips and looked down at her clipboard again.
"I do want to remind the both of you, your son is still in critical condition. He'll be observed tonight and in the morning reviewed to see whether or not this ranking can be lowered. These next few days will be instrumental in whether or not he makes a full recovery."
George felt himself nodding but was internally elsewhere. Some of the crushing worry that had been pressing against his shoulders had lifted. Of course, the nurse's extremely realist attitude hadn't completely dissipated his fears. She hadn't said outright that Alexander would live.
"Thank you, so, so much."
Martha's voice was choked somewhat but a tinge of colour had reappeared in her cheeks. The nurse smiled and George was relieved to see her eyes followed suit.
"You look like you have family to share the news with, I'll let you get on with it."
Martha turned around but George paused, holding out his arm as if to tell the nurse to wait.
"When can we see him?"
She smiled again, stopping in her tracks towards the door.
"Not tonight. If his condition is better tomorrow morning, which it hopefully will be, you can see him. You should know, he might not be conscious for a few days."
George nodded once and he and Martha turned around, looking across the room to where John and Hercules were standing rigidly still, both expectant and terrified like a deer in front of a hunter's rifle.
They both walked back over to where the three of them were sitting and Martha crouched down in front of Lafayette, gently shaking him awake with a small smile on her face.
"Gil, Gil?"
He opened his eyes slowly, with a sluggish glance at his surroundings he sat up and stretched.
"News... of Alex?"
Martha nodded and pulled her son into a tight hug, stroking his head with a gentle hand and squeezing his shoulders. Lafayette pulled back quickly, at once wide awake.
"Is he okay? Qu'est qu'ils t'ont dit?"
What did they say?
Martha hesitated slightly. The news they'd been given was good, or at the very least could inspire hope, but there was a stark difference between Alex living and Alex being okay.
"She said the chances he'll live are greater than the chances he won't."
Lafayette was silent for a moment. His intelligent were eyes still clouded from drowsiness but when he spoke, his accent was less pronounced and his words carefully chosen.
"But, what of his seizure? Can we know for sure he will live? It was not certain before he would... he would-" the teenager's next word was slightly choked, stuttering like a record scratch. "-die. What has changed?"
Martha sat back down and let Lafayette sink his head back onto her shoulder. She rubbed her thumb in soothing, subconscious circles against his bicep.
"The stomach pumping worked, they gave him some counter medication for the serotonin. The nurse talked about long-term plans for him. She seemed to think he would make it."
Lafayette looked over his shoulder to where George was talking with John and Hercules. John's complexion was grey with worry but his eyes, those amber eyes, instead of looking fearful, now merely looked exhausted.
He stood up, squeezing Martha's hand gently and making his way towards his friends.
John's bottoms lip trembled as he embraced Hercules and Lafayette together. Their arms gripped each other tightly, Lafayette's head pressing almost painfully into Hercules' shoulder and John's fingers in a vice-like grip on the French teenager's forearm.
They stayed like that, locked in a clenched fist of silent emotion, for a few minutes. John took a deep breath and looked up, smiling weakly at George who was just a few paces opposite them.
Lafayette turned to his father and looked at him with pleading eyes.
"When can we see him? Ce sera pour bientôt?"
Will it be soon?
George nodded, at once feeling pity crash over him again.
"Yeah. Most likely tomorrow."
Lafayette rubbed a hand through his afro and frowned.
"Are we staying here?"
"I will, I think you and Martha should go home and get some sleep."
Lafayette frowned and shook his head, eyebrows at once furrowing and a defiantly desperate expression dawning on his exhausted face.
"I cannot! Papa! What if something happens? I must be here! Besides, I- I cannot return back there..."
George sighed, caught in ambivalence. On one hand, he couldn't allow Lafayette to hurt himself staying up all night in the hospital. He had napped in the waiting room, but that hardly counted as rest; he'd spent half the time in and out of sleep.
On the other hand, Lafayette had been the one to find Alexander this morning, lying on the threshold of his bedroom. Surely forcing him to return to the place that had transpired so soon was poor judgment.
"I- you have to sleep, Gil. That's not up for debate- no, don't look at me like that."
Lafayette had frowned and folded his arms definitely, pouting like a little kid refused their favourite toy. The stakes now, however, were higher.
"Je peux- I can sleep here! Please, Papa..."
George forced himself to shake his head, reaching out a large hand to take Lafayette's shoulder firmly.
"You can go home with Hercules and John. Provided it won't be any trouble for the Mulligans."
Lafayette's face softened and he grudgingly nodded, breaking away from his father's grip to turn around.
He held up his hand in a 'just a second' motion to George and hastened to where John and Hercules were sat on the couch.
"Herc, est que-ce je-"
He stopped himself quickly, slapping the side of his face lightly before continuing, this time in English.
"Can I rest at your house tonight? I do not want to go back to mine yet, C'est trop..."
He didn't continue, not sure there was a single word that could encompass the way he felt when the memories closed their fist around his mind. Neither English nor French could articulate the way his hairs stood up on the back of his neck and the sudden feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach.
Fear did nothing to cover it.
Hercules' face was instantly empathetic and compassionate. Hercules rarely just pitied. He did, of course he did, but it was never hollow pity or just plain pity. He always tried to put himself in the shoes of the person before him. He had the tact to get on with things, not let himself indulge the tendency other people had to wallow.
"Yeah, course you can. What are Mr- I mean, George and Martha doing?"
Lafayette sighed and tugged at a stray curl.
"George is staying here. Martha, putain, I don't know. I don't want to leave her alone."
Lafayette turned to face his parents, they were talking quietly at the opposite end of the room. Lafayette walked over, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets.
"Mamam, es-tu- are you staying here or?"
Martha smiled and shrugged. She looked tired, her hair was pulled back hastily in a ponytail and her face was free of any makeup.
"If you're going to Herc's place, I'll stay here with George."
Lafayette thought for a moment, tilting his head pensively so that his curls bounced to the left.
"You're not tired?"
Martha smiled gently and shook her head.
"I couldn't sleep if I tried."
Lafayette pulled Hercules' jacket tighter around himself and looked towards the glass doors of the waiting room. Outside the sky was just starting to fade to a dark blue, October brought the evenings in quicker but it still surprised Lafayette that they'd been at the ER from six that morning 'till now.
He turned back to his parents and hugged them both for a few moments. He thought he'd probably given and received more hugs today than he had in the last month.
"Send me a text if something happens."
George nodded and Lafayette walked with John and Hercules out to the parking lot. Henry's car was parked right by the exit of the lot, it's engine still purring. He'd obviously not been waiting long.
Hercules' house was quiet when they pulled up in the driveway. His brother was at college, both his parents still at work.
Hercules had offered that Lafayette sleep in his bed and he take the couch with John, his reasoning being that Lafayette would sleep better there, but his friend obstinately refused.
"Laf, please. You're exhausted, just take my room."
Lafayette shook his head and remained defiant, seated firmly on the couch.
"It's fine Herc, this is fine."
John shook his head from behind Lafayette, sending Hercules a resigned, 'It's not worth it' look.
Lafayette brushed his teeth in the bathroom, Hercules had his old toothbrush under the sink from when he'd left it there after a sleepover. He pressed harder with the brush, feeling the sharp bristles scrape painfully against his teeth and gums.
The toothpaste at the corner of his mouth was becoming pink now, its pearly white colour fading into crimson until red trickled down Lafayette's chin. He spat into the sink and wiped his mouth hurriedly, wincing as he rinsed and turning on the tap to watch the red flow down the plug hole.
He gripped the sides of the ceramic basin tightly, closing his eyes and taking long, drawn out breaths.
Alex on his bedroom floor, pale and cold. Alex in George's arms; unresponsive. Alex in the back seat of the car- Alex on the hospital bed- Alex in pain- AlexhurtAlexdying-AllhisfaultAlexAlex.
Alex- I'm so sorry.
