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Chapter Text

Alex was tired.

There were a million other things wrong right then- His head hurt, he felt like his feet had swollen to twice their size, his clothes had inexplicably become soaked through- but all he could think about was how tired he was. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blurry fog from his eyes, but it stayed persistent.

The street he was on was crowded, he knew that much. People with umbrellas and in raincoats walked by him, a kid on a bike pedaled straight through a puddle. Umbrellas? Raincoats? Alex looked up at the foggy sky (was it clouds? His vision?) and felt cold drops of water hit his face. Ah. It was raining. That would explain the wet clothes.

Alex shivered and pulled his wet jacket tighter around him. His backpack seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.

The weather wasn't ever this cold in Nevis. He'd never been this cold in his life.

Or this hot, for that matter. Sweat seemed to be dripping off his brow. Alex unzipped his jacket, trying to fan cold air over his overheating body, before he shivered again and zipped the jacket back up.

His toe caught a crack in the pavement and Alex stumbled forward. The world spun and the blurry fog darkened until he could barely see. He flung his arms out and caught a railing, hanging onto it with a weak grip and a pounding heart until his vision cleared enough for him to stand.

Okay. He needed to stop.

Where?

Alex looked to the side.

Ah, those were buildings. Houses, he thought. Hadn't noticed those before. That doorway there was covered.

Covered meant no rain.

No rain meant less cold (or hot).

Okay, doorway it was.

Alex slowly went up the stairs. Were there three stairs? Or three hundred? He sat down heavily, sighing as his legs relaxed for the first time in what seemed years. He huddled himself against the door, pulled up his hood, and that was it.

George Washington was having a less than stellar day. His Junior Senator, Charles Lee, had just been recorded spitting all sorts of venom how George wasn't fit to be a "representative of the good people of Virginia", his son, Lafayette, had stumbled home drunk last night, speaking only French punctuated by inebriated giggles, and it was raining outside.

George hated when it was raining. And when his son came home drunk at three AM. And when someone who was supposed to be at least cordial to him acted like an ill-behaved toddler throwing a tantrum.

At times like these, George wished to God he had never become a senator and moved to DC.

He pulled on his overcoat and muttered something mutinous about DC weather.

"I'll see you tonight, Martha," he called through the hallway. "Tell your son to call me when he wakes up. He's got some explaining to do."

"You don't get to dump that responsibility on me, hon." Martha said, drying her hands on a dish towel as she met her husband at the door. "You're the one who wanted to adopt him."

"Ah, but you're the one who wanted to foster kids in the first place, so really, this is all your fault." George stooped and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I'll see you tonight?" He asked as he tied his scarf.

"Mm-mm, got a meeting. Be home late." Martha said.

"Alright. Have a good day, dear."

"You too."

George braced himself for the cold and then swung the door open, reminding himself that he had faced far worse situations than DC winters.

But he met something a little more shocking than some rain.

A kid was curled in his doorway, soaked to the bone. He was lax, his head flopping over as the door moved back, and his eyes didn't open. His cheeks were bright red and he seemed to be shivering.

Okay, not quite what George had planned, but...

"MARTHA!"

George kneeled down, dropping his umbrella, and immediately felt for a pulse on the kid's neck. Sluggishly slow, but there. His neck was burning hot. He definitely had a fever, a bad one, it seemed.

"What? What is it?" Martha ran into the hallway. "Oh my God, who is that?" She knelt beside George.

"I just opened the door and found him here. He's got a bad fever." George said.

"Get him inside." Martha said, reaching for a cell phone. "I'll call the police."

"No, don't yet. He might just be another drunk kid. Let's look for a wallet, ID, first."

"Alright. Hurry, it's cold out."

George slung an arm under the kid's knees and behind his back. He was deceptively light. George could feel every knob of the kid's spine digging into him. He carried him into the living room and put him on the couch. Martha followed with a stack of blankets taller than she was. She put them down and stared at the pathetic creature on her coach.

"Oh, George, he's soaked. It's not going to help him any to stay in these clothes. We've gotta take off some of this stuff.

"Alright." He agreed. "Shoes, jacket, backpack. The rest will dry easier."

Martha bent down and pulled off the tattered shoes. The kid wasn't wearing socks underneath, and his feet were bruised black and blue. She held the shoes up and gestured to his feet.

"Still think he's a drunk college kid?"

George slipped the backpack off the kid's bony shoulders, then his threadbare jacket and studied it. The tag inside had five or six names crossed off and rewritten, and a thrift store tag on the side.

"No, definitely not. Something's not right here."

Martha sighed and laid several blankets on top of the kid. She felt his forehead and shook her head.

"No, something's not right."

Chapter Text

"Yes, Officer, we found an ID. A passport. It appears to belong to him, it was in his backpack-" 

"Tench, I'm not coming into today, something's come up at home-" 

"Okay..It says, name is Alexander Hamilton. Place of Origin, Nevis. DOB January 11th, 2000."

"Yes, I know there's a floor vote today, Tench, but this is really urgent." 

"He's a what?" 

"I know I have a meeting with the leadership today, you're going to have to push it back-" 

"Alright, right away. Thank you, Officer." 

"Tench, I don't know for how long. Tell them Lafayette is sick, or something of that sort. You're a smart young man. Deal with it. Goodbye." 

George groaned slightly as he jabbed the end button on his phone. Martha was staring at him with an odd expression on her face. 

"I'm clear for the day," He said. "What the did police say?" 

"Something odd." Martha said. She got up from the chair she was sitting in, anxiously wringing her hands, then crossed the room to the couch, where a skinny dark haired boy was still unconscious under the blankets. She smoothed the long hair away from his face and looked up at her husband. "His name's Alexander Hamilton. He just immigrated here from Nevis three months ago. He was supposed to enter the foster system, but he disappeared a few minutes after his plane landed. He's been missing ever since." 

"Until now." George said, shaking his head. 

"Until now," She agreed. 

"What until now?" A third voice entered the room, sleepy and punctuated with yawns. Lafayette was stretching in the doorway, one side of his curly hair smushed flat against his head and the other side sticking out as normal. He yawned loudly, rubbed his eyes, pushed his glasses on, then froze. 

"Uh, who is that?" He asked slowly, pointing at the couch. 

"Laf..." George got up and crossed the room. "We found him this morning outside the door, unconscious. Martha contacted the police, and it looks like he's a runaway from the foster system." 

Lafayette cocked his head to the side, seemingly digesting this information. Then, he bounded forward, kneeling next to Martha by the couch and staring at the kid. 

"Is he okay? He looks sick. Should we take him to a hospital?" He asked worriedly. 

George looked at his wife, who slightly smiled at him, eyes knowing. 

"Yes, we're going now. The police are meeting us there to discuss the matter further." George said. 

"If you want to come, honey-" Martha said.

"I do." Lafayette said pointedly. 

"-Then go get dressed. I'm going to get the driver to pull the car around front." Martha said. She got up, and she and Lafayette left, leaving George alone. 

He sighed and sat on the foot of the couch. The kid's face was as red as ever, but he still hadn't opened his eyes or said a word. Martha said he was sixteen, but he barely looked thirteen. No doubt, malnutrition and apparent homelessness had played into that. 

"Alexander Hamilton, huh?" George said. "Impressive name. Well, it seems you're getting a second chance to live up to your name, kid." 

"Look, he doesn't have any family that we know of, certainly not in the States." Martha said. "Can I please at least go back so that he doesn't wake up alone? He's young, he's clearly very ill-"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the nurse held up a hand. "But those are the hospital rules. You're not his parent, or his guardian, and you don't have in loco parentis rights."               

"I'm sorry, but our family has donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to this facility." George said. "There's a Washington Wing, for Christ's sake, on the west end of the hospital! Shouldn't you be acting like my best friend right now?"

The nurse shook her head.

"Not me, sir, no."

"You're telling me it means nothing? " 

"I'm sorry, sir. If you and Mrs Washington want to go to the Waiting Room, I'll have someone call you back if he wakes up and gives permission, alright?" 

Martha seemed to deflate, stepping back.

"Alright. But I want updates every half an hour, you hear me?" She threatened. "All that money's got to go somewhere." The nurse nodded and walked away. 

"C'mon, honey." George said. He slung an arm around his wife's shoulders. "Let's go. We'll hear more later." 

Alex woke to a stinging prick on his arm. He groaned, trying to move away from whatever it was that was hurting him, but someone kept a tight grip on his wrist. 

"Whoa! Sorry sweetie, looks like you're awake. I'm just taking a blood test, I'll be done soon." A voice said calmly. 

That caught Alex's attention. Blood test. All too late, Alex realized he wasn't wet anymore. There wasn't any rain falling on him. He was still shivering, still cold, but something warm was draped on his legs and chest. He forced himself to open his eyes, groaning as harsh light made the pounding in his head worsen. The room around him gradually sharpened. Even the fog in his eyes was down to a mostly transparent mist. 

Was this...A hospital? The room was painted in muted shades of gray and white, and there was a TV like the one on the airplane, but bigger, on the wall. He was laying in an elevated bed, and someone had placed several blankets over him. His clothes were gone. He didn't know whether to be panicked or relieved at that. They were practically rags. But they were all he had. He was wearing some sort of gown that smelled starchy and was slightly itchy. 

His arm pricked again and Alex jerked reactionarily. 

"Sorry, sweets. Just taking the needle out." 

Alex slowly turned his head to the side. It was a nurse, a woman with long dark hair and a kind face. She was bandaging up his arm, right below where it seemed he had  tubes sticking out of his skin. He looked up; they were attached to bags of a clear liquid hanging from a pole. 

"There, done. Now, how do you feel?" The nurse asked, putting a tube of something red onto a tray and scanning his forehead with a device. It beeped and she looked at it, frowning. "With an 102.5 degree fever, I'm gonna say not so swell, huh?" 

Alex nodded. 

"S'cold. I'm cold." He said hoarsely. 

"Yeah," The nurse said sympathetically. "It's the fever. Hopefully once we get you hydrated and on some antibiotics it'll come down." 

"How did I-" His throat tickled and Alex coughed harshly. The nurse gave him a concerned look and wrote something down on her chart. "How did I get here?" He asked. 

"You passed out on a doorstep. The family living inside found you and took you here. They're still here, actually. Thy want to see you, but I can't allow them in unless you give permission." The nurse said. "Sweets, you don't have to give permission. You can just wait for the social worker to get here." 

Alex's head was spinning. The doorstep..The rain...Oh. Yeah. Social worker? He'd spent months avoiding them. He wasn't going to just give in now.

"I want to see them." Alex said quietly. The nurse studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I'll be right back." She picked up the vial of red stuff (ah, it was blood. That made sense.) and her chart and left. 

The room seemed so large. Alex had never had a bed to himself, let alone a room to himself. This was new. And not unwelcome. He lay his back on the pillow, resting his stinging eyes from the pounding the light seemed to afford them. 

The door swung open again. The nurse's footsteps accompanied by several others. 

"-has a very high fever and I'm worried about pneumonia, so he needs his rest. Only a few minutes." The nurse was saying. 

"We understand. We just want to make sure he's alright." A deep voice said. 

"Sweets?" Someone, the nurse probably, laid a hand on Alex's shoulder. "The Washingtons are here." 

Chapter Text

Alex turned his head over to the doorway. A tall man with dark skin and closely cropped hair had his hand on the shoulder of a very short pale woman with fiery red hair and an anxious look on her face. Next to her stood a tall teenager with curly hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, who grinned and waved at him.

They looked so familiar, but Alex couldn't quite place them.

"Hello, Alexander." The woman said. "Can we come in?"
Alex nodded. How did they know his name? It was on his...passport! They had his passport and his backpack no doubt. He'd need those back before he left. They filed into the room, the tall man and the short woman pulling up chairs and the teenagers hanging back.
"I know you," Alex blurted out. "Uh, I mean, I recognize your face," Alex nodded at the tall man.

The man laughed, which was a little disconcerting.
"That's impressive, Alexander." He said, smiling. "I'm a Senator for Virginia. My name is George Washington, that's wife Martha, and over there," the man pointed towards the teen in the back. "is our son Lafayette. That's not his full name but I think I'd give you a headache trying to explain his full name right now. Most everyone just calls him Lafayette."
Alex narrowed his eyes.
"No, you did something. You're not just a Senator and that's it. You made a law, or...Oh! You introduced that legislation for kids under the poverty line, didn't you?"
The man and the woman, sorry, George and Martha shared a look.
"I did. That's very impressive, especially considering you've been homeless for three months." He said matter-of-factly. 

Alex looked down, stomach churning. He knew. They must have contacted the police. He was going to go into the system, and that'd be that.

"Alexander?" Martha asked. "Are you alright?"
"Fine." Alex said shortly. "Also, my name's Alex. Not Alexander."
"Sorry, Alex. We were just going off your passport." George said.
Alex nodded. There was a knock on the door, and a woman came in carrying a briefcase.
"Hello," She said. "This is Alexander Hamilton's room, correct?"
"Yeah." Alex said. His throat was getting hoarse.
"My name is Annika Smith. I'm your social worker."
Alex stared at her, not meeting her outstretched hand. This was it. Eventually she sighed and put her hand down.
"We need to talk about putting you in some emergency placement homes after you're discharged, Alexander." She said.
"Oh, uh, actually," Martha said, standing up. "We would like to discuss that with you."
"Discuss-" Annika said.
"Let's talk in the hall.", George interrupted hastily. He placed a firm hand on Annika's shoulder and led her outside. "Stay in here, Laf." He called over his shoulder. The teen mock-saluted and dropped into an open chair, legs swinging over the armrest. "Yes, sir!" He called. His voice was strangely affected, but in a familiar way.
"You're French." Alex stated. He reached up and placed a hand on his chest. it felt oddly hollow.
Lafayette laughed.
"Yes, I am."
"Are you adopted?" Alex asked.
"Yes. Going on ten years now." He said. "I, uh, don't think I would be alive if it weren't for them." He smiled slightly and nodded towards the door.
"What happened?"
"Oh, things. Parents died, y'know." Laf said.
"Right." Alex looked down. He knew a little about that.
"How old are you, petit lion?" Lafayette asked.
"Little lion?" Alex translated curiously. "Why little lion?"
Lafayette laughed and gestured at him.
"You are very small," He said. "But you don't seem to have any fear. Asking me questions."
Alex nodded. Little lion.
"I'm sixteen." He said.
"I thought you were maybe thirteen!" Lafayette said, astonished.
"Why, how old are you?" Alex asked defensively.
"Seventeen."
"You're only a year-" His throat tickled again and Alex coughed hoarsely. It didn't seem to help, and he kept coughing until he was bent over double.
"Alex? Are you alright?" Lafayette asked. Alex couldn't even answer. An acidic fire was creeping up his throat, jabbing needles as it went.
"I'm getting the nurse." Lafayette said. The door opened and shut, then again not ten seconds later. Footsteps ran towards him.
"It's alright, sweets." Someone said soothingly. It was the nurse. She rubbed his back. Just take deep breaths."
Oh take deep breaths, that'd help. He couldn't even seem to manage short gasps.
"In, out. In, out."
It took a while, but the coughing eventually slowed down. Alex lay back. The nurse handed him a glass of water with a straw.
"Small sips," she warned. Alex nodded, not really able to talk yet.
"Listen, if you need me, all you need to do is press this button." The nurse gestured towards a red button by the bed.
"Thank you," Lafayette said.
The nurse nodded, looked at Alex once more and left. The door had barely swung shut when the adults came back in.
"Alright, Alex," Annika said briskly. "It seems you have two options here. Either I can find you placement in a group home after you're discharged, or-"
"Or," Martha interrupted. "You come live with us."
It was silent for a moment. Alex tried to comprehend what she was saying.
"Live, with you?" Alex asked quietly.
George nodded.
"We are a licensed foster home, and it would be no problem. We have an extra bedroom upstairs."
"Sorry, is this some kind of political ploy?" Alex asked suspiciously. "Are you trying to pass some kind of homelessness law?"
George raised his eyebrows.
"It'd be some kind of ploy for me to orchestrate you passing out on my doorstep, Alex." He said.
Alex nodded.
"So? What do you say?" Martha asked. Alex glanced at Lafayette, who was grinning widely and nodding eagerly at him.
"Would you like to come live with us?" George asked.

Chapter Text

"So? What do you say?" Martha asked. Alex glanced at Lafayette, who was grinning widely and nodding eagerly at him.
"Would you like to come live with us?" George asked.

"Uh, I guess. Yes?" Alex said.
Martha smiled widely and Lafayette gave him enthusiastic thumbs-up.
"Good. That's settled." George said.
"We have paperwork to get through, Mr Washington" Annika said crisply, shutting her briefcase.
"You always know just what to say, Annika." George said. He winked at Martha, who rolled her eyes as Annika looked at George confusedly.
"Stop teasing the poor girl, George. We'll follow you to your office, dear." She said to Annika.
"Get some sleep, Alex. We'll be back soon." George promised as they walked out. Lafayette saluted once more, then followed them out, and left Alex alone, slightly terrified and wholly nauseous.

"Hey, kiddo." The nurse came in. "So, I just talked to your doctor, and I wanted to talk with you about a few things we saw on your blood test, alright?"
Alex nodded. The nurse sat in the chair Lafayette had just vacated and pulled out a chart.
"Your white blood count is pretty elevated, but that's not surprising, considering your fever. I'm slightly worried about pneumonia, but that antibiotics you're on should knock those out." She looked up.
"How are you feeling?"
Alex shrugged.
"Seriously, kid. How are you feeling?"
"I feel like I'm gonna throw up." Alex relented. "But I don't. My chest hurts when I breathe or cough. I'm really hot and then I'm really cold and I have a headache and everything's blurry and I think a Senator just offered to take me in."
The nurse looked slightly alarmed. She closed the folder and stood up.
"Okay! That's quite the laundry list. Most of that we can help with. We can't have you throwing up, you're already about twenty pounds underweight. I'll get some anti-nausea medication. If your chest doesn't feel better by tomorrow, we'll get an x-ray. Hopefully your fever will be down soon, and the headache is because you need to sleep. As for the Senator thing, I think this might be a second chance for you, sweets."
She pat his arm, then got up to leave.
"Hey," Alex called hoarsely after her.
"Yeah?"
"What's your name?"
The nurse smiled. "Rachel."
Alex felt something deep clench his stomach and he closed his eyes. He had a sudden memory of a tall woman with bright eyes and a sharp tongue. Rachel..
"Alex, are you alright?" She asked.
"Fine." He said. He forced himself to open his eyes. "It's just, uh, that was my mom's name."
"Huh." She smiled. She turned off the light and closed the blinds to his room.
"Get some sleep. I'll be in to check on you before my shift ends."

When Alex opened his eyes again, Lafayette was again sitting at his side, head bobbing to whatever was playing through the bright red headphones on his ears.

"Ah! You're awake!" He said, taking off the headphones and sitting up.

Alex blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear away the fog. With every breath he took, his chest ached more.
"What time is it?" He asked, staring at the clock and trying to make out the blurry numbers.
"Uh, it's nearly 9:30." Lafayette said.
"9:30? But you left at 8?"
"AM, mon ami. It's 9:30 AM. You slept through the night."
Whoa. OK. So why did he still feel that if he closed his eyes right now, he'd be able to sleep another 18 hours?

"George and Martha both had to go into work, but they're finalizing the papers this afternoon, then they'll be in. I got them to let me skip school." Lafayette grinned as if he was getting away with something.
"Skip school?" Alex asked.
"Yeah. It's fine, I will just get John to pick up my work for me." Lafayette waved a hand dismissively.
"Oh." Alex didn't ask who John was. It was silent for a few minutes. Alex closed his burning eyes
"May I ask you a question?" Lafayette broke the silence.
Alex cracked his eyes open and nodded at the blurry shape he was pretty sure was Lafayette.
"Why did you run away?"
Alex froze. He wasn't expecting that.
"Were you ever in the foster system?" He asked quietly.
"Yes, but only with George and Martha. I was never in any other homes." Lafayette said.
"You were lucky. I just, uh, had heard really bad things. Terrible things about child abuse and foster kids growing up to be criminals and addicts and lots don't even finish high school. I couldn't. I couldn't do it."
"So you figured staying on the street was a better option?"
Alex shrugged. Lafayette seemed to be waiting for an answer but Alex didn't have one to give. It didn't seem like the better option. It seemed like the only option.

"Everything's finalized!" George said triumphantly, walking into the room with his arms outstretched. "Alex, you're coming home with us!
Lafayette whooped from his chair and Martha smiled. Alex forced a smile onto his face. They were obviously waiting for a response from him.
"As soon as I'm discharged." Alex said. He groaned internally. That was the best he could come up with?
"-which should be tomorrow morning." Rachel came into the room holding a folder.
"Your fever's gone, you're hydrated, and your blood sugar's at an acceptable amount." She said as she checked Alex's vitals. "However, you're still underweight, Alex. You need to be watching and making sure you're getting enough to eat each day. I'd recommend getting some nutrition shakes. Not to mention we're still worried about possible pneumonia, so we're sending you home on Antibiotics. What's important is that you rest and you eat, alright?"
"Absolutely." Martha said firmly. "We'll start doing calorie heavy meals for now. And he'll be getting lots of rest."
Rachel smiled and handed the folder to Martha.
"These are the discharge papers." She turned to Alex.
"Get well soon, kiddo. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you again."
"Me too," Alex said.

"Alright, Alex, you ready?" George squeezed his shoulder and Alex tightened his grip on the armrests of the wheelchair they had forced him into. He was wearing some clothes that were slightly too big and shoes that weren't his. He had nothing to take home from the hospital but some bandages on his arms and several medication bottles.
"Yeah. I'm ready." Alex said. George nodded and they pushed through the front doors of the hospital.

Something clicked, and a large flash blinded Alex. He ducked his head down, rubbing his eyes.
"SENATOR WASHINGTON! SENATOR WASHINGTON? Is it true that Alex is your son?"
"Is this a stunt, Sena-"
"HEY! ALEX!"
Suddenly Alex found himself completely surrounded by flashing lights and people with microphones clamoring to get past the two bodyguards trying to hold them off.
Alex heard George curse under his breath and push the wheelchair faster. The world was spinning around him. The piece of toast he had managed to put down for breakfast today was threatening to make a reappearance.

So. This is what it would be like to live with a Senator.

Chapter Text

Alex suddenly found himself surrounded by flashing lights and people with microphones clamoring to get past the two bodyguards trying to hold them off.
Alex heard George curse and push the wheelchair faster. Alex ducked his head down. The world was spinning around him. The piece of toast he had managed to put down for breakfast today was threatening to make a reappearance.

So. This is what it would be like to live with a Senator.

"I'm so sorry about that, Alex." George said, craning his head to look at him from the front seat. "The press can be...predatorial at times. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Alex said tightly. His left wrist had purple indents where he had dug his fingertips in it, and his heart was pounding in his chest.

"We're here live on Nevis, where the worst of Hurricane James has passed over. The current casualty list is devastating,"

"The house is only a few minutes from here. Martha went shopping and got a few things for you." George said. His phone vibrated on the dashboard and he groaned and picked it up.

"A young boy was found wandering the island and is thought to be the sole survivor from his village. He was hospitalized three days ago. The hospital listed him as in stable condition and he's expected to be released within the hour. We're here at the front entrance of St Joseph's hospital, and-there he is!"

Alex tightened his fists and tried to breathe. In. Out. Un. Deux. Trois.
His head was pounding along a thin white scar.
"Hey, you okay?" George's voice seemed to come from far away, tinny and distant. "Alex? Stop the car." Everything halted. The door next to him opened and someone layed a hand on Alex's shoulder. He jerked away, pulling his knees to chest.
"Alex, this is just anxiety. You're in the car. Breathe with me." Again, there was a hand on his shoulder. George's. Alex didn't move away.
"In and out, Alex. In and out."
Slowly his breathing slowed. His heart didn't feel like it was about to leap out of his chest. He wasn't on the island. Alex cracked his eyes open and found George leaning over to him, tie loosened around his neck. The concern on his face relaxed and he smiled at Alex.
"Sorry," Alex croaked out.
"Don't be, kid. Everything's fine. How do you feel?" George leaned back and ran a hand over his head.
"Better. Sorry, it was just all the cameras. I'm fine."
George looked at him.
"Don't bullshit me, Alex. But it's fine. We're going home. You can nap there." George pat his shoulder then got back into the front seat.
"C'mon, let's go home."
"How did you know how to..." Alex gestured awkwardly. "Help me?"
"Laf used to have pretty bad anxiety when he was little. Martha and I had to learn some tricks to help him calm down. He's much better now." George said matter-of-factly.
Lafayette? Cool and confident Lafayette used to have anxiety? That, Alex couldn't see.

Their house was definitely Senatorial. Whatever that meant. Alex sort of remembered the red awning over their doorstep, but nothing else.
"Here we are," George opened the front door. Alex walked over the step he had passed out on only three days ago.
The downstairs alone was big enough to fit three of Alex's old apartments. Big comfortable couches and thick carpets. Books. So many books. They seemed to take up every wall not already occupied by paintings or windows. Vents everywhere, spilling heat into the air. Alex shivered and pulled Lafayette's sweatshirt tighter around him.

"I imagine you're exhausted," George said behind him. "Why don't I show you your bedroom. I'll wake you up for dinner and then we can show you around the house."
"Okay." Alex said. The house. Their house.

George led him up a staircase (no, Alex did not have trouble walking up the staircase, his heart always pounds like that and makes it hard to breathe. Nothing about stairs.) And down a long hallway. He points out Lafayette's bedroom and then the door next to it, he opens.
"This is yours." George says. "Sorry, it's a little devoid of decoration right not, but Martha would be happy to take you shopping whenever you feel up to it."

Alex couldn't even respond. The room was spacious but cozy. Wood floors and a carpet thicker than the one downstairs. There was a queen bed with several pillows on it and a desk and three bookcases. Alex held his breath and let it out slowly So. This whole "own-bed own-room" thing was gonna continue.
"Thank you," Alex said quietly. "It's perfect."
George smiled and put down the small bag he carried up for Alex.
"I'll let you get some rest."
He left, closing the door behind him.

Alex walked and sat on the bed, feeling the soft pillows wondrously. He kicked of his shoes and lay down. He was still just so tired. Always.

"Hey, Alex, dinner!" Someone was shaking him. Had he fallen asleep? Lafayette sat on the edge of his bed. "Good morning, la Belle dormant." He said.
"I'm up," Alex forced himself to sit up, ignoring his aching chest.
"Alright. Dinner." Lafayette bounded off the bed with seemingly endless energy. Alex followed, albeit much slower. Lafayette led him down the stairs, whistling as he did so, past the living room, and into a room with a large table and several chairs around it. Martha was placing a steaming plate on the table.
"How are you feeling, Alex?" She said. She wiped her hands on a towel and gestured for Alex to sit down, next to where Lafayette had already had sat down and stolen a roll of bread from a basket.
"Fine." Alex said. He eyed the food being placed down. Too much.
"Here we go!" George came into the room carrying a large plate.
"You cooked?" Lafayette said, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, I did. Got a problem with that, Mr. Last-time-I-cooked-I-nearly-burnt-down-the-kitchen?" George put the plate down and sat at the head of the table.
"Guess not." Lafayette stared at the plate and grinned. "That reminds me, I am going, how you say, vegetarian." Lafayette announced as he spooned salad onto his plate.
"Stop it. It's just lasagna." George said. Lafayette laughed.
"Kidding. Please pass the lasagna."
"Do you want some bread, Alex?" Martha asked.
"Uh, sure." Alex took the proferred basket and put one on his plate. Slowly, his plate was filled with food. But as everyone else's began emptying, Alex's stayed full. He wasn't hungry. He knew he should be hungry. He knew this wasn't normal. But he wasn't hungry.
"Are you feeling alright, honey?" Martha asked.
"Fine." Alex lied. "Just tired."
"Alright, well, why don't you head up to bed?" She said.
"Thank you." Alex said gratefully. He excused himself from the table.

By the time he made it to his bedroom, Alex was panting. Maybe he'd feel better after sleeping. He collapsed onto his bed.

Yeah. He was wrong. He woke up with a sharp pain in his stomach and a nagging feeling that he hadn't taken his medicine. He dragged himself up and looked at the clock. 3:34 AM. Alex groaned and made himself get out of bed. He opened the door to the bathroom and reached for the orange bottle George had left on the counter. He got as far as unscrewing it when that pain in his stomach made a reappearance. Alex dove for the toilet and barely made it before the three bites of dinner he had managed showed up again. There wasn't anything in his stomach and Alex spent a few moments dry-heaving before he sat back. After rinsing his mouth, he reached for the bottle of pills.
"Aw, fuck!"

He had knocked the bottle over into the sink. The pills were gone. Down the drain. Only three remained in the bottle, and Alex was supposed to take two. He stared at the bottle before taking two of the remaining pills and placing bottle on the counter again.

"You dumb motherfucker! You lost your medicine?" A sharp blow to the head. "I can't afford to buy more! You're an idiot." A slap across the face.

Okay. He'd deal. They didn't have to know. It was just antibiotics, nothing else. He wouldn't die.

Alex went to bed with his stomach churning and his head pounding.

Chapter Text

Martha found her husband sitting at the counter in the kitchen, staring off into space. George looked up, startled, when she hopped onto the chair next to him.
"Alex had a panic attack on the way back from the hospital. Press got wind of his discharge and were waiting for us at the entrance." George said. "He practically jerked away when I touched his shoulder.
Martha sighed.
"He's so guarded," George continued. "I know there's something wrong, but he won't talk."
"Definitely." Martha said. "He's showing all the signs of being abused. But we've done this before. We can help him get past this." She squeezed his hand, and George smiled slightly.
"But you remember how he knew who I was? What kind of teenager, let alone a homeless teenager, can recognize a senator and knows what legislation he's worked on? He's got some brains in there."
"As soon he's settled, we can talk to him about enrolling him in school." Martha promised. "But he's still pretty sick, honey. He needs to sleep and he needs to gain weight. He definitely needs to get new clothes."
"Maybe tomorrow? I have got to go in. I'm supposed to give that speech in support of Nate's gun control bill. Not to mention Tench is probably this close to quitting." George said.
"I'm home. I'll take the boys and we'll get some things for Alex. Hopefully Laf can help him find a phone and laptop." Martha said. "Now come on. You need some sleep." George took her proferred hand and together they left the kitchen.

Alex slumped into the kitchen near 10:30. His long dark hair was pulled into a slightly greasy bun on top of his head and Martha could see faded bruises on his jaw that had been hidden before. He was still wearing the too-big jeans that Martha had brought to the hospital. From the creases, Martha could tell he had slept in them.
"Good morning," she said. Alex nodded at her, offering a half-smile in apology for his muteness. "Come sit at the counter. I just made pancakes." Alex did as she asked, but seemed barely able to keep his eyes open.
"Did you sleep well?" She asked as she put a plate in front of him and pulled out a jug of orange juice. He shrugged noncommittally and started to pick at the pancakes in front of him.
"Thank you," He said. His voice was hoarse and scratchy. "For the food."
"Of course, dear." Martha said. She watched as he took a miniscule bite, taking several minutes before he cut another piece. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat across from Alex. Lafayette came in a few minutes later, glasses on his nose and hair pulled up onto his head.
"Good morning, merè," he kissed Martha's head before hopping onto the counter. He picked up a pancake and began eating it with his fingers, humming sleepily.
"Laf, go get a plate and eat like a normal human, please." Martha said.
Laf raised his hands in surrender and put the rest of his pancake in his mouth and jumped off the counter. He sat next to Alex and attacked three more. Alex was still picking at one and seemed slightly awestruck by Lafayette's behavior.
"Alex, dear, try and eat a little more. The antibiotics you're on can really mess up your stomach if you take them before you've eaten." Alex's eyes flitted quickly to Martha and then to the plate before he looked down and nodded.
"Laf, what's your day looking like?" She asked.
"Empty," he said. He reached over the table and wrapped his hands around Martha's coffee. She relinquished it, sighing as she did so. "John may come over later but that's it."
Martha stared at Laf, trying to communicate what a bad idea that was for Alex.
"But just to pick up a book. He's going to his sister's for dinner so he can't stay." He hastily added. "Why, did you have something in mind?"
"I did, actually. Alex, you need some clothes, it can get pretty cold here in the winter."
"What? Colder than now?" Alex said in astonishment. Martha nearly laughed out loud.
"Much colder, Mon petit lion." Lafayette said.
"Oh."
"So I was thinking we could head to the mall. Pick up some clothes, a phone, other essentials." Martha continued. "What do you think?"
"I'm in." Laf said immediately. "But you must buy me those pretzels with the cinnamon on them."
"You are so spoiled." Martha said, laughing. So much better than the alternative. "Alex? What do you think?"
"Uh, yeah, sure." Alex said. He had barely eaten a full pancake, but he put down his fork.
"Great! Why don't you two go shower and change and I'll clean this up." Martha said pointedly. "Laf, get Alex some clean towels and shampoo for his bathroom, I don't think he has any."
"Your wish is my command, merè." Lafayette bowed mockingly. "Come, mon ami." He said to Alex.

Alex stared at the mirror in disgust. He had showered. He hadn't done that in a while. His long hair was hanging around his face like wet ropes. He was so skinny. He could see each rib poke out. But his face was so swollen. God, he looked like he was about to keel over and die right there. What did the Washingtons see in him? He eyed the orange bottle and took the last pill at the bottom. He sighed, carefully pulled one of Lafayette's t-shirts on and stepped outside the bathroom to pull on the slightly too big sneakers. His feet were getting better at least. The bruises were disappearing quickly. He went down the stairs slowly, stopping before he went into the kitchen to catch his breath.
Martha and Lafayette were sitting at the table, each on their phones. Martha looked up before he entered.
"Ready?" Martha asked. Alex nodded, hand flying to his head.
"Do you think...could I get a haircut?" He asked. His voice caught in the middle and he coughed.
"Of course you can." Martha said. She smiled at him kindly and handed him a jacket. Again too big. "It's cold out." she turned to her son. "C'mon, Laf. We're leaving."

So much clothing. That was all Alex could think. He stared at the rows upon rows of shirts and jeans and jackets. Martha was behind him giving instructions to Laf.
"-then run to Best Buy and pick up a smartphone and case. We'll take care of clothes. Thanks, honey." Lafayette faux-saluted and ran off. Martha turned to Alex.
"Okay, let's get you some clothes, yeah?"
"Are you sure? I-I don't think I need all of this." Alex stuttered, sweeping his hand to the whole store.
"Nonsense." Martha scoffed. "You need clothes, Alex." She led him from aisle to aisle, picking up shirts and holding them out for him to inspect, shoes for him to try on. By the time they left the store, Alex had a new pair of sneakers, boots, dress shoes, and a pair of converse Martha had seen him eying and immediately put in the cart. He had long sleeve shirts and short sleeve, a winter coat and a sports coat. There was no way he'd ever wear all of this. It was just too much. They met Laf at the car and unloaded. Alex was about to get in when Martha stopped him.
"Hey, we're not done yet!" She said. "You need some things for your room, not to mention your haircut."
"Oh. Right."

At Target, Martha made him pick out a bedspread and curtains. Alex truly couldn't care less about how his room looked. It was his room. But she was clearly happy when he picked out dark blue curtains, so he went with it.

Finally, he sat on a chair at the barber's.
"So, how would you like it done?" This stylist asked.
"Uh..." Alex glanced over at Martha. "I just want it short."
The stylist nodded.
"Short it is."
Alex watched as chunks of his hair fell to the ground. His head became lighter as the stylist worked. When he was finished, the stylist had taken off nearly seven inches of hair. Alex suppressed a smile when he saw it in the mirror. He looked less... desperate. Martha smiled as they left the shop.
"You look good, hon." She said. "Let's go find Laf." Martha had apparently agreed to meet him outside a bookstore. The storefront had a display of classic books and Alex could barely stop himself from pressing his nose up to the glass and staring at them. Martha noticed.
"Hey, Laf texted me and said he would be a while. Why don't we go in?" She nodded towards the store.
"Oh, sure, if you want." Alex feigned casual.

Martha headed immediately off to the biography section and told Alex to pick up at least five books. He had protested, but weakly. Alex wandered around, looking at all the different titles. He wanted to pick up everything. Historical. That sounded interesting. He rounded a corner and promptly tripped.
"Oh, sorry!" Someone said. They offered him a hand up and he took it, only wincing slightly. He had tripped over a pretty girl with dark skin and straight hair pulled into a ponytail. Alex looked down and saw several books on the ground. Clearly she had been camped out there for a while. She looked at him. "I know you," she said.
"You do?" Alex said, surprised.
"You were on the news, weren't you?"
"Uh-"
"Yeah!" She snapped her fingers. "You're staying with the Washingtons aren't you?"
"Yes-"
"Oh, shit." The girl covered her mouth with her hand and stared at Alex with wide eyes. "I was being rude there, wasn't I?"
"It's fine, reall-"
"I'm so sorry! I'm trying to work on it. Eliza says I just think too fast." The girl took a deep breath and held out her hand.
"My name's Angelica Schuyler." Alex took her hand and shook it.
"Alexander Hamilton."
She cocked her head to the side and studied him.
"Where's your family from?" She asked. An image of the decrepit apartment he grew up in flitted across his mind. Compared to the houses around here...
"Unimportant." He said hastily.
"Fair enough." Angelica said. "So what brings you to the bookstore?" She bent down and began gathering the books on the ground.
"Well, I was shopping with Martha, and she told me to get some books."
"Ooh, Mrs Washington's here? I love her! I'll have to say hi. But you said you're getting books?"
"Yeah. But I'm sort of not sure where to start..." Alex gestured helplessly around the store.
"You ever read Harry Potter?" Angelica asked. "What am I saying? Stupid question. Everyone's read Harry Potter."
"Actually, I haven't." Alex said, shifting his feet uncomfortably. Angelica fixed him with an awestruck look.
"You haven't read-?" She grabbed him by the sleeve. "C'mon." She pulled him to a bookshelf and shoved an entire box set of heavy novels in his arms. "You need to read this." She said. They went up to the register.
"Ah! There you are, Alex. I was just about to come looking for you." Martha said. "What'd you pick out? Harry Potter! Great choice."
"I know you said five." Alex said apologetically. "If it's too much I'll put it back-"
"Don't you dare." Angelica practically growled. She turned to Mrs Washington. "He said he's never read Harry Potter, Mrs Washington! How is this possible?"
"Hi, Angelica. I see you've met Alex." Mrs Washington smiled.
Angelica nodded, smiling.
"Yeah. He, uh, tripped over me, but we're good." Angelica suddenly checked her watch. "Oh, I'm late. I gotta go pick up Peggy from MMA. See you later!" Angelica dashed out of the bookstore.
Martha rang up the books shaking her head affectionately.
"That girl." She said. "Her mind runs a mile a minute and sometimes I think she forgets not everyone else's does too."
Alex stared at the stack of books she had left on the counter. Angelica seemed exactly his speed.

"Hi, dear." Martha came into the kitchen and dropped the pizza onto the table and kissed her husband. "How was your speech?"
"C-SPAN cut me off in the middle, but the Republicans had to sit through the whole thing." George shrugged. "So, it was a success. How was shopping?"
"Great! Alex got lots of clothes and a haircut. Still not eating." Martha frowned.
"Yeah, we gotta keep an eye on that." George said. "Where is he now?"
"Oh, he passed out in the car. He's still sleeping upstairs, I imagine."
"Good. He deserves that much. Hey, I got a phone call from the hospital today. We gotta schedule a follow-up at some point. Hopefully those antibiotics are fixing that nasty chest infection, but they want to check on it."
"Yeah, I'll call them tomorrow." Martha said. "I hope he's fine. I'm getting the feeling Alex's life wasn't exactly rainbows and butterflies."

Chapter Text

Breakfast was the same noisy affair as the day before. Alex realized that Lafayette's inhumanly energetic behavior wasn't caffeine or cocaine induced. It was just...him.
"Merè, I have a joke for you." Laf said. He had already eaten two bowls of frosted flakes and seemed to be reaching for a third. Alex glanced down at his half-eaten waffles. Three days since he had run out of meds. He was still alive. He definitely had just overreacted.
Martha looked up from her phone.
"If it's another pun, Laf, I'm going to make you go to work with your father." She threatened.
Lafayette gasped in mock-horror and placed a hand on his chest.
"I cannot believe you would stoop so low, Merè. No, it is not a pun. It is a work of art, frankly."

Martha gestured for him to continue.
"What is Whitney Houston's favorite kind of coordination?" Laf asked.
"What?" Martha asked warily.
"HAND-EYYEEEE!" Lafayette belted at the top of his voice. Martha groaned and Lafayette laughed at her. Alex didn't understand but just seeing Lafayette attempt to sing was funny enough.
"That is the definition of a pun." She said.
Lafayette shrugged, grinning.
"I had to tell it."
"Who told you that abomination of a joke?"
"John."
"John. Of course it was John. Who else?" Martha said. She glanced out her phone and cursed under her breath.
"I've got to go to work. Alex, I'll be home around three. Please get lots of rest. Lafayette can show you how to work the TV before he leaves for school. There's also some leftovers in fridge. Eat more than you think you need to." Alex nodded and Martha squeezed his shoulder before leaving, throwing a quick "love you!" to Lafayette over her shoulder.
"And I, petit lion," Lafayette said as he cleared the table. "Should be home around 3:30. I must stay after school for a program, but I'll be home soon after."
"Sure," Alex said.

The house was empty. Alex wasn't sure how he felt about that. He sat on the couch and stared at the vast collections of books around him. Last night he had gotten through three chapters of the book Angelica made him buy before the pressure behind his eyes got too bad for him to continue. He wanted to read. Everything. But he just didn't have the energy. Lafayette had turned on some documentary on the American revolution. It was a sore substitute for a real book, but...

Alex lay down on the couch and pulled one of the blankets on the edge over himself. Damn, this house was cold. Alex thought the Washingtons were rich. Shouldn't they be able to afford heat? He thought a lot of things. He thought he had gotten enough sleep last night, but this couch was really comfortable and the narrator's voice was monotonous...

"LAFFY, I'M HOME!" The front door slammed and Alex jerked awake. It took a few seconds to orient himself. He was in America. DC. The Washington's living room. Okay. He groaned slightly as a pounding headache made itself known and his chest protested his breathing.
"Laf, your husband comes home and you don't even greet him? I want a divorce." It was definitely a teenage boy's voice, ringing out from the foyer.
"Hello-o? Anybody home?"
Alex's throat hurt too much to speak, which was just as well. What would he say? He forced himself to sit up just as a boy came into the living room.
"Hey, why don't y-oh." The boy noticed Alex and stopped in his tracks. He was tall, but skinny, with tan skin and freckles dotting his face, and long hair nearly as curly as Laf's pulled into a ponytail. He was wearing a thick coat over a uniform identical to Laf's and he dropped a thick backpack next to a bookcase.
"What time is it?" Alex asked hoarsely. The boy seemed to shake himself and check his phone.
"Uh, nearly two." He said.
Nearly two? Laf and Martha had left at 7:30. He'd been asleep for six hours? Damn.
"Sorry," the boy said. "Are you, uh, Alex?" He asked awkwardly. Alex nodded and swung his legs over the edge of the couch. C'mon, time to stand up. Okay. That was a mistake. The world turned blurry and Alex was pretty sure he was three seconds from passing out.
"Whoa!" Someone had hands on his arms and guided him back to couch. "No offense, dude, but you don't look good."
Oof. His stomach. Not good.
"Noted." Alex said shortly. "I mean, the only thing I'm concerned with right now is how I look, and not how I feel."
The boy laughed in surprise.
"That's true. I'm John Laurens, by the way." Alex cracked an eye open. The boy was crouched in front of him. His freckles were blurring together, but Alex could make out his form mostly. So this was the John that Laf kept mentioning. 

"Alex Hamilton." Alex said. "Are you looking for Lafayette? He's not home." He asked.
"Yeah, but it's chill. I can wait for him to get home." John was still staring at him.
"Listen, when was the last time you ate?" John asked.
"Uh..." Alex thought back to this morning and wondered if half a waffle constituted as eating.
"My god. You and Laf need to learn that food is not something you can just skip ..." John shook his head. What? Laf ate triple what Alex did. "I'll be right back. Stay here." John straightened up and left the room.
"Where are you going?" Alex called after him.
"Kitchen!" Came the reply. Alex was slightly impressed that John seemed as comfortable in this house than he would in his own house. There was some clattering and shutting of cupboards and John re-emerged carrying a plate and a glass.
"Toast and OJ." John handed him the plate and Alex fought off the nausea that erupted at the smell. "Bland, but it's got calories and electrolytes, and clearly, you need something."
Alex nodded his thanks and picked up a piece, studying it.
"Oh, don't try that with me." John warned. "Listen, dude. I will sit right here and watch you until you finish that toast, I swear to God I will."
Ok. If he puked this up later, it would be John's fault.

He managed to get through a full piece before the front door opened again.
"Hello? Alex, I'm home!" It was Martha this time. John grinned and bounded off the couch to meet her in the doorway to the living room.
"Mom!" He said, wrapping his arms around her.
"Hi, John," Martha smiled and tousled the taller boy's hair affectionately. She looked into the living room and saw Alex surreptitiously trying to place the rest of the toast in a wastebasket before John saw. "I see you've met Alex."
John nodded and gave Alex a look which made him put the toast back on his plate.
"Yes, ma'am. He nearly fainted trying to get off the couch. Hasn't eaten all day." He said matter-of-factly.
"Well, thank you for the toast, John. Would you mind taking that plate into the kitchen?" Martha asked. "I don't think Alex is going to finish it." Alex relinquished the plate gratefully. As John walked away, Martha sat down on the edge of the couch and took off her coat.
"So, how was your day?" She asked. Alex shrugged.
"Slept." He said.
"All day?"
"Yeah. I didn't mean to. It sort of just...happened."
"Yeah, that can happen sometimes." Martha said. "John says you haven't eaten at all?"
"I meant to! But I just fell asleep and..." Alex shrugged.
Martha nodded.
"Okay. Listen, I'm gonna have John run out and grab some of those nutrition shakes the nurse was talking about."
"You're gonna ask John?" Alex asked, surprised. Shouldn't rich people rules dictate that that was rude or something?
"Oh, he practically lives here. He's who the empty room across the hall is for." Martha said dismissively. "Besides, Laf won't be home for a while. How do you feel now?"

Alex thought about telling Martha about how his head wouldn't stop pounding, or how his chest felt oddly hollow, or how every breath filled his chest with a painful heat, or how everything was always blurry. But then he thought about the thousands of dollars Martha must have spent yesterday and all the time they were wasting on him. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"I'm fine." Alex said.

Dinner that night was even more raucous than breakfast. George came home early and while John didn't run to hug him and call him Dad, he clearly respected him. Laf and John kept a running stream of jokes and jabs at each other. It made it easier for Alex to forget how each bite of mashed potatoes made his stomach churn. During dessert, when John announced he was staying the night, no one batted an eye, and Martha, without skipping a beat, told him that meant he had to help Lafayette do the dishes.
John groaned good-naturedly but began clearing dishes immediately.
"Let me help-" Alex attempted to stand up, but sat back down immediately as his head spun in circles.
"Alex? Are you alright?" George asked.
"Fine. Dizzy." Alex managed. He grabbed the edge of the table and took a deep breath. "I'm fine."
George didn't seem convinced.
"How are you feeling?"
"Just tired. If it's alright with you, I'm going to head up to bed." Alex said.
"Of course, get some sleep." Martha said. "Hey, by the way, we need to schedule a follow-up appointment for you. Would you rather morning or afternoon."
"Either. I don't care." Alex said. He needed to go. Now. He got up and began the arduous trek upstairs. Halfway up the stairs, Alex realized how rude he had been. It was too late now. The rich food was churning in his stomach.

He barely made it to the bathroom in time. He turned on the faucet, meaning to wash his face, before everything he had eaten and more forced its way back up. Alex felt like crying as his stomach clenched and emptied itself again and again. Finally, he had nothing left. No energy, no food. Drenched in sweat and entirely exhausted, Alex collapsed on the bed and immediately fell asleep.

"I'm gonna go check on him." George said as he paced the living room. "He seemed so tired, I'm worried he'll go to sleep before taking his medicine."
"Alright, dear." Martha said absently. George climbed the stairs two at a time.
"Alex?"
The bedroom light was on and the door flung open, but Alex was passed out on the bed. He hadn't changed and was on top of the covers. No way had he taken the antibiotics. Alex had left the light in the bathroom on and George went in to grab the bottle.
"What the hell..."
There was vomit in the toilet. The tap was still running, and the prescription bottle was in the trash. Empty.

George went back to the bedroom and shook Alex's shoulder. His clothes were sweaty. George felt his forehead. Burning hot. Alex groaned slightly and moved away from George.
"Martha!" He yelled down the stairs.
"What? What's wrong?" His wife came running up the stairs and stopped in the doorway. George looked over.
"He's got a bad fever and he threw up."
"Oh, no..." Martha walked over and felt his forehead. She looked at George defeatedly.
"I thought he was getting better." She said.
"Yeah, well, he probably was. But he hasn't been taking the antibiotics." George held up the bottle. "It's empty."
Martha stared at the bottle, then at the motionless teenager on the bed.
"He needs to go in. Now. I'm getting the driver."

Chapter Text

"Is he alright? I swear, we didn't know about the antibiotics, we just found him on the bed with a really high fever and an empty bottle and-"
The nurse interrupted Martha's anxious rant, holding up his hands.
"Ma'am, would you like to go see him?" He asked.
Martha glanced at her husband, who squeezed her hand.
"Of course." George said.
"Follow me."
The nurse led him through the bay doors and past the ER, and into the pediatric ICU. George heard Martha gasp as the nurse stopped outside a door. Alright. ICU. Alex was in the ICU. 
"Alright, folks, so here's the deal: Alex is very sick right now. We did a chest x-ray, and we're certain he has a type of double pneumonia. He had symptoms of it when he was discharged last week, but we assumed the antibiotics would take care of it. Now, you said Alex lost the medicine and didn't tell you?"
"Yes," George said. He could hear Martha holding back a sob on his side.
"The thing about that is stopping antibiotics mid-treatment can be worse than never taking them at all. His pneumonia has in all likelihood become antibiotic resistant." The nurse said. He placed a chart on the door, then pulled surgical masks out of a box stand and passed them out.
"Here, put these on. Alex is currently very immunocompromised."
George hooked the mask behind his ears and steeled himself. Martha's eyes were red. Her hands shook as she put the mask on.
"Alright,"
The nurse opened the door and led them in.
Alex was laying on the bed, eyes closed. His face was swollen and pale behind an oxygen mask, and just where the bruises on his arm had begun to heal, he had new IVs. His eyes didn't open when they entered and Martha looked to the nurse, terrified.
"He's very sick, Mrs Washington. His body is trying to heal itself, and right now, being awake is just too hard. I mean, you were saying that he's been sleeping a lot lately, yeah?"
"Yes. He'd be sleeping eighteen, twenty hours a day."
The nurse nodded and went over to check Alex's vitals.
"That's a good sign someone is sick. Alex may wake up in the next few hours, if one of you wants to stay here-"
"We're both staying." George said firmly.
"I'm sorry, sir, but-"
"No, young man, we're both staying. I've donated thousands to this hospital and they are not going to waste." George said.

"Understood." The nurse backed off. "A nurse will be in every hour or so to check on him."
The nurse left, and Martha collapsed in a chair closest to Alex. She had her head in hands.
"How could we do this?" She asked quietly. "How could we have not noticed?"
George sat next to her and took her hands in his.
"Honey, it was Alex's decision not to tell us. A poor decision, but his. All we can do is help him get through this. And hey," he lifted Martha's chin and smiled slightly.
"We've done this before. We're good at this."
Martha laughed through a sob and wiped her eyes.
"For his sake," She nodded at the unconscious teenager on the bed. "I hope so."

It was around 2:30 AM when Alex finally woke. Martha had long since fallen asleep curled on the chair. George had been alternating between pacing the room and sitting restlessly.
Alex moved slightly, and George, having been in a sit down stage, jumped up.
"Hey, kid." He said softly. Alex's eyes opened slightly then widened in confusion.
"You're in the hospital, Alex." George said. 
Alex looked around slowly, seeming to hold back waves of pain as he did so.
"...Why?" He choked out from behind the mask.
"You've got pneumonia, kid. Double pneumonia. Docs said it got so bad because you stopped taking your antibiotics." George said.
Alex looked up sharply at that, then down again. Was he...crying?
"Shit, Alex..." George sat on the edge of the bed. "Why didn't you tell us? We would have replaced the medication in a heartbeat."
Alex's hand moved jerkily to his face to stem the flow of tears.
"Thought...you'd....mad..." Alex gasped. George sighed and grabbed a tissue, wiping the tears off of his face.
"We would never be mad about that, Alex. And even if we were, your health comes first. There is literally no scenario in which we wouldn't replace those meds for you."
Alex seemed to sob at that, placing a hand on his chest. His face screwed up in pain.
"Hey, shhh. Take some breaths. C'mon, calm down." George said softly. It took a few seconds for Alex to calm himself. He lay back, eyes half closed.
"Where did you even get that idea, Alex?" He asked.
"Peter," Alex mumbled. His eyes closed.
"Who? Alex, who is Peter?"
No response. Alex seemed to have drifted into a fitful, feverish sleep.

"I thought I said I never wanted to see you again," someone said.
Alex cracked his eyes open and saw a pretty woman with long dark hair. Rachel. God, everything hurt. Why did everything hurt? He felt something cold on his nose. An oxygen mask?
Hospital. He was in the hospital again.
"... didn't mean to." He said quietly. Damn, it was hard to speak. He groaned slightly as his chest ached.
"Hey, kiddo, try not to talk so much. You're already straining your lungs." Rachel said as she took his temperature. "103.2"
She shook her head. "I'm gonna turn off this light and close the blinds. You need to sleep, and I think they do, too." She nodded at George and Martha, who were both passed out on chairs. They were here. With him. Still. They hadn't left. A monitor beeped, something decompressed, and Alex could feel himself falling.

George closed the door behind him and stretched. Coffee. He needed coffee. Alex was in it for the long haul and so was George. He walked down the hallway, still in a bit of a dream state.
"Dad!"
George turned to the sound and found himself being engulfed in a huge hug. Lafayette let go and looked nervously at him.
"How is he?" He asked.
"Sick. He has double pneumonia." George said. "He's very sick."
Laf ran his hands through his hair.
"I'm sorry, I did not notice Alex getting worse." Laf said anxiously. His movements were getting erratic and his breathing tight. This, George recognized. He took Laf's shoulders.
"Hey, breathe, Laf. In, out. In, out. Un, deux, trois,"George said slowly. Laf took exactly one deep breath before breaking away and pacing to Alex's door and back.
"I am fine. Alex is not." Laf said.
"He will be." George assured. "He's gonna be fine."
Lafayette nodded, not looking wholly convinced. "Alright."
"How did you even get here?" George asked. Lafayette nodded towards the waiting room, where, for the first time, George noticed a tall, skinny kid curled up on a couch, fast asleep.
"John and I followed in his car." Lafayette said.
"What?! John should be at school! You should be at school too, but-"
"He was worried!" Lafayette interrupted."I was worried. We're not going anywhere." He said defensively. George put his hands up.
"I'm not asking you to. How about you wake John up, and I'll buy you some coffee?"
Lafayette smiled, clearly relieved he wasn't being sent home.

"That would be nice."

"Yes, thank you. Email would be fine. Thanks, bye." George hung up and put the phone down. Martha turned the sink off and dried her hands on a paper towel.
"Who was that?" She asked, sitting next to him by Alex's bed.
"Annika Smith, Alex's social worker. I requested Alex's records. She's emailing them to me right now."
"Alex's records? Why do you need those?"
George stared at Alex.
"Last night. He woke up really briefly. He couldn't really talk well, his chest was hurting him. But, uh, I asked him about the antibiotics. Asked him why he thought we'd be so angry about him losing the medication. He said "Peter." That was it."
"Peter?" Martha asked. She stood up and went to the bed, taking one of Alex's motionless hands in hers. "Who is that?"
"I don't know. But whoever it is, he has Alex convinced that we'd hurt him for losing his antibiotics."
"Which doesn't bode well for how this Peter guy must have treated him." Martha said.
"Yeah. I get the feeling he wasn't the nicest guy to be around." George agreed. His phone vibrated. "The records." He said. He clicked on the notification and began scrolling through a document

Chapter Text

"What does it say?" Martha asked.
"Hold on," George scrolled through the document. "Looks like after Alex's mother died in 2012, he was placed with his uncle for a while. Wasn't Peter. Guy by the name of John Faucette. Oh- do you remember that hurricane last year?"
"Which one, the one we barely got the tail end of?"
"Yeah." George said. "Hurricane James. Apparently it completely destroyed Nevis. His uncle died. Says here Alex spent a few days in the hospital. A distant cousin took him in afterwards, and-oh." George stared at his phone.
"What?" Martha asked anxiously. "What is it?"
"Cousin's name was Peter Lytton." George said. He looked up. Alex seemed so little on that bed, dwarfed by the blankets and tubes and machines.
"He must have been the one..." Martha said. She got up and went to the bed, taking Alex's hand in hers.
"Yeah." George scoffed. "After being placed with his cousin, Alex was in the hospital three more times." He looked back down on his phone. "Seems like Peter OD'd five months ago. A few months after that was when Alex came to America. Apparently his dad briefly contacted Nevis' foster care system and said Alex could come live with him in Virginia, but they lost contact." George stood up suddenly, flexing his hands. God, this made him so angry. So, so angry. As far as George could see, Alex was a sweet, brainy kid. And all the people who were supposed to be caring for him had done was shit on him.
"That's bullshit." George said. He paced the room, trying to get rid of the anger-fueled adrenaline pumping through his veins. "This kid's life has been complete and utter bullshit for the last four years."
"I know, honey. But he's with us now." Martha said. "We can help him. Give him a good life. Stability. Love."
"Damn right we will." George growled. "Somebody has to. And since none of his biological family seems up the challenge..."
"They don't deserve him." Martha said firmly.
"But he deserves a family!"
"And now he has one."

"Alright," Dr. Stevens said. "So, we've run standard antibiotics for the past 24 hours, but we haven't seen any improvement. His fever has barely come down, and he's as lethargic as ever. How many times has he woken up since you've been here?"
George looked at his wife.
"Uh, we've been here the whole time. Once, that I know of."
Dr. Stevens nodded.
"I figured it'd be something like that. We're fairly certain his pneumonia, which he almost certainly was developing last week, has become resistant to the meds he was on. We're going to put him on a much more aggressive course of antibiotics. You should see some dramatic improvements in terms of awareness, but I have to warn you, he's going to be pretty sick. Probably lots of nausea, vomiting. Because Alex is already underweight, we're going to keep him here for a few days longer than we normally would. I just want to keep an eye on him, make sure he's getting the nutrition he needs."
"Alright." George said. He squeezed Martha's hand. "Whatever it takes to get him better."
Dr. Stevens nodded.
"I'll send in a nurse to start the IV antibiotics."

Lafayette came in just as the nurse was leaving. He had changed into sweats and someone had french-braided his hair.
"How is he? What did the doctor say?" He asked. He sat down next to Martha, studying Alex intently.
"Well, he is very sick. But they put him on some really strong antibiotics and they think it'll help." Martha said. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.
"Hey," Laf said. "Why don't you guys go home? Take a shower, get some clothes. I could stay here with the petit lion."
"Are you implying that I smell bad?" George teased.
"Oui." Lafayette dead-panned. "Please, go shower. I think I saw a nurse faint when you passed her."
George raised his eyebrows and laughed, but didn't get up. 

"We're fine!" Laf insisted. "Go! I have my phone. I will call you and update you every hour."
"Half-hour," Martha bargained.
"Fine. Half hour."
"Okay. I guess." George said reluctantly. He put on his coat. "Lafayette. Seriously, you call if anything happens."
Lafayette rolled his eyes and saluted mockingly.
"Yes, sir!"
"We'll be back in a few hours." George said. Martha leaned over and brushed some hair out of Alex's face, then kissed Laf on the forehead.
"Be good, you two. Don't get into any trouble."
"Ah, it's Alex you must worry about, Meré. He is a troublemaker." Laf nodded at the motionless figure on the bed.

"Hey," John knocked on the open door.
"Hey! Come in." Laf looked over his shoulder and grinned. John put the greasy paper bag he had been holding on the table and sat next to Laf, shrugging off his coat. 
"How did you get in? Visiting hours ended half an hour ago."

John shrugged.
"I may have mentioned something about being late for my shift and forgetting my badge to the front desk." John grinned. Lafayette laughed and got up, rummaging through the bag.
"You are the worst. Did you bring me food?"
"Of course I brought you food. Five Guys in the bag. How is he?"
Laf unwrapped a burger and studied his foster brother.
"He hasn't woken up since last night. Dad said they are trying  some stronger drugs."
"That really sucks." John said. "He really doesn't look good."
"Yeah." Laf agreed. "He just looks sick."
They sat quietly for a few minutes, the silence punctuated only by periodic alarms on Alex's IVs.
"Hey, doesn't your Dad have some big event tonight that you needed to be at?" Laf broke the silence. John laughed humorlessly.
"Oh, yeah. Turned out it was a fundraiser for the Defense of Marriage Act. Kept that one a secret from me for a while."
"Merde." Laf said. He put down the half eaten burger.
"Yeah."
"And? What happened? I thought you had to attend?"
"I was supposed to. But I told him you got really sick and that your parents were out of town. He seemed to believe it, since your dad hasn't really been at the Senate lately. He let me out of it pretty quickly. I don't think he ever really wanted me there. Would have been too much of an unknown factor." John said.
"Are you ever going to tell him, mon ami?"
"I don't know. I, uh...I-" John got up suddenly, pacing the room. He stopped at the foot of Alex's bed. "I don't know." He said quietly.
"You don't need to know." Lafayette said. "You are always welcome to stay with us, you know that."
"You guys have your hands full." John gestured at the hospital room. "Alex needs their attention. Deserves their attention right now."
"That is true." Laf agreed. "Alex needs help. But you are always welcome. It is not a case of him or you, John."
"Yeah." John sat back down and picked at the cold fries. Laf looked as though he was going to say something else, but was interrupted as the door opened again.
"Hello, John," George came in, bearing a duffel bag and a laptop case. "Didn't know you would be here tonight."
"I didn't either, sir. It was a bit of a surprise."
"Well, either way, It was wonderful of you to keep Laf company. Alex isn't feeling particularly chatty right now." George said. He put down his bags and went to the bed, feeling Alex's forehead before looking at his monitors. 
"Not any better?" Laf asked.
"No," George said. He turned around, smiling bracingly at his son. "But we have to give it time. Thank you for staying with him. Go get some sleep. Contrary to your attendance this past week, you still do have to go to school."
"Debatable." Laf said. He got up and threw away the trash from dinner. "John, are you coming?"
"Yeah. Just, uh, Mr Washington, is it alright if I spend the night?"
"Senator Laurens has that fundraiser tonight for the GOP leadership, doesn't he?" George said.
"Yes, sir." John said.
"Of course you can spend the night, John. Always."
John suppressed a smile and nodded.
"Thank you."

"...George?"
George looked up from his laptop and immediately got up from his chair. Alex seemed partially awake, moving his head to the side and blinking.
"Alex! How are you feeling?"
"Not...good...chest..." Alex choked out. His oxygen stats had stabilized enough that they had removed the mask and left Alex with a thin cannula under his nose instead, but now George wondered if that was really better. Alex blinked again, his eyes tearing up. George looked up and realized the fluorescent light above Alex's bed was still on. He cursed quietly and reached up to turn it off. Alex relaxed visibly after he did so.
"Okay, kid. Don't talk so much. I know it hurts." George said. Alex nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Lafayette and John came to see you today." George said. Alex looked up. "They just left a few hours ago. They both have school in the morning."
It was silent for a few minutes. Alex seemed to be studying his room.
"Alex, I wanna say something to you. You don't need to respond right now, but you do need to hear it." George said quietly. "I requested your records and I saw that you lived with your cousin, Peter Lytton."
Alex's eyes widened and he began to speak, but ended up coughing harshly instead. George helped him to sit up slightly.
"I don't know what Peter did. What he told you to make you think that we'd punish you for losing your medication or that we'd ever hurt you. But I want you to know that we won't. Ever. I have never raised my hand to someone, and I never will, Alex. Shit, the only time I ever yelled at Lafayette was when he dumped finger paint all over my last clean suit twenty minutes before I had a floor vote." George said, Alex seemed to find that funny, smiling slightly.

"But really. All we want is to help you get better, and that includes everything. The anxiety and nervousness. I've seen what shit you've lived through, Alex. I mean, I spent fifteen years in the Army and I haven't been through what you have. So, just know that you're safe. And when you're ready to talk about Peter or your mom, or the hurricane, we're here. I'm here. Okay?"
Alex nodded slowly, wincing as he did so. 
"Okay." He mouthed.

Chapter Text

The next morning brought a much more awake, albeit cranky Alex.
"Hey, kiddo! Was hoping to see you up." Rachel said. She attached a new bag of medication to his IVs.
Alex groaned in response. His headache had only decreased slightly, but he felt woozy every time he moved.
"Pain in your chest, on a scale of one to ten?"
"Three. Breathing..." Alex took a shallow breath. "...is a seven."
"It should be getting a little better, soon. We want to be weaning you off of oxygen, but if the pain stays this bad, tell me, okay?"
Alex nodded.
He was alone. Well, temporarily. George had been staying with him but had to rush to work, muttering frantically about some protest outside the Russell Building. Martha was on her way. He closed his eyes, figuring he'd catch a nap before Martha inevitably began her questioning.
"Hey, Alex?" Rachel's voice pierced the silence.
He opened his eyes and glared at her.
She ignored him, staring at a chart.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Uh..."
Was it dinner? Before he collapsed? Yeah.
Rachel took his silence correctly and shook her head. The mere thought of food made him want to curl into a ball.
"You need to eat. You may think you're nauseous now, but it'll be a thousand times worse if you don't eat."
Alex didn't respond. Rachel handed him a menu and he picked the most innocuous thing he could think of. Toast and orange juice.
"Good choice." Rachel said approvingly. "Get some carbs and electrolytes in you."

The food arrived after Martha did. He stared at it, willing to make it disappear before he had to eat it.
"Alex," she said reprovingly after the third time he picked up the toast and put it down again. "Just take a few bites."
He tried it. One. The small amount of butter hit his stomach like a cannon blasting through a wall and he nearly gagged. Two. Okay, a little better. He got through an entire piece and drank the whole glass. It wasn't so bad. His stomach felt leaden and he had nearly coughed up a lung after he finished, but hey. He did it. Maybe the doctors were exaggerating the whole nausea thing. He drifted off into a fitful sleep, filled with the droning announcers of the news Martha was watching.

Yeah. He was wrong. His eyes snapped open and he gagged. Everything felt acidic and wrong.
"Alex? Honey?"
All of the food he managed to put down came back up again. He felt like crying as he choked, coughed, and then threw up once more.
"Oh, honey..." Martha shoved a basin under his chin and caught the rest of it. She wiped off his face with a wet towel.

God, this was humiliating. The nurse had to help him change into a new gown. He couldn't even do that. He couldn't do anything.
Martha didn't ask him if he wanted dinner that night.

"Hey, honey." Martha got up and kissed her husband's stubbly cheeks as he came in and dropped his briefcase. "How was work?"
"Terrible. Nate's bill didn't pass. It was supposed to, but you remember Ben Arnold? We had him over for dinner a few times?"
Martha screwed up her face. "The one with the crazy young wife?"
"Yeah. He switched his vote at the last second and we lost half of the moderate Republicans." George shook his head and dropped into a chair besides Alex's bed. He was sleeping. Again.
"How did he do today?" He asked.
"Well, that nurse who he had when he first came in? Rachel? She convinced him to finally eat."
"Oh?" George sat up. Alex hadn't managed a full meal in all the time he'd been with them.
"Don't get too excited yet. He threw it all back up about an hour afterwards. He was miserable, George."
"I can imagine. God. What are they planning to do about the nausea?"
Martha shrugged. "I don't know. They were talking about maybe putting him in anti-nausea or maybe even placing a feeding tube."
George sat up at that, staring intently at the sick boy in front of him. "Feeding tube? Would that really be smart?"
"It was just an idea."
Alex stirred and George jumped up. Alex opened his eyes and moved a little bit, wincing as he did so.
"Hey, kid." George said. Martha went to the other side, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey," Alex whispered hoarsely. He was more awake than George had seen him in two days.
"Heard you didn't have the best day."
Alex shook his head and gestured to his stomach.
"S'not working." He said.
"I know. I'm gonna talk to the doctors tomorrow." George said. He turned to his wife.
"Why don't you head on home? You've got work, and I'm gonna stay the night."
"Okay." She leaned over the bed and cupped Alex's face. He smiled weakly at her. She picked up her things and headed out. "Call me, honey."
"Will do." George kissed her then settled back down.
"So, Alex, today this turncoat blocked a really good bill from being passed."
Alex raised an eyebrow, but didn't roll his eyes and groan like Laf did anytime George brought up politics.
"The bill was going to ban AR-15s from being sold across the country. It was a good bill."
Alex cleared his throat and whispered raspily, "What happened?"
George grinned. "So, this guy Arnold was supposed to vote in favor, but he..."

Chapter Text

"Good job, Alex!" The therapist praised. Oh my god, he was dying. He blew as hard as he could and watched as the stupid plastic ball raised only halfway in the tube.
"Alright, that's pretty good for today. I'm going to recommend oxygen at night, but let's trying going without during the day." She said.

Alex nodded, and the respiratory therapist got up to leave. Day four of the hospital. The antibiotics had knocked him on his ass, but yesterday he managed to eat a bowl of soup and he didn't even throw up. Granted, he felt nastily naseaus for a couple hours, but he didn't throw up. And, as Martha was quick to remind when he was curled up and taking deep breaths in hopes of avoiding the dreaded plastic basin, that was the important thing.

"Good morning, petit!" Lafayette didn't bother knocking before bounding into the room with a bag on his arm.
"Hey, Laf." Alex greeted raspily. It was better; he could speak without pain now.
"Now, because Thanksgiving break has started, I'm home from school!" Laf did what seemed a celebratory dance before sitting on the edge of the bed. He held up the bag and grinned. "Martha and George are working half days, they should be here around 2. Martha said you might feel more comfortable in these." Lafayette pulled out sweatpants and a t shirt. "Trust me, better than a hospital gown."
"Thanks." The clothes looked a little bit big but infinitely softer than the starchy gown.
"And she brought you your books." He took out three  novels and put them on the table. Nice. Maybe when his eyes were less blurry he'd read.
"Now, second order of business. It has come to my attention that you have been woefully undereducated when it comes to movies."
"I mean, I guess so? Nevis didn't exactly have many movie theaters."
"Well, we are beginning your education today. Starting with National Treasure." Lafayette held up a DVD case with a goofy picture of a man holding a torch.
"Okay?" Alex said hesitantly. Lafayette grinned, shot off his chair like he was starting a race, and put it into the DVD player. He clicked through the start menu and looked back at Alex.
"Oh, do you mind if John joins us?"
Huh. John really did seem to spend a lot of time with the Washington's.
"No, of course not."
Laf pressed play and sat back down, rummaging through his bag for his phone.
"Perfect!"

They got through fifteen minutes of some secret society hiding a bunch of treasure (hence the name, national treasure?) before John burst in. He took one look at the screen and shot across the room in anger.
"Laf, you fucker! I told you to wait for me!" He yelled, punching Laf in the shoulder.
Laf grinned wickedly and shrugged.
"Sorry, John. It was a case of, uh, how you say, you snooze or you lose?"
"Don't pretend you don't know how to say that, you French bastard. You know English better than I do." John growled. He sat down next to Laf, then looked over at Alex and blushed.
"Hey, Alex, sorry! How are you feeling?"
"Better, thanks." Alex suppressed a laugh as Laf "accidentally" knocked his shoulder into John's side, and John "accidentally" smacked Laf's head.
"I'm so sorry, Alex." John muttered after Laf "accidentally" flicked John.
"Sorry for what?"
"That you have to live with this massive asshole." He said. Laf laughed, eyebrows raised.
"I was going to offer to fight formally, as gentlemen do, but for the sake of mon petit lion, I shall restrain myself." Laf said primly.
"Whatever you wanna excuse your weak-ass cowardice as..." John said, raising his hands.

The rest of the movie went mostly the same. Alex fell asleep to the sound of bickering as the characters in the movie blow-dried the back of the Declaration of Independence.

"Ah, he joins the land of the living!"
Alex groaned and opened his eyes slightly. A nurse was leaning over him, checking something on his chest.
"Sorry, darlin'. Wanted to make sure your monitors hadn't fallen off." She said cheerfully. Alex blinked rapidly until he could make out Laf and John's individual faces rather than their blurry forms, sitting together on the couch giggling about something.
"How are you feeling, Alex?" The nurse asked after she leaned back and grabbed a clipboard.
"Okay. Better. My throat's really sore." Alex said.
"Scale of one to ten?"
"Four."
"Okay! Manageable. Try to minimize your talking?"
Alex nodded. That would be easy. The nurse left. Lafayette got up, stretched, and walked over to Alex.
"How are you feeling? Want to watch another movie? We have another national treasure to get through." He asked.
"Actually," Alex thought of the stack of books by his bed at the Washington's. "Are there Harry Potter movies?"
Laf's eye lit up.
"Yes! I will run down to the hospital library, they must have them-"
"Wait!" John got up. "Have you read the books?" He asked Alex suspiciously.
"Well, I have them. I read the first few chapters before I got sick but I don't really remember them."
"Okay, nope." John said with an air of finality. "We are not watching the movies before you have read the books. Totally ruins them."
"Well, then, what do you want to do?" Laf pouted.
"Do you have the books?" John asked.
"Yeah, actually." Alex reached over and pulled the purple and red novel from the stack.
"Well, I could read it out loud?" John said. "I promise we can watch the first one when we finish it."
"Yeah," Alex handed him the book, smiling. "That sounds good."
John grinned at him and opened the book to the first page. He seemed to be barely reading, taking his eyes off the page more than they were there, like he had memorized the words imprinted on the paper.
"Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much..."

"You ready, kid?" George asked. Day six of the hospital, and he was going home. Home. Huh. Hadn't thought of the Washingtons of home before. Laf had helped him struggle into a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and Martha had wrapped a thick scarf around his neck, citing some very fishy medical studies that had shown cold air could bring back pneumonia.
"Yeah," Alex said. "I'm ready."
"Let's do this." George pushed the wheelchair forward, and November sunlight blinded Alex momentarily. Of course, after that, it was the camera bulbs obscuring his visions.
"SENATOR WASHINGTON! YOU NEVER ADDRESSED THE RUMORS THAT ALEX IS YOUR ILLEGITIMATE SON!"
"SENATOR WASHINGTON! HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT BEN ARNOLD'S-"
"HEY! ALEX, OVER HERE!"
Alex took a deep breath, and shoved the Nationals baseball cap Martha gave him well over his eyes.
"Let's go, Alex."
George squeezed his shoulder and muttered something Alex would never thought leave his mouth. Alex laughed in surprise, and George pushed the wheelchair faster, not paying one bit of attention to the people on either side of them.

Chapter Text

"ALEX! COME TAKE YOUR MEDS!" Martha yelled, shaking the pills into her hand. Alex appeared, with mussed hair and puffy eyes, yawning. He had fallen asleep in the living room after dinner, ignoring even George's yells of elation as the Nationals scored home run after home run.
Alex took the pills and the glass of water and downed them.
"You know," He said. "I could take them by myself. I'm fine, really."
"Sorry, honey, but you are not going back to that hospital." Martha said cheerfully. "I'd rather annoy you for-" she checked the label of the bottle. "-twenty-four more days than have you contract pneumonia. Again."
"Fair enough." Alex said. Laf walked in, humming a familiar song, and grabbed a pop tart packet from the cabinet.
"Mère, John and Herc wanted to see a movie tomorrow. John wants to go the American History museum after but Herc is attempting to get out of it."
Alex looked up. American History. That, he knew next to nothing about.
"Sounds fun. Make sure you're home by seven, your father is having the French Ambassador over for dinner."
"Oh, dear god." Lafayette groaned. "I hate him. Must I be here?"
"Laf, he was friends with Marie and Michel, you know that."
"That means nothing." Laf said dismissively. His hands curled tightly around the back of a chair. "Really, nothing to me, I would rather be-"
"Gilbert." Martha put down her phone and turned to look at her son. "Breathe."
Gilbert? Alex guessed that was part of the intensely long name no one had told him yet, because Laf didn't react.
Laf closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He took his hands off the chair, ran a hand through his hair, and opened his eyes.
"Okay. I will be home by seven. If John needs to stay the night, is that-"
"Of course." Martha said firmly. "Tell him he has to text his sister and let her know where he is though."
"Alright." Martha cusped Laf's chin and kissed his forehead, then left the kitchen.
"Oh!" Laf turned to Alex. "I'm so sorry, I was going to ask right after I asked Mère, I swear. Would you like to come tomorrow? I know you're still tired, and if you'd rather stay home that is fine-"
"No," Alex interrupted. "I'd love to."
Laf grinned.
"Awesome. It will be me, you, John, and Hercules. You haven't met him yet, but I think you will like him." He said decidedly. "We're leaving at eleven."

So that was how Alex found himself in the front seat of Laf's car, listening to some fast and base-heavy song on the radio. Martha had forced him into two jackets and had double checked that he had his phone before letting him go.
"Aw! Motherfucker!" Laf slammed on the brakes as a car swerved in front of him. "DC drivers..." He muttered darkly, shaking his head. They turned onto street of townhouses much like theirs and pulled in front of a particularly one. Despite it being 25° outside (this was ingrained in Alex's head. Martha wouldn't stop going on about the temperature) John was sitting on the step outside, jacket pulled tightly around him. When he saw them pull up, he jumped up, looked behind himself, and practically sprinted to the car.
"Hey," he said breathlessly as he shut the door closed behind him. "Drive."
Laf didn't question it, but slammed on the gas and pulled out of the street. Alex held his stomach and prayed to whatever deity willing to help him out that he wouldn't puke today.
Laf slowed down as they hit a main road, and looked back at his friend, who was busy redoing his hair in the mirror.
"So, explain." Laf said. John finished putting his hair in a bun (he had a missed a little piece that curled up by his ear, Alex noticed) and fixed Laf with a informative look.
"My dad and I, uh, had a disagreement." He said in a clipped tone.
"I figured. About?" Laf prompted.
John shrugged.
"The usual, I guess. I'm a "discredit to the Laurens name", I don't care about his reputation or my own, I've shamed the family, etc., etc." John waved his hand dismissively. They rolled to a stop and Laf looked back again. Alex thought he was gonna offer sympathy, an apology, anything to stem the terrible insults coming from John's mouth, but all he said was,
"The sheets on your bed are clean,"
John smiled half-heartedly.
"Well, at least we have that."
Alex stayed silent. This was clearly a large issue with John. He didn't want to butt in. But John looked up, and seemed to realize Alex had no idea what he was talking about.
"Oh, Alex, if you didn't know, I uh, don't really get along with my dad."
"Yeah?" Was the only thing Alex could offer.
"Yeah. Never have. Never will. It's kinda funny, really." John said.
"No, it's not." Laf said firmly.
"I know about that." Alex said.
"You do, huh?" John didn't seem surprised.
"My father left me and my mom when I was ten. Moved to the states. Haven't talked to him since." Alex said. Whoa. Okay. He hadn't even talked to George or Martha about that. But alright.
"Holy shit, dude." John said. "That sucks."
"Yeah, I guess." Alex said. His voice caught in his throat and he coughed. Not too violently, but enough that Laf shot him a concerned look and shoved a water bottle at him.
"I'm fine, really." Alex said.
"I will believe that when you can talk for more than ten seconds and not cough." Laf said.

"Herc" turned out to be one Hercules Mulligan, a tall and muscular guy who certainly lived up to his mythical namesake, at least physically.
"Hey, John!" Herc slid into the backseat, grinned and pulled John into a side hug that completely covered him.
"Hi, Herc." John said. It was a bit muffled, as he was talking against Herc's shoulder.
"How's your pops?" Herc asked cheerfully as he let go of John.
"Same as yours, shitty." John retorted. Herc laughed and shoved John.
"Aww, kiddo." He said. "It's cool, it's cool. You're mine and Laf's kid anyways."
"Bitch!" John raised his eyebrows. "Laf's my husband. That'd be some freaky as fuck Oedipus shit." 

"Must you kinkshame me, John. Must you?" Herc asked. Alex literally did not understand anything being said, but it was fine.
"Hercules, my dear, we shall discuss that later." Laf said. "Have you met Alex? He moved in, shit, was it about three weeks ago?"
"Nice to meet you!" Herc extended his hand and Alex shook it. It wasn't really shaking. Herc's hand enveloped his completely so Alex wasn't really controlling anything. "I'm Hercules Mulligan. Most people call me Herc. Don't believe anything these bastards have told you."
"Duly noted. I'm Alex Hamilton." Alex said.
"Cool!" Herc clapped his hands together. "So! Who's pumped for Jason Bourne?"
"Me!" Laf cheered.
"Shit, I'm only coming for the free popcorn." John muttered.

There were a lot of guns in Jason Bourne. A few ships, but mostly guns. And explosions. Alex's head was pounding slightly as they left the theater. He just shook it off and drank some water.
"So," Herc said as they loaded into the car. "How did everyone like the movie?"
"Fine, I guess." Laf shrugged. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
" 'fine, you guess'?" John said incredulously. "It was awesome!"
"John, you only liked it 'cus it had Matt Damon in it." Laf teased. John blushed furiously.
"That's not true, there are other reasons I like-"
"Bullshit, John. 'Oohh'," Herc mimicked in a high tone. "'Matt Damon is so cute. I looove Matt Damon'."
"Fuck you." John laughed. "Matt Damon is cute. And smarter than you."
"Shit, most people are smarter than me." Herc said. Alex was frozen in the front seat. They were talking. About another man being cute?
"How did you like it, Alex?" John asked.
"Oh, uh, i-it was good." Alex stuttered.
"See! Alex is on my side. Now c'mon. Let's hit some museums!" John cheered.
"Nerd." Herc said under his breath.

Laf parked the car about a mile from the museum, muttering mutinously about DC parking.
"We should have just taken the metro." Herc grumbled as another gust of cold wind nearly blew them over. Alex zipped both the coats he had on all the way and prayed to whatever deity had listened to him before that he could make it to the museum. God, it was cold. Fucking freezing. He hadn't been this cold since that week he couldn't get into any shelters and had to sleep in a park.
"Alex?"
Alex looked up and saw Laf jogging back on the sidewalk to him, looking concerned. Alex realized Herc and John were at least half a block ahead of him.
"Are you alright?" Laf asked, taking his arm.
"F-fine. Cold. My chest hurts." Alex said. Laf stopped, unwrapped his scarf from his neck and tied it around Alex's neck. Alex smiled gratefully.
"C'mon," Laf wrapped an arm around Alex's shoulders and walked with him. "We're nearly there."

The museum was huge, to say the least. And crowded. Alex stood in awe, staring at the giant American flag hung from the level up. The other three seemed to take it in stride, shaking off and unzipping their coats.
"Why are we here, again?" Herc asked.
"Because history is cool as fuck." John said. A mom passing with her kids shot John a dirty look, and he waved placatingly at her. "Sorry!" He called.
"Anyway," He turned back. "Competition!"
"Yes!" Laf said. "If we're doing teams, I call Hercules."
"Don't try to fix your cheating now, Marie-Joseph." Herc said. Laf slung an arm around Herc's neck and bat his eyelashes at him, and Herc relented. 
"Cool, me and Alex. Alright. First challenge. First team to find the place where they shot a Parks and Rec episode. Go!" Herc and Laf shot off and John grabbed Alex's arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. He pulled him through crowds of people and up stairs. Ok. He wasn't gonna be able to sustain this.
"C'mon Alex!" John dodged around a couple and disappeared from sight.

Which was just as well. Alex couldn't breathe. His chest seemed to have swollen shut and he stopped, gasping for air. He leaned against a wall and closed his eyes, trying to block out the hundreds of people making the room smaller. And taking all the oxygen.
"Alex? ALEX!" Someone had hands on his arms and guided him to the ground.
"Breathe, buddy. C'mon, deep breaths." John said. Alex opened his eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass. John was kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders. Alex leaned back and rested his head on the cool marble behind him. Okay. He was better. He took a slightly deep breath.
"I'm...I'm fine." He managed.
"Okay. Okay, just sit for a while. I'll be right back." John said. He disappeared, darting in between a group of kids, then reappeared a few minutes later holding a water bottle.
"Here. Drink." He said. Alex took a few sips. The cool water soothed his throat.
"Thanks, John." He said. "Really, I'm fine."
John seemed to relax, slumping down to sit next to Alex on the ground.
"Ugh. I'm so fucking sorry, Alex. You got out of the hospital like last week and here I am dragging you around like-"
"John." Alex interrupted. "It's okay. I'm okay. I promise."
John seemed to study him.
"Okay." He said finally.
"Hey, let's uh, not tell Laf about this?" Alex said.
John laughed.
"Agreed."
They sat for a few more minutes, John refusing to get up before Alex finished half the bottle. They walked the rest of the way. John insisted they'd get there before Herc and Laf anyway. The destination ended up being a green train, parked in the middle of an exhibit about transportation. John was just acting out how the scene filmed here had gone when Herc and Laf appeared, out of breath.
"How, in God's name, did you get here so fast." Laf wheezed, holding onto a railing for support. John shot a glance at Alex, who grinned at him.
"Guess we're just smarter than you, du Motier." He said.
"Never mind." Herc waved his hand. "What's the next challenge?"
"Whoever can find the best exhibit in this museum for someone who's never been before." John said. Laf looked at Alex.
"The heart-surgeon one! Let's go!"

It was well after seven when they finally got home after dropping Herc off at his house.
"I cannot believe you thought the best National Treasure was the second one." Laf groaned dramatically as they walked up the steps to the house.
"Hey," John argued. "It was the only one where someone seemed to acknowledge that Nic Cage is fucking hideous."
"Fair point." Laf said. He opened the front door and they walked in, Laf shouting.
"We're home, parents!"
Martha hurried to the doorway from the dining room. She was unusually dressed up and held a glass of wine in her hands. All the color seemed to leave Laf's face. Oh, right, someone was over for dinner. 
"Laf!"Martha said brightly, smiling through closed teeth. She pat Laf's arm, apparently in apology. "Guess who's here!"
Alex heard John whisper a few choice swears as a tall man wearing a dark suit came into the room, putting down his glass and sweeping his arms open as if to hug everyone.
"GILBERT!" He shouted. "How I have longed to see you, mon fils!"

Chapter Text

"Hello, Ambassador Jefferson." Laf said stiffly. He didn't step into the obviously offered hug, so Jefferson came to Laf, clapping his back enthusiastically.
"Please, call me Thomas. You've known me far too long to be calling me that." Jefferson laughed, wagging his finger in Laf's face. Laf stared at him with dead eyes, fists tightening.
"Well, why don't we move to the dining room?" Martha said hastily, clearly trying to avoid a fight.
"Yes!" Jefferson said. He picked up his wine glass again and drank the thing in one swoop, then followed Martha into the next room.
"Hey, you okay?" Alex whispered to Laf as the followed. Laf just shook his head, his lips drawn tight and his jaw jutting out.
Someone had a hand on his shoulder and pulled Alex back before he could step into the dining room. John looked at him urgently.
"Listen," he whispered to Alex. "I don't really know what Laf's told you but all you really need to know is that he hates this guy. A lot."
"Uh, okay..." Alex said.
"C'mon." John took his arm again and pulled him into the dining room.
"Hello, Mr Washington, Hi, Mr Ambassador." John said loudly as he took his seat. George grinned at Alex as he sat next to John.
"You look familiar." Jefferson said, cocking his head to the side. "You both do. You have a certain...je nes sais quois, as the French would say." He laughed at that and looked at Laf, but Laf was staring down at his plate, cutting his fish slightly too aggressively. The man had a thick southern accent undercutting his attempt to sound his attempt to sound authentically French.
"Well," George said. "Alex has moved in with us, well, was it about a month ago?"
"Yes." Martha nodded. "Beginning of November, really."
"Yes!" Jefferson snapped and pointed at Alex, nodding. "I've seen you on the news. So sorry to hear about your chest. Are you still sick, or...?"
"I'm fine, thanks." Alex said.
"And John is one of Laf's good friends. He's around here a lot, you may have seen him the last time you were-"
"Ahh! You're Henry Laurens' son, aren't you?" Jefferson said. John stiffened next to Alex, his knuckles whitening around his fork.
"Yes, I am." He said shortly.
"Well, what do you know! Henry's a great man and a great senator, you must be very proud." Jefferson said, lifting his wine glass yet again.
"Oh yes, very proud." John said, his tone lilting in a way that made it seem not quite sincere. Laf seemed to smirk at that, lifting his eyes to look at John across the table.
"Thomas is lending his support for the NICE anti-terrorism bill I'm introducing next week.", George said. Thomas nodded.
"Oh, yes. I'm excited for it!" He said. "Hopefully, we can discuss it after dinner."
"Of course." George nodded.
Dinner was some sort of fish with lemon. Alex ate nearly half and decided to call that a success for the night. He watched as Laf, who by now would usually have gotten through two portions and probably another half, picked at it.
"This fish is delicious, Martha!" Jefferson said.
"Oh, thank you. It's one of Laf's favorites." Martha said.
"Oh, and for good reason!" Jefferson said, reaching for his wine yet again. "His mother used to make this. she was a wonderful cook, wasn't she, Gilbert?"
Lafayette didn't look up, much less respond, until Alex heard a distinctive thump from under the table.
"Ow- uh, yes." Laf said. He scowled at John, who smiled sweetly at him.
"Yes, Marie..." Jefferson shook his head, apparently lost in nostalgia. "A wonderful woman. I met them my first year as French Ambassador, you know. Marie saved me, honestly. She was never very aware about was going on with Michel, and when that riot happened, well...Gilbert knows what I'm talking about." Jefferson said. Was he...crying? He was dabbing at his eyes with a napkin. Laf seemed to be shaking, his fork clattering against the plate.
"I-I'm sorry, i don't believe I do." He said.
"Oh, what are you talking about, Gilbert? You remember!" Jefferson said, clapping Laf on the shoulder. "Yes, Michel and Marie were both such wonderful people, such a shame, and-"
Laf stood up suddenly, shaking off Jefferson's hand.
"Excuse me."

He left, throwing open the kitchen door. It slammed after him.
"You'll have to excuse him, Thomas." Martha said. It somehow didn't sound quite sincere. "I'll be right back- I just need to check on him." Martha got up and followed Laf back.
George had put down his fork and was staring at Jefferson across the table.
"Did I say something?" Jefferson asked innocently.
"Did you-did you say something?" John asked incredulously.
"John, please." George said quietly.
"No, Mr Washington, please! He just comes in here and-"
"John." George said more forcefully. John shut up immediately, looking down at his plate.
"Thomas, every time you come over here," George said slowly. "You upset my son."
Jefferson raised his eyebrows.
"Well, he's hardly your son. He lived in France the first seven years of his life. He's not even a naturalized citizen-"
"You. Upset. My. Son." George punctuated the words by standing up and slamming his palms on the table. Alex recoiled as he did so, trying to stop himself from visibly wincing. His hands shot out, looking for something to grab and found John's. John held tight, his eyes wide. 
"Look, I'm sorry, George, but his parents died heroes, and he shouldn't hate talking about them-"
"I think you should leave." George said quietly. There was a wave of anger and force behind his words, just waiting to crash down. "I assumed, when you came over, that you would be tactful enough, sensitive enough, to not mention Michel and Marie's death around my son. I assumed that you would have enough social understanding to not discuss their murders around my son. Clearly, I was wrong. I don't need your support on the NICE terrorism bill. I don't anything from you, but for you to leave. Right now."
Jefferson sat frozen for a second, then threw his napkin on the table and got up.
"Fine." He said. "Don't expect any help from me, Washington."
"Wouldn't want it." George said coldly. Jefferson stomped out, and a few seconds later, they heard the door slam.
"Jackass." George muttered. He straightened up and glanced over at Alex, who was still grasping John's hand. "You alright, Alex?" He asked, lowering his voice.
"Fine." Alex said. He realized how hard he was squeezing John's fingers and let go, shooting him an apologetic look. "I'm fine."
George nodded.

"Okay. I'm gonna go check on Laf."

Later, after George and Martha had gone to bed and John was showering, Alex knocked timidly on Laf's door.
"Come in."
Laf was curled up in bed, covers pulled to his chin. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
"Hey." Alex said. He wavered in the doorway, trying to figure out where he should be.
"Hey, petit. Come in." Laf gestured for him to sit on the bed and Alex did, his back to the wall.
"So, uh," Alex said awkwardly. "I wanted to ask you something."
"What?" Laf asked warily. 
"What's your full name?"
Laf seemed surprised, laughing and wiping his eyes.
"Are you ready? It's Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette."
"Holy shit," Alex said softly. He had thought that Alexander Hamilton was a bit of a pretentious name to be saddled with, but that trumped it. "And we just call you Lafayette."
"Well, I didn't really like Marie-Joseph. Or Gilbert." Laf made a face. "Fuckin' Jefferson. 'oohh, Gilbert!'" He mimicked. Alex laughed.
"I didn't like him." Alex said decidedly. If George didn't like him, if Laf didn't like him, if John didn't like him, clearly there was something wrong with the man. 
"I do not like him. I did, when I was younger. But now." Laf shook his head. "I hate him."
"What, uh, what changed?" Alex asked. Laf looked away, wiping at his eyes.
"You don't have to tell me, Laf." Alex said. "It's your business, not mine."
"No, no, it's fine." Laf said. "It has been a long time since I talked about this. My father, he was a politician in France. It wasn't a good time. There were riots, killings. He started getting death threats. I was very little then, I think six. He wanted me out of the country. So, he sent me to America to stay with the Washingtons. They were old friends of my parents."
"That's when you were in the foster system." Alex said.
"Yeah. I stayed with the Washingtons for two years. Never went back home. Never saw my parents. Then, uh, in 2009. It got really bad. The banks crashed, there were food shortages. A mob came to our estate outside Paris. They killed my father first, when he went outside to try and calm them down." Laf's voice cracked. "Then my mother. I didn't have any family left, so the Washingtons adopted me. I haven't been to France since." Laf said.
"Laf, I'm so sorry." Alex said quietly. "That's really awful."
"Yeah." Laf said. He sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah, it is. I'm sure you know plenty about that, though."
"I-I guess I do." Alex said. His stomach clenched, and he shut out the images tumbling through his brain.
"Hey!" John came in without knocking, toweling his hair dry. "Figured you'd be in here. Let's forget Jeffer-douche and watch Netflix!" He said. He dumped his towel on the floor, ignoring Laf's sound of indignation, and launched himself onto the bed, landing splayed out on top of Laf.
"What do you wanna watch?" Laf asked, muffled underneath John's shoulder.
"Mmmm..." John glanced at Alex, arching his eyebrows. "Parks and Rec."
"Sounds good. Very American. Not French at all." Laf said. He kicked John until he rolled off of him. "I approve."
"Good, because I wasn't going to pick another one. Hand me that remote, Alex?"
Alex glanced at the table at the end of Laf's bed and passed John the remote. And that's where he stayed for the next four hours, sitting next to his foster brother and his foster brother's best friend, watching some American show about, apparently, politics in the midwest.

Chapter Text

“Did you take your meds this morning?" Martha looked over from the driver's seat.
"Yes, yes." Alex groaned. "I did."
"Just checking, darlin'." Martha said. Alex shifted in his seat, resisting the urge to loosen his tie. With the end of Thanksgiving break came Martha's insistence that Alex enroll in school. She had secured an interview with the principal at the private school Laf, John and Herc attended.
"You okay?" She pulled into the school parking lot and parked the car.
"Yeah. Just, uh, nervous." Alex cleared his throat. He hadn’t attended school in, what was it...six months? And even before that, his attendance was spotty, what with the hurricane, and his injury,and. Well, and Peter.
"Don't be, kiddo. You're gonna do great. C'mon, let's go in." She smiled at him and opened the door.

Alex held his breath as they walked through the marble halls. It was huge. The one room school he had attended until he was twelve didn’t hold a candle to this hallway. They turned into an office.
"Hi," Martha smiled at the receptionist. "We have an appointment to see the principal?"
"Name?"
"It should be under Alexander Hamilton?"
The receptionist clacked at the keyboard, clicked something, and nodded.
"She's waiting for you. Go ahead in."
Martha thanked her and led Alex past double wooden doors and into a grand office. The mahogany furniture and richly painted walls almost made George's study at home seem lackluster.
"Martha!" The woman sitting behind the desk stood and shook Martha's hand. "It's good to see you! How's the husband?"
"Ah, same old same old." Martha said. "He's trying to work himself to death but what else is new?"
"He does great work, you should be proud. And how's the firm? I heard you picked up a big advocacy case for an orphanage in Anacostia."
"We did." Martha said. "I'd love to tell you about it later." Martha placed her hand on Alex's shoulder.
"Of course!" The woman stood up and extended her hand to Alex. "I'm Mary Smith, I'm the principal here."
"Uh, Alex Hamilton." Alex cleared his throat and shook her hand.
"Please, have a seat."
They sat down into the most ridiculous leather chairs Alex had seen in his life. The principal folded her hands and looked at Alex studiously.
"So, young man, I understand you would like to enroll here."
"Yes, I would." Alex said. His voice still shook. Martha smiled encouragingly at him.
"That's wonderful! Please, tell me a little about yourself."
"Uh..." Alex thought back. What in the name of all that was holy was he supposed to say? Did she want the full story? Or even the real story? Jesus.
"I was born in the Caribbean, On Nevis." He said. "My mom owned a store, and she was big on making sure I got an education. There wasn't much to offer, but she did the best she could. Taught me everything she knew. About five months ago I came to America, moved in with the Washingtons, and here I am." Alex decided not to think about the fact that he had skipped over about six years of his life.
"Uh huh." The principal looked over a file in front of her. "And what do you like to do? What are your hobbies?" Hobbies? He didn't have any except for trying his best to stay alive and maybe watching TV documentaries, reading when he could manage it. Martha must have seen his panicked expression, because she spoke up.
"Alex loves to read. He's gotten through nearly four novels in the past two weeks. He also manages to stay better informed about current events than anyone else in our house, and we have a politician and a lawyer living there!"
"Well Informed young people are truly such a rarity nowadays." The principal said. "Tell me, Alex, what do you think of education in America?"
Alex thought back to the the four lucky days he had spent in a shelter. To the ragtag, exhausted kid he met who spent half his day at public school, the other half working, and slept at a shelter at night.
"No offense to your school, I'm sure it's amazing, but public school seems to leave a lot to be desired." Alex said. "Kids are just...falling through the cracks. City schools don't just need more money pumped into them, they need teachers who actually give a shit about what they're doing." Alex's hand flew to his mouth, his eyes widening. "Oh, sorry!" Goddammit. He had sworn in front a principal. To his surprise, the principal laughed and nodded.
"You're absolutely right, there, Alex. Now, let me ask, why is education important to you?"

His mother’s hand on top of his, guiding him through every line in every book she had, helping him sound out difficult words and laughing with him when he stumbled. Looking at reports online till his eyes bled, about the corruption in the foster care system, the abuse, the rampant disregard for kid’s wellbeing. Reports on his father’s criminal record. John, who loved the history museum and babbled excitedly about revolutions and glory and fame.

“Because,” Alex said. “It’s my chance to do something. To take this opportunity and make something of myself. It’s my shot.”

His voice didn’t shake anymore.

“Hey,” Martha knocked on the door to Alex’s bedroom. He put down The Order of the Phoenix and rubbed his eyes.

“Hi.” He said.

“So, I got an email from the school today.” Martha said. She pulled his desk chair over to his bed. Her face betrayed no hint of a smile or of being upset.

“Okay?” Alex sat up, his stomach anxiously turning. What if he didn’t get in? What if they realized how far behind he was, what if they thought he wasn’t good enough? What if-

“You got in!” Martha broke into a grin, and Alex could feel the stress wash away. He smiled and put his hands over his eyes. “She loved you, honey. Thought you’d fit in well at the school.”

“You scared me,” Alex said behind his hands.

“Sorry. Had to have a little fun. Now, here’s the thing,” Martha took his hands down and looked at him. “You’d start next week, in the 10th grade.”
“10th grade?” Alex asked. Laf was in 11th. John was in 11th. Martha nodded.

“Between the schools on Nevis not exactly being known for their outstanding curriculum and you not attending school for a while, we thought it’d be better to give you time to catch up.”

“Catch up? I don’t need to catch up. I can go straight to 11th, you know. I can do it.” Alex said.

“You can do it. That doesn’t mean you should do it.” Martha said. “Alex, you need more time. You’re doing so much better already. At lunch, I watched you eat nearly all your sandwich. Do you realize only a few weeks ago you could barely stomach a spoonful of soup? You’re filling out your clothes, you’re making friends, you haven’t had an anxiety attack in weeks. But, Alex, you need more time. This is a whole new country for you. Please, give yourself time.” Martha looked at him, clearly waiting for a response.

“Okay.” He said finally. “I’ll start at 10th.”

He’d prove himself soon enough anyway.

George resisted the urge to scream and dump all of the papers on his bed somewhere where he would never have to see the words “standing committee” again.

“You’re taking up my spot.” Martha emerged from the bathroom with her red hair braided over her shoulder and in one of his old Army t-shirts. “Oh, well. Guess you’ll have to do.” She climbed on top of him, ignoring his protests, and pushed the papers off his chest.

“How was work?” She asked from his collarbone, where she had nestled her head.

“Fine. Election season’s taking its toll on everyone.” George said. “For you?”

“Boring. It’s just paperwork from now until the court date.”
“Which is?”

“Oh, sometime after Christmas.” Martha said.

“How were the kids today? I caught Laf as he was heading to some party. Apparently, Alex had a headache and didn’t want to go. I swear, if  he comes home drunk again…” George groaned.

“Oh, they were okay. Alex was upset he got put into 10th grade instead of 11th.” Martha said.

“It’s better that way.” George said firmly. “He needs more time.”

“That’s what I said.” Martha said sleepily. George rubbed lazy circles into her back, thinking of how drastically their life had changed from that October morning, but how Alex seemed to have slid in easily, like he always belonged there. Like that empty room wasn’t ever a guest room, but just waiting for him. How Alex’s crooked grin and erratic, jerky movements and quick brain were always supposed to be there. How Alex was a part of their family now.

Chapter Text

“C’mere, petit.” Laf said around a mouthful of poptart. Alex groaned and let go of the tie he had been trying to knot correctly for the past five minutes. Laf raised his eyebrows as he undid the mess Alex had tied it into.

“Damn, Alex, haven’t you ever worn a tie before?”

“Just once. But my uncle tied it for me then.” Alex said. He decided not to mention that it was for his mom’s funeral.

“You’re going to need to learn how to do it.” Laf said. “Only time we don’t wear ties are dress down days. There,” Laf finished the knot and tightened it around Alex’s collar. It felt a little bit like he was being gently choked. Alex reached up to loosen it and Laf swatted his hand away.

“Get John to teach you how to tie it.” Laf said. He finished his poptart and got up, reaching for his backpack. “You ready to go?”

Alex swallowed thickly and picked up the red backpack Martha had brought home for him.

“I guess.”

“Read me your class schedule.” Laf said. He was drumming out the beat for the song blasting on the speakers and simultaneously flipping off nearly every other driver they passed, yet seemed to be able to pay attention as Alex read off the paper.

“I have Algebra II, US History, Biology, and US Government.” Laf whistled.

“That’s it?”

“No, those are my morning classes.”

“Okay. I have US Gov too, so I’ll meet you in there and we’ll go find John and Herc for lunch.”

Laf pulled into the school parking lot. It looked a whole lot different swarmed by students and teachers, shouting and running. Laf parked and looked over.

“Let’s go.”

Alex found his first two classes easily enough. Math was easy. He'd always been able to breeze through, even on the island. With any luck he’d be able to test out. US History, no bueno. Alex’s extent of knowledge of US History was that Christopher Jackson had led the rebellion against the British and was the first president. That was it, basically. And nothing was blurry when they wrote on the board, but the textbooks were written in an impossible font. Alex had to look about an inch off the page to read it. The first class had let out a couple minutes early which meant the hallways were basically empty as he moved to the next class. But the history teacher wanted to talk to Alex after class. As he stepped out into the hallway, swarms of kids greeted him. Alex felt his throat tighten, his chest constrict. Okay. He could do this. He could do this, right? He took as deep a breath as his lungs would allow, put his head down, and stepped out into the hallway. Immediately someone shouldered him, shouting a hurried “Sorry, dude!” As they continued down the hallway. Shake it off, shake it off. Alex attempted to plow through the crowds and had nearly made it when he was in a different place. One where breathing was optional and he was pretty sure the best thing to do was to slam himself against a locker and slide to the ground, head to his knees. Breathe. Ah, not working. It was just a crowd, just high schoolers. No use getting so upset, just kids. No one else. Breathe!

“Hey, are you alright?” He didn’t recognize the voice. It was higher than John’s, lower than Martha’s. Someone placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Breathe in and out. In and out.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” A different voice. It was a little familiar. Now if only he could stop shaking long enough to lift his head and see who it was.

“I think he’s having a panic attack.” The first voice said.

“Yeah...Wait, I know him! Alex, it’s me, Angelica. Take some breaths, buddy.” Yeah, that wasn’t helping. The pounding of thousands of feet stopped eventually, the halls quieted. His lungs expanded and Alex looked up. As the blurriness faded, he saw a girl probably about his age crouched in front of him. She had deep, dark eyes, long black hair, and a very concerned look on her face.

“Hi,” Alex croaked out. “Uh, sorry. I’m better now.”

“Don’t be sorry.” The girl said kindly. For the first time, Alex noticed someone standing behind her, texting. She looked up and Alex recognized her, though her hair was curly now instead of straight. Angelica. She smiled at him. The girl offered him a hand up and he took it, dusting off his blazer.

“I’m Eliza Schuyler.” The girl said. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and stuck out her hand.

“Schuyler?” Alex asked in Angelica’s direction. The two girls looked nothing alike. Angelica rolled her eyes as if she was used to the questioning.

“My sister,” She said.

“Oh. Alex Hamilton.” Alex shook the girl’s hand.

“You’re new, right?” Eliza said as Alex picked up his abandoned backpack.

“Yeah. Just, uh, started today.” His throat was scratchy again.

“Figured. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your class. What do you have next?” Eliza asked.

“Government. I’m probably twenty minutes late at this point though.” Alex groaned. Jesus. Leave it to him to fuck it up within the first two hours. Eliza waved a hand dismissively.

“Doesn’t matter. Mr Cooper’s late ninety percent of the time anyway. We have the same class. It’s good.” Eliza smiled at him and together they began walking down the empty halls.

“Who can tell me the current Speaker of the House?” Mr Cooper asked from where he was sitting atop his desk. Laf, sitting beside him, groaned.

“He asks this to a class full of Senator’s and Representative’s kids as if we’ve never heard of politics in our lives.” He whispered in a long-suffering tone to Alex. Sitting behind him, Angelica snickered.

“Frankly,” She said. “I wish I hadn’t ever heard the word ‘politics’. It’d make things easier.”

“Ms Schuyler,” Mr Cooper called. “Since you seem to know the answer.”

“Seriously?” Angelica whispered. She rolled her eyes and spoke up. “The current Speaker of the House is Representative Philip Schuyler, of New York, district twenty. Currently on his third term as Speaker and about to endorse a bill sponsored by Rep. Franklin of Pennsylvania. In his free time he enjoys golfing and other suburban rich guy activities, such as-”

“Thank you, Ms Schuyler. The name would have sufficed.” Mr Cooper interrupted.

“Ah, it might have, but then it wouldn’t feel so human.” Angelica shot back. Mr Cooper didn’t answer, either too tired or perhaps just too disillusioned with this class of smart-asses.

“So, how were your classes?” Laf asked as they sat down. Alex shrugged, pushing the lasagna on his plate around with his fork.

“Would have been fine, but I had a panic attack between my second and third classes.” He said.

“Are you better now?” Laf took out his phone. “I could call Martha, she’d pick you up right away-”
“No, no. I’m fine, really.” Alex said. “I just want to finish the day.”

“THERE HE IS, MR AMERICAAA!”  John slid quite dramatically onto the bench beside Alex, singing loudly.

“I’m French, you ignorant swine.” Laf said, laughing.

“Mr France, hmm.” John pretended to actually think about it. “Nope. Doesn’t have the same feel. Oops. You’re American now.” John reached over and took Laf’s fries, before Laf swatted his hand away.

“Hey!” Herc sat next to Laf.

“Jesus, Heracles!” John stared at the tray Herc put down. It was utterly stuffed with food, enough to feed Alex for at least three days. Herc shrugged and picked up a sandwich.

“I’ve got a game tonight,” was his only explanation.

“And that means you need to eat enough food to feed Africa?” John asked incredulously.

“Do you see how swole I am, Laurens? Do you see this?” Herc flexed his arms, showing off muscles that were surely bigger than Alex’s head. “I need energy for that. Guess where energy comes from?” Herc pointed at his tray and crossed his arms.

“Whatever, smartass. I could fight you.” John countered. Herc laughed.

“No, you couldn’t. I’d pound your little Puerto-Rican ass into the ground.”

“You wish.”

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty.” Angelica sat down at the end of the table. “Now shut up.”

“Yes, Ms President.” John said.

“Practicing for the future, I see.” Eliza sat next to Angelica.

“Of course. For when Angelica is president of hell. Her rightful place.”

Eliza’s mouth fell open, but Angelica shrugged and kept texting.

“I’ll take it.” She said.

Alex looked down at his food. The grease combined with the heavy bread just wasn’t all that appealing. Laf seemed to have noticed, because he slid his apple across the table. Alex smiled gratefully.

"Oh, hey, before I forget, John, could you show Alex how to tie his tie? Seems to be a little difficult for him.” Laf grinned and tousled Alex’s hair.

“Yeah, of course. C’mere.” John sat sideways in his seat and gestured for Alex to turn towards him. He started to undo the knot Laf had tied.

“Laf, you’re so basic.” John said. “A windsor knot? Come on.”

“Listen, Mr Southern Royalty, not all of us have a need for fucking triple deckers, or whatever you call it.” Laf grumbled into his soda.

“Okay, so this is how you do it,” John crossed the ends over each other. His fingers brushed Alex’s neck and he watched as John’s face gradually grew redder each time he accidentally made contact. Alex was barely following along with the instructions. “-And then, just tighten the knot. There. Done.” John threw his hands up and loosened his own tie, reaching for his water bottle.
“Thanks, John.” Alex tried to recall what John had done, but all he could remember was the way his hands had moved.

Fuck it, he’d just google it later.

Chapter Text

Alex leaned closer to the laptop, trying to make sense of the lines in front of him. He had been working on this stupid paper for History for the past four hours, yet hadn’t gotten half of what he wanted done.

“Hon, what are you doing?” Martha came into the kitchen and dumped out her coffee mug into the sink.

“Writing.” Alex muttered. He cursed and deleted another paragraph.

“Writing what?” Martha asked patiently.

“A paper for history. We’re supposed to do a two page biography on a prominent figure from the revolution." Martha leaned over his shoulder and squinted at the word document.

“Alex, that says you’ve written six pages.” Alex threw his hands up in the air.

“That’s my problem! How am I supposed to limit all of this information into two pages? Too difficult.” He groaned and started typing again. George walked in, whistling some tune, and caught his wife around the waist. “You make me feel so young,” He sang, dipping her. “You make me feel there are songs to be sung, bells to be rung, wonderful flings to be flung! Aaand even when I’m old and gray, I’m going to feel the way I do today, ‘cus you make me feel so young!” Martha rolled her eyes and laughed.

“I take it you had a good day at work?”

George let go of her and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

“What, I can’t just love my wife?” 

“What happened at work?” She asked.

George grinned widely.

“Arnold agreed to compromise! We’re going to re-open the gun control bill!”

“That’s wonderful, honey!” She said. She lowered her voice to a whisper and looked pointedly from George to Alex. “You know how I know Alex belongs here?” She said.

“What?” George whispered.

“He was supposed to write two pages for history. He wrote six. And he’s having trouble paring it down. Now who does that sound like to you?” Martha said. George laughed. “Hey, you get Laf. I get Alex.” Out of the kitchen window, the sky darkened.

Martha watched as hail began hitting the window.

“Huh. Didn’t know it was supposed to hail tonight.” She said.

"Yeah, winds are supposed to get kind of high. It should pass over soon enough.” George said. A loud slam made them turn around. Alex picked up his now closed laptop and began grabbing papers as though the house was on fire. He looked up and froze as he realized they were watching him.

“Uh, sorry.” He said shakily “I’m just..I’m just tired. Good night.” He gathered his things and practically flew out of the kitchen. Martha looked at her husband.

“That was…”

“Weird.” He said. “That was really weird.”

“Yeah. Do me a favor, check up on him before you go to bed?” Martha asked.

“Of course.”

Alex paced his room, trying to stop himself from leaving bruises on his wrists from squeezing them too hard. The wind outside had picked up, whipping through tree branches, hitting the windows. Something hit the side of the house and Alex jumped. Calm down. Calm down. Not on Nevis. It’s not hurricane weather. Fuck, it was December. Not June. Alex could hear the screaming as if she was standing next to him.

The house had collapsed. His cousin was stuck under a pile. Alex had pulled at her, pulled and pushed and tried everything until the wind was louder than her screams. At some point, her hands went limp and Alex stopped trying. He had wandered for days. The cut above his eye had stopped bleeding at some point, congealed into his shaggy hair and into his eyebrow. The wind had blown constantly for days. It didn’t stop.

There was a knock on his door. Alex’s hand flew to his mouth, trying to muffle the yelp that came out.

“Alex? It’s George, can I come in?” Alex didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. It thundered in the distance and his eyes widened. He backed into his desk, away from the window, where he could see the branch hitting the glass, threatening to break through.

“Alex?” The doorknob jiggled, the door swung open. “Alex, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, you acted a little- Alex?” A gust blew against the house. Jesus, Okay. Get a grip, Alex. He relaxed his fists and tightened them, trying to get out the excess adrenaline.

“Alex, what’s going on? Talk to me.” George was a few steps in front of him, looking concerned. He wanted to talk. He did. His throat wasn’t working.

“Alex, I need some sort of sign to know you’re okay.”

Alex nodded rigidly. The wind seemed to die down momentarily. His shoulders drooped and he collapsed into his desk chair. George sat on the bed and folded his arms. “Do you remember, when you were sick, how I said you could come to us anytime about anything?” George said.

Again, he nodded.

“This is part of that, Alex. What’s bothering you?” Alex looked up. He didn’t have to say anything.

“The wind.” He said shortly. He got up again and began pacing, checking the window.

“The wind. What about it?” George asked patiently.

“Oh, nothing.” Alex said. He could feel himself getting irritated, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Just, uh, reminds me of a wee storm a few years ago.” He tightened his hands and turned sharply, facing George. “Y’know. Killed my uncle. My cousins. Just that.” Alex said. George couldn’t seem to respond. He stared at Alex with wide eyes. “Alex, I’m so-”

“I don’t want your pity.” Alex said sharply. The wind picked up again and his stomach contorted itself into knots. “I-I just want this damn storm to stop.”

“Okay.” George said slowly. He got up and stood in front of Alex. “I can’t help with that. But take a breath, son, you’re practically hyperventilating.”

“Don’t call me son.” On some level, Alex was vaguely aware George was just trying to help him, that he hadn’t talked to George about this. “You, and Martha and Laf, you live this great life and you never worry about money or food and when I was hurt you could just take me to a doctor and that was it! But I’ve never lived that life.” Alex could feel tears in his eyes. Something hit his window and he jerked away from George’s reach. “You want me to talk about my life? We had nothing.You hear me? Nothing. I didn’t go to a real school. My cousin was a fuckin’ junkie. Yeah, he beat me. He broke my wrist  and sold my meds on the street. He OD’d on crack and guess who found him?” The words came tumbling out. “ So yeah, you move me to a place where, where all these kids haven’t stepped outside their mansions, and their daddies run the country, and you expect me to fit in just fine, to feel like I can tell you everything? Because I sure as hell don’t. ”

For some moments, it was silent. George stared at Alex, and Alex couldn’t help but inhale sharply as the hail picked up and he could feel a long-healed injury on his forehead being sliced open.

“Alex. I just want to help you.” George said quietly.

“I don’t know if you can.” Alex said.

“Son-”

“I’m not your son.” Alex interrupted forcefully.

“Alex, let’s talk. Really. How can I help you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know! I’m-”Alex glanced out the window again. Pink sky. Not good. He crossed the room and stood at the window.

“Son-” Oh, fucking hell. Alex swung around, fists tightening.

“Call me son ONE MORE FUCKING TIME!” He screamed.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

George didn’t react. He didn’t start screaming. He didn’t slap him. He didn’t take him by the throat and drag him across the room. His face was a mask of stoic unemotional stone. The room was silent, save for his heart pounding his death march in his ears. George moved, and Alex flinched away, tripping onto his bed.

“Go to bed, Alexander.” He said quietly.

George left. Alex wondered how long he had left to live.

Chapter Text

"George? GEORGE!"
Martha nearly tripped as she ran up the stairs. Someone was screaming.

She bounded the last two steps to find her husband, his forehead on the wall next to Alex's door. His hands clenched and he slammed a fist onto the drywall. It left an imprint of every knuckle.

"George, what happened?" Martha asked urgently. Alex's room was silent inside.
"Nothing. I-" George flexed his hands and began walking down the hallway. Martha ran after him and caught his arm, forcing him to look at her.
"George. What happened?"
He wouldn't meet her eyes. He took a deep breath through his nose.
"Alex, he was stressed. 'Cus of the storm. He was getting really panicky and angry with me. He yelled. I got mad." He held up a hand as Martha opened her mouth. "I didn't yell. I just...I can't be in there right now." He pulled out of her grasp and walked down the stairs, his feet stomping heavily against the wood.

Martha knew he had a temper. He always had a temper. She knew he could get hot-headed. Even in college, when he was still in ROTC and she in pre-law, there were nights when he'd show up at her dorm with blood dripping from his nose and on his knuckles, refusing to tell her what happened. He had gotten so much better. He never yelled. Not at her, not at Laf. Certainly not at Alex.

Martha took a deep breath and knocked on Alex's door. No response. She knocked again. Nothing.
"Alex, I'm coming in." Martha opened the door.

"Oh, Alex..."

He was sitting in the corner behind his bed. His hands were clapped solidly over his ears. His knees were drawn to his chest, cringing anytime thunder rolled in the distance. He seemed to be in the middle of ransacking his room, as his backpack was dumped out on the ground and an entire drawer was empty, its contents thrown haphazardly into the bag.
She kneeled next to him and placed a cautious hand on Alex's shaking shoulder.
"Alex?" She said gently. "It's Martha. What's wrong, honey?"
To her surprise, Alex looked up, let out a sob, and threw his arms around her neck.
"Alex, honey..." She rubbed his back. "It's okay, it's gonna be alright."
He just sobbed.

They stayed there for a long time. Martha wasn't sure how long. The storm had let up and the wind stopped clattering the window panes. Alex seemed to have collapsed against her, hiccuping every once in a while.
"Alex." Martha took his shoulders and gently made him sit up. He wiped his swollen eyes but wouldn't look at hers.

"Sweetie, let's talk." She said more firmly.
Alex shrugged and looked away.
"What's there to talk about?" He asked hoarsely.
"Well, everything. Why don't we start with why it looks like a tornado came through your room?"
Alex looked around at the clothes strewn everywhere.
"I-I'm packing." He said quietly.
"You're what?"
"Packing." He said, louder.
"What on earth are you packing for?" Martha asked incredulously.
"I thought you wouldn't want me to stay." Alex picked at the carpet. "I yelled at George. You wouldn't want me to stay. I was packing to leave."
"Oh, honey." Martha reached forward and embraced him, kissing his forehead. "It's gonna take a lot more than a fight with George to make us not want you. In fact, it'd take nothing. We'd never not want you."
"Really?" Alex asked scratchily.
"Really. Now, why don't you tell me what happened tonight?"
Alex's eyes drifted toward the window, where water droplets dripped down the glass.
"The storm. I, uh, don't like wind. It reminds me of the hurricane."
"Hurricane James," Martha prompted.
"Yeah. It was bad. I didn't have a panic attack but I was just really, uh, stressed out. Anxious, I guess. George was just trying to help. But I was really anxious, and I got angry at him. I yelled."
"Yeah, I heard that." Martha smiled and pushed his hair out of his face.
Alex shrugged.
"That's it. That's what happened."
"Okay." Martha said. "Next time something starts to freak you out, like wind, or school-" Alex started and looked at her oddly. "-Yes, I know you had a panic attack. Laf told me. The next time something freaks you out, you tell me. You tell us. George and I are kinda good at this, honey. We can help. Okay?"
Alex nodded.
"Okay."
Martha leaned forward and kissed his forehead again.
"Now, go clean up. Take a shower, kiddo. I'm sure you're exhausted."
Alex smiled and got up.
"Okay."

Martha came downstairs to find her husband sitting at the kitchen counter. The glass in his hand was empty and he was staring off into space when Martha came around the other side of the counter.
"I shouldn't have done that." George said quietly.
"Done what?"
"I just walked out. Alex was anxious and tired, clearly, and I walked out. I fucking hit the wall, like some sort of loser twenty-something." The curse left George's mouth like it was poison to be spit quickly, and he drew back as it formed.
"Honey, you realized you were too angry to be in there right then. It could have been much worse if you stayed."
"Then I should be able to control my temper!"
"Yeah, you should. And you do. Don't beat yourself up. Alex is fine. He's showering now."
George nodded and looked down at the glass in his hand, clearly contemplating a refill. Then he set it down and put his head in his hands.
"I think this has gotten too big for us." He said.
"What has?" Martha asked.
"Alex's problems. I think we can't deal with them by ourselves."
"Okay. And? I just want to let you know I just told him we wouldn't give him up for anything."
"No, are you kidding me? That's not what I meant. He's not going anywhere." George looked up from his hands. "I meant therapy. I think therapy might be good for Alex."
"Oh." Martha sat down on a chair. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, you're right. Alex needs therapy." Martha said. George nodded.
"Ok. I'll call someone in the morning. Why don't you head to bed? I'm gonna see if Alex is up."
"Alright. Don't be too long." Martha said.

George knocked on the door.
"Alex?"
"Yeah?"
He opened the door. Alex was in bed, his hair wet and his face swollen red. He closed his book as George pulled the desk chair over, sat down and looked wearily at him.
George took a deep breath.
"I wanted to apologize." He said.
Silence.
Alex stared at him.
"You wanted to apologize?" Alex asked incredulously.
"Yes. I left you alone, Alex. I shouldn't have done that."
"I shouldn't have yelled. I shouldn't have sworn."  Alex said. "I'm sorry."
George shook his head.
"No, you were anxious and stressed out. That doesn't make it okay, but I should have been helping you calm down."
"It's fine. I'm fine." Alex said.
"Yeah. Do you, uh, want to talk about what happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"The hurricane. You mentioned your uncle."
"Oh." Alex looked down and began picking at his blankets.
"You don't have to..."
"No, I want to." He took a deep breath. "It started in the middle of the night. Our house...it collapsed. My uncle died. But my cousin, she was trapped under some rubble. I couldn't get her out. I tried for hours. But the storm for really bad and she stopped moving. So I left. I didn't have anywhere to go. I hid in a cave for a while. When the storm was over, I sort of wandered. Somebody found me and took me to a hospital to sew my forehead." Alex tapped the white scar above his eyebrow. "They said, I was the only one to survive from my village. Everyone was dead."
George looked at him, eyes wide.
"Alex, nothing I say is gonna make up for the fact that you lived through some terrible situations. You're tougher than about ninety percent of the men I commanded. Nobody faults you for being anxious about certain things. You just need to tell us."
Alex nodded.
"I know. I will."
"Okay. Do you want to talk, or?"
"I sort of just want to sleep."
"Okay."
George got up and flicked off the light.
"Hey," Alex called. "I really am sorry I yelled."
"Nothing to be sorry about. I'm sorry I left you."
"It's okay. Good night."
"Good night, Alex."

Chapter Text

Alex blinked.

Tapped his foot.

The clock on the wall opposite to him ticked relentlessly. Somehow, no matter how much the clock ticked, it seemed that no time was passing.

Rupert cleared his throat pointedly.

“Alex,” He started again.

“Listen, I don’t really wanna talk, and I’m pretty goddamn sure you don’t want to listen, so do we really wanna ruin a good thing?” Alex crossed his arms and glanced out the window. White snow was falling softly, building up on the window sill. Would it ever fill up tall enough to cover the whole window? He was gonna be here forever anyway; he’d probably find out.

“Do you think I would be here if I didn’t want to listen to you?” Rupert asked.

“What?”

“I have a degree in listening to people talk. Of course I want to listen to you!”

“Sounds like a pretty useless degree to me.” Alex muttered.

“Well, with how you’re acting now, I’d have to agree with you.” Rupert said. He sighed and looked down at his watch. “Time’s up, anyway.”

“Wait, really?” Alex looked up at the clock. 4:33. His appointment was until 5. “The clock says-”

“Oh, that thing stopped last week. I’ve really gotta get it fixed.” Rupert said. He got up and Alex followed him to the office door.

“Same time next week?” Rupert asked with a wry smile.

“Sure, I guess.” Alex pulled his jacket back on over his sweatshirt.

‘Oh, and Alex?” Rupert called.

Alex turned back around.

“I’m here to help you. Anxiety’s not fun. Attacks aren’t good. We could manage them, if you’d let me help you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Alex saluted sarcastically and walked out to the waiting room, where Martha was arguing animatedly on the phone. She smiled at him as he walked out and got up, gesturing for him to follow her out the door.

“No, Mark, I very distinctly said I need a meeting with the assistant AG, not the assistant of the AG. Come on!”

They walked out into the biting cold. Alex shivered and pulled his hood up. Snow was already melting through his jacket. Jesus. On the island, the worst it got was 60°.

“Mark,” Martha said with patience of a mother talking to a belligerent toddler. “I don’t care if you think I can’t get a meeting with the assistant AG. I can.” She unlocked the car and Alex slid into the front seat, sighing in relief as Martha switched on the seat warmers. America was truly amazing.

“Listen, Mark. I’m gonna hang up now. Figure it out, please. Goodbye.” Martha tossed her phone onto the center console and groaned theatrically as she started the car.

“Mark sounds like he’s not the smartest tool in the shed.” Alex noted. Martha laughed.

“You’d be right there, hon.” Martha pulled out of the parking lot. She glanced over at him, her expression changed. “How did the appointment go?”

Alex traced a swirl into the steamed window, watching it fade away.

“Rupert could give Mark a run for his money.” Alex said.

“Yeah, don’t think so, honey. Rupert’s one of the best therapists in D.C.”

“Is he? I think you could replace him with Rupert Grint and I wouldn’t notice. They’ve got about the same psychiatric talent.”

“Alex,” Martha said reprovingly. “Come on. It helps if you actually talk to him.”

“Yeah, well.” Alex turned. Martha had a weird look on her face and it was making him uncomfortable. “Let’s talk about something else. Are we done Christmas shopping yet? We have enough presents to gift the entire island of St Lucia by now.”

“Nope.” Martha said cheerfully. “Not remotely done. We still have to get presents for the D.C. Children’s shelter.”

“Fine.” Alex relented. “You guys really go all out.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. George really likes Christmas. You should ask him what he did when he was stuck in Fort Valley Forge over Christmas back in '96." 

Alex rolled his eyes.

“Are you guys gonna go to the Congressional Christmas party?” He asked.

“Probably. It’s not too fun, but I hear they’ve got Yo Yo Ma performing this year. I’ll go just for that. Yo Yo Ma rules!” Martha said.

“Really? That’s cool.”

“You wanna go instead of me?” Martha laughed.

“I don’t think it works like that.” Alex said.

“It doesn’t, but, if only.” Martha said. “I really hate those things.

“Okay,” Martha came into the living room hopping on one foot and slipping a heel on the other one. Alex looked up from his place on the couch, where he was attempting to watch the show Laf had put on and write an essay simultaneously. “You boys gonna be okay for the night? There’s money for pizza on the counter. We won’t be back til late, probably, but if you need us-”

“Mère,” Laf interrupted, waving a hand. “We’re fine! I have Parks and Recreation and pizza. Alex has his nerdy essays. We are good.”

“Okay, I guess. George!” She called up the stairs. “We’re late!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” George came down. The bow on his tuxedo was askew, and Martha began fixing it.

“Honestly, it’s like you’ve never tied a bow in your life!” She said.

‘I haven’t. You’ve always done it for me.” George pointed out. Martha rolled her eyes and handed him a coat.

“Goodbye!” She called.

“Bye, Ma!”

George opened the front door, and seem to freeze in place.

“George, what’s wrong?” Martha asked.

“Hey, Mr Washington.” A familiar voice slurred. It hiccuped and said: “Can I come in? S’cold.”

“John.” George said urgently. “What happened to you?”

John?

Laf looked at Alex with wide eyes and they got up and went to the door.

John was slumped against the doorway. One eye was swollen shut, a purple bruise blossoming around it. The other was half closed. Strands of frizzy curls were falling in his face. He wasn’t wearing a coat, or anything resembling warm clothing. His shirt was soaked through and he was shivering.

“Laf, take his arm.” George said in a clearly controlled tone. Laf moved forward with some sort of nervous energy and supported John under his arm. George took the other arm and they helped him into the house and onto the couch. John winced as he sat back, groaning. Laf switched off the TV.

“John, what happened?” Martha had dropped her purse and was kneeling in front of him. “Alex, go get one of Laf’s sweatshirts and long sleeve shirts. Hurry.”

Alex nearly tripped as he ran up the stairs. When he returned, John was shirtless, his head in his hands. Bruises darkened his freckled skin all over his torso, spanning every color in the rainbow. He was shaking and Martha was running her hands over his shoulders.

Alex stood in the doorway. His throat was blocked. He couldn’t breath.

All the time John spent here. How he hated talking about his dad.

Alex recognized the bruises. He’d seen them on himself countless times.

“Alex, hand me the t-shirt, please.” Martha said calmly.

Alex forced himself forward and gave her the shirt.

“John, honey, come on. Put this shirt on. It’ll make you feel better.”

John seemed to sob at that. He sat up slowly, his movements jerky. He raised his arms as Martha pulled the t-shirt over his head. It was slightly too big for him. The red of the shirt seemed to drain his face of whatever color had been in it. George came into the room with two ice packs, one large and one smaller.

“Lay back, John.” George said softly. John did as he was told, and George handed him a pack to put on his eye and laid one on his chest. John coughed violently as he did so.

Alex finally saw Laf, in the corner by the kitchen. He had his hand clamped over his mouth, and tears were running down his cheeks.

“Okay, John, sweetie.” Martha swept some of the hair out of John’s face. “You’ve got to tell us what happened.”

John was silent for a few minutes. Neither Martha or George said anything. Alex stood frozen, his stomach churning.

“M-My dad.” John said finally.

George’s face hardened as the words left John’s mouth and he got up, clenching his hands and pacing the room.

“Okay.” Martha said gently. “Okay. What did he do, John? What happened?”

“I said it.” John said. His voice was scratchy. “I’ve never said it before. He sort of knew, but-” John’s voice broke. “We were arguing. And I said I was gay. H-He got angry. Punched me.”

George took a deep breath and put his hands over his head.

“I left. I got drunk.” John seemed to laugh wryly, holding his chest as he did so. “I-I’m drunk. He punched me and I’m drunk.”

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.” Martha said steadily. “You’re gonna get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, when you're feeling better, we’re going to talk about what to do next. But you’re gonna stay here for a while, John. Okay?”

“Okay.” John said quietly.

“Okay.” Martha said. She pulled a blanket over John and smoothed his hair one last time. She turned off the lamp, and looked at George with an expression so serious Alex felt his hair raise. They followed her out of the living room, and Martha shut off the light.

“George, let’s go upstairs.” She said. Her voice was steady still, but a hard edge Alex had never heard before had crept in. George nodded curtly and left Laf and Alex standing in the landing, not quite sure what to do with themselves.

Chapter Text

Laf was barely eating.

The poptart on his plate was broken in half, and he hadn’t touched it. He was running his hands through his hair, making it even frizzier than it was before, and staring over Alex’s head at the door of the office.

Alex wasn’t feeling his best either. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night since John had stumbled in, slurring words and utterly broken. He had tossed and turned, playing the entire incident out in his head, imagining what had happened to John to give him those bruises. He had found himself growing angry at the faceless, imposing figure in a suit he imagined as John’s father, landing raw blows and knuckled punches on his son. The door to the office opened and Alex turned around to watch George exit, then John and Martha.

“So, I’ll talk to my firm today, sweetie. For now, try and get some food in you. I’m going to set up an appointment with the boys’ doctor to look at your chest, okay?” Martha said.

John nodded mutely.

“Go sit down. I’ll bring you some toast.” Martha said kindly. John did as she asked, sliding onto the chair next to Alex. He stared down at the table. Laf looked at a loss, opening his mouth and then closing it just as quickly. The bruise around John’s eye seemed to have gotten worse over night. His eye was nothing more than a thin slit among a sea of purple-red and blue swelling. John gently prodded the bruise with his fingertips, inhaling sharply. Alex suddenly found himself filled with a nervous energy he couldn’t shake.

“Do you want some juice, John?” Alex asked, getting up. John looked, raising his good eyebrow. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’d love some.” He said.

Alex poured a glass of orange juice and set it on the table next to John before sitting back down, drumming his fingers.  

Martha set down a plate of toast. John picked at it, pulling it apart and leaving it on his plate. Laf followed his movements with his eyes, apparently still mute. After about twenty minutes of silence, John set down his glass with a heavy thud and looked at Laf with an annoyed expression.

“Laf, knock it off.” He said. His voice contained some semblance of its prior attitude, and Laf looked shocked.

“I-” He started.

“ Knock it off. ” John interrupted. “Yeah, my dad beat me. He’s done it before. I feel shitty right now. You acting like I’m gonna break if you touch me ain’t helping. Trust me, I’m not gonna break. My dad figured that one out.”

“Sorry.” Laf said. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned forward on the table. “But, Dude. Fuck!"

“Yeah.” John agreed. “It fucking sucks.”

Laf offered a hesitant smile, his eyes slightly misty, and John grinned a twenty-watt smile that made Alex want run out onto the street, screaming victoriously. John had smiled.

Later that day, as they were in Laf’s room, lain splayed across his bed, Alex turned to John, who was currently on his phone, his face screwed up in concentration.

“What’re you doing?” Alex asked curiously.

“Peggy Schuyler added me to this group chat, and I’m pretty close to dying right now.” John answered.

“There’s another Schuyler?" He’d thought Angelica and Eliza had been it. Laf let out a laugh, and then immediately swore as he died in the game he was playing.

“Oh, yes. Peggy, the third Schuyler Sister. She’s a couple months younger than you, I think, Alex.”

“Girl’s a fucking beast.” John said, shaking his head admiringly. “I swear to god, she was born as hardcore as Ozzy Osbourne.”

“Wait, but Eliza’s in my grade. How could Peggy be a few months younger than-”

“She’s adopted, so’s Eliza. Angelica’s not, though.” John interrupted.

“Oh.” Yeah, that would make sense.

Laf decided to turn on Star Trek not long after dying for the sixth time in a row, claiming it wasn’t related. As the opening credits rolled, John’s phone vibrated from where he had flung it onto the floor. He leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed it. He stared at, his face completely still, before putting it back on the ground and leaning back against the wall, bumping his shoulder against Alex’s.

“Who is it?” Laf asked disinterestedly.

“My Dad.” John said. Laf scoffed and turned up the sound until they couldn’t hear the vibration.

“Fuck him.” Laf said.

“Yeah.” John said. He looked straight at the screen, but Alex could see the hint of a half-smile playing on his lips.

John yawned and switched the movie off. Laf had fallen asleep halfway through. He was snoring, his hair smushed flat against the pillow. John got off the bed and stretched gingerly, wincing.

“Can I ask you something?” Alex said suddenly, surprising even himself.

“Yeah, what’s up?” John bent down and retrieved his phone, making a face as he got rid of notifications.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?” John looked up.

“That you were..y’know…” Alex made a hand movement and shifted.  

“That I was gay?” John raised his eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Alex said.

“Well, when I started thinking boys were cute, followed by being crushed with an overwhelming wave of good ole’ Christian Guilt. Dad found out not long after.” John said.

“Oh. Huh.” Alex got up. “Good night.” He left the room, barely hearing John’s bemused called “Good night!” behind him.

Alex’s eyes snapped open. His heart was pounding against his ribs, and his neck was wet with sweat. Jesus. Get a grip. It was his mother this time. They were laying in a stuffy, hot room. It was so hot. Too hot. Alex could barely breathe. He turned and looked at his mother, watching for the reliable rise and fall of her chest. Nothing. His breath caught in his throat. A figure was looming over them. Alex was crying. Someone was lifting him from the bed, but leaving his mother’s unmoving body behind. Alex was screaming. The hoarse yell died in his throat as he looked around his room. He was in bed. He had accidentally left his desk lamp on and he got up to shut it off.

What was he doing?

This was surreal.

Was he really in a senator’s house, thousands of miles away from the island? Alex gripped his wrist, feeling the slightly jagged bump of a fracture not quite healed right under his fingers.

Get a grip.

Martha had them wrapping presents all day the next day, reminding them when one stopped for a break that it was for orphans. Which, for two orphans and one overly sympathetic half-orphan, was enough to get them moving again. As either a thank you or apology (Alex wasn’t quite sure which. It could have been both.) She made tacos for dinner. That’s where they were sitting when the doorbell rang. George got up from his seat, wiping his mouth, to answer it. Alex didn’t really pay attention at first. Laf was flicking pieces of tomato at John across the table, who was retaliating with slices of cheese all while Martha pretended not to notice. In fact, no one paid attention until George’s raised voice reached them in the dining room.

“What are you doing here, Henry?”

John froze. The fork clattered out of his hand. Laf’s mouth fell open. Martha got up, whispering a commanding “Stay here!” before hurrying out of the room to the door.

“I have a right to my son.” A voice with a deeply southern accent, so unlike John’s clipped speech, floated back.

“You lost that right when you beat him.” George said.

“I can’t believe you would accuse me of such a thing, George.” The voice sounded offended. “The boy’s not right in the head. Hasn’t been, since his mother died, may she rest in peace.”

“Shut the hell up, Henry.” Martha broke in, harsh and short. “You’re not going to see John. He definitely doesn’t want to see you. John will be staying here, with us, until we decide what further action we want to take.”

“I have half a mind to take you to court, George.”

“Ah, well, that wouldn’t end well for you, now would it, Henry?” George’s voice was mockingly sympathetic. “I can see the headlines now: ‘Leading senator in the fight against LGBT rights taken to court over child abuse claims. Abuse, they say, of his gay son.’. Get the hell off my doorstep, and don’t you dare come back.” His voice kept a veneer of steady calm, but there was a clear lilt that made Alex shiver in his seat.

Silence.

Footsteps stomped away. The door slammed. George came back into the dining room. He grasped the back of his chair, breathing deeply, and look at John.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Fine.” John said quickly. “I-I’m fine. Excuse me.” John got up and left quickly. Alex could hear his quick steps up the stairs, and the slam of his bedroom door. 

Chapter Text

Christmas Eve found John and Alex laying around in the living room, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Laf and Martha were decorating the Christmas tree, squabbling over placement of certain ornaments. As Laf hung multiple candy canes, John looked over with wondrously wide eyes.

“Did you ever do this kinda stuff for Christmas?” He whispered. Alex shook his head.

“We didn't have much money. My mom used to draw Christmas trees on newspaper and put it on the wall.”

“Whoa.”

They turned on the tree, and Martha cheered.

“See, Christmas in the Laurens household is very much a public affair. Huge parties. No real family time. Not since mom died.” A flicker of something came onto John's face and left just as quickly. His eye was much better, down to ugly yellow and green shadows. Yesterday he was able to crack it open halfway.  “Just as well. I don't think I could take more than twenty straight minutes with my dad.”

“That, I understand.” Alex grinned crookedly.

“Hey, you boys gonna help out, or are you gonna sit around?” Martha said across the room. “Come hang your stockings!”

What? Alex mouthed. He didn’t have a stocking. John shrugged and got up, then pulled Alex to his feet.

“John, look what I found!” Martha pulled a lumpy and childishly messy stocking knitted with knotty yarn, Jack scrawled unevenly on the top in garish green. “Oh.” Martha pressed a hand to his chest. “You must have been eight or nine when you made this.”

John made a face and took it, examining it dispassionately.

“And clearly lacking in any artistic skill.” He snorted.

“Oh, hush. Put it up.” Martha swatted at him with another stocking. John laughed and crossed to the fireplace, where three other stockings hung.

“This is yours, honey.” Martha handed him a large stocking with his name embroidered on the top.

“Did- did you order this?” Alex asked.

“Of course. You need a stocking. Go hang it up!” Martha said this as if it was obvious. Alex thought the only things he really needed were some food and maybe a bed, but it seemed important to her. Alex suppressed a grin as he hung it next to Laf’s. It seemed so…permanent.

“BOYS! HURRY UP! THE CATHEDRAL GETS FULL QUICKLY!”

Martha’s voice came from downstairs, and Alex groaned. Midnight services. It sounded cool in theory, but in execution, not so much.

He still couldn't tie this damn tie. Four weeks of school, and every morning, he went downstairs in defeat and made Laf or Martha do it. He fumbled with the fabric again and cursed himself. He gave up and pulled his blazer on. He went to turn off the bathroom light, and saw something.

His face. It looked. Different. Fuller. His cheekbones didn't stick out as much. The bags under his eyes as lessened. His hair was getting long, though. Alex made a face and pushed it out of his eyes. He sighed and turned off the light

“Laf?” He called, knocking his foster brother’s door before pushing it open.

“I cannot tie this stupid thing. I don’t know if it's a mental block or like a disability I have to live with, but…John?” Alex stopped.

John was sitting in the edge of Laf’s bed. His face was swollen red. He was crying? John was crying. He got up quickly as Alex came in, wiping his eyes roughly with his sleeve.

“Alex! I,uh-”

“John, what’s wrong?” Alex looked around and found the box of tissues on Laf’s dresser. He grabbed and crossed the room quickly, offering them to John. He took one.

“Thanks.” He said.

“What’s wrong?” Alex repeated softly.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” John shook his head.

“Seriously? You wanna hear stupid? I started crying the other night because it was windy out.” Alex offered with a self deprecating grin.

John huffed out a wet laugh, and wiped his eyes again.

“Okay. I know this is dumb. I know he hurt me, but, uh,” John looked up at the ceiling, a tear dripping off his jaw. “This is the first Christmas I’ll be without my family.”

“Oh.” Alex looked at John and sat on the edge of Laf’s bed. John followed suit.

“That’s not dumb, John. I mean, what about your sister?”

“Oh, they’re visiting her husband’s family in California.” John said quietly. “But I, um, I have little siblings. I just wanted to see them.” He clapped a hand over his mouth and sobbed.

“Hey, it's okay.” Alex said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know. It really sucks when you can't be with your family.”

John just shook his head, and swiped at his eyes again. It was silent for a few moments, before John cocked his head and said in a cracked tone:

“Your tie isn’t done right, you know.”

Alex threw his hands up and pulled the tie loose, standing before John in defeat.

“You do it, ya smart-ass!”

John laughed, tears dripping from his eyes, and reached forward to tie it, his fingers deftly folding the material.

“There,” He said, pulling it tightly. “It’s done. Much better.” He pat Alex’s chest, fingers lingering, then pulled his hand back quickly as if he has been stung.

Alex could barely breathe.

John’s face flushed pink, and he stared at Alex with bloodshot eyes, his mouth open.

“I-”

“Oh,uh, don’t-” Alex said hastily, taking a step forward. John stepped back again, looking straight at Alex with those dark eyes.

“You kids ready to go?” The door swung open and Laf emerged, pulling his hair back. Alex jumped backwards, hands flying to his tie.

“Uh, yeah, just, uh-”

“I-I was helping Alex tie his tie.” John stuttered.

“Okay?” Laf gave him an odd look and grabbed his jacket off the bed. He turned towards Alex. “It looks good. Can we leave, please?”

“Alex, wake up.”

Alex groaned, swatting blindly at whoever was shaking his shoulder so rudely.

“It’s Christmas, Alex.”

Alex rolled over and cracked open his eyes to see Laf’s face in front of his, a santa hat perched on his head and a Cheshire grin on his face. 

“Lafayette, it’s-” He checked the clock. “6:30 in the morning. This is demented.”

Laf crossed his arms and glared at Alex.

“It’s Christmas. ” He said, as if this was self-explanatory.

Alex sighed deeply and sat up in bed, resigning himself to four hours of sleep. Laf grinned and bounded off the bed.

“C’mon!”

He nearly ran into George in the dark hallway, who caught his shoulders and chuckled at Alex's dazed expression.

“You too?” He stage-whispered.

“Hey! I heard that!” Laf yelled from John’s room.

“And we all heard that .” Alex heard John grumble.

Alex shook his head, trying to keep his eyes from closing. It was way too early for this. 

“Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll make coffee.” George said.

Coffee. That sounded good. Alex nodded and followed him down the stairs.

“Wait!” Laf said. He pressed play on the speaker. Tinny Christmas music floated out, all bells and out of tune pianos. “Now we can open presents.”

George and Martha exchanged looks over Alex’s head, and John, sitting next to him, groaned loudly.

“You cannot groan, John. It’s Christmas!” Laf said. He danced his way across the room and put a garish Santa hat on John’s messy curls. John stared at him, an eyebrow raised, and Laf grinned. “You also may not kill me. It’s not allowed on Christmas.”

“Tomorrow isn’t Christmas, though.” John said under his breath. Laf either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore it, because he attacked the rather large pile of presents under the Christmas tree with the voraciousness of hyperactive ten year old.

“This one’s for you, John, and this one’s for Alex.” Laf handed Alex a rather heavy box wrapped in shiny green paper, and John a smaller one. John turned to Martha, his eyes wide.

“You got me presents?” He asked.

“Of course we did, honey. You’re a son to us. You knew that.” Martha said kindly.

John slowly turned his head from Martha to George, a smile creeping onto his face. He looked down, cheeks red, and tore off the paper off his present. Inside the box lay a pair of bright red gloves that smelled of leather and plastic.

“Boxing gloves?” John asked. George nodded.

“Yeah. I boxed in College. Found it helped when I got, y’know, angry at everyone and everything. There’s still a bag down in the basement.”

“I-” John looked down at the gloves and then back up, smiling. “Thank you.”

Alex tore off the paper of the heavy present in his lap, and stared at the pristine white box. It was a laptop, brand new. He’d been using one of Martha’s old laptops for a few months, and had been so grateful for that. This was decadently generous.  Martha was smiling at him.  

“You were burning out my keyboard, you type so much.” She said.

Alex couldn’t talk. Couldn’t say anything. This was beyond words. He got up and wrapped his arms around her, hoping that he had put everything he couldn’t say into it. She seemed to have gotten it, because when he let go, she pat his cheek clumsily, her eyes watery.

“Merry Christmas, Alex.” She said.

“Merry Christmas.” Alex said, grinning.

Chapter Text

The rest of break passed by pleasantly, if not productively. Laf continues with Alex’s “cinematical education”, as he called it, and they played Monopoly for eight hours straight. In fact, the idyllic idleness was only marred by small periods of unrest when John would disappear with George and Martha for hours at a time, and return surly and fidgety, unwilling to answer any questions.

When the day set for school to begin arrived, John proclaimed himself sick, and, without another word, stalked out of the kitchen and back into his bedroom upstairs. Martha had looked at him go with a weary, knowing expression, but hadn't commented.

“God,” Laf turned on the heaters to the car and shivered. “That was an exhausting first day.”

Alex shrugged but didn't look up from his book. He had gotten through most of Harry Potter over break, and was in the final stretch of the last book.

Laf hummed to himself as the car heated up, looking through his phone.

“Huh.” He said.

“What?” Alex asked without glancing up.

“Dad asked us to stop by his office. Says he needs to give me something.” Laf put his phone down and turned on the car. “Dammit. It will be a bitch to park.”

“His office?” That made Alex actually close his book as Laf pulled out of the parking lot. “Like, the Russell Building office? The Senate offices?”

“Yes, you utter nerd.” Laf grumbled. “The Russell Building.”

“Okay.” Alex said, as nonchalantly as possible. Laf just rolled his eyes.

Laf muttered under his breath all the way up to the security stop in the front of the building. Alex didn't catch much, only a few phrases here and there. Something about “pretentious assholes” and “marble floors as if there aren't people dying.” He stopped as they approached the guard and smiled sweetly at her, jabbering something in French. She laughed and reached over to pinch his cheek. Laf bowed and they hurried through the security check. His smile disappeared as they walked down a marble hallway, illuminated by huge hanging lights. Alex gaped as they passed the flags of every state on either side.

“Oh, shit.” Laf muttered. He turned sharply down a hall and Alex jogged to catch up.

“What?” Alex looked over this shoulder. Nothing but a solitary young man texting as he walked down the hallway.

“That’s one of Henry Lauren’s aides. I don't know what he’s doing here, but there is no way in hell I am talking to him.” Laf said. He walked them up a gargantuan sweeping staircase. Alex proudly noted he no longer had to catch his breath at the top.

“Here.” Laf opened a door, opened his arms grandly, and said, “Ah, Emily, my flower!”

Directly in front of them was a desk, behind which was settled a blonde woman. She looked exasperatedly at Laf, and, without greeting, picked up a phone and said monotonously,

“Sir, your son is here.”

“What, no 'hello’?” Laf asked.

“No, Lafayette. Not since you put snakes in my desk drawer.” Emily said dryly.

“I was thirteen!” Laf said.

“Ah, but you’ve somehow managed to not mature an ounce since then.” She said. Laf scoffed. Emily turned toward Alex, and smiled warmly.

“You must be Alex.” She said, extending her hand. Alex shook it.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Well, if you’re nothing like your brother, I already like you.” She said sweetly.

Alex was saved the pain of a response as a side door opened and George stepped through, looking harried.

“Ah, hey!” He said as he saw them. He turned to Emily and handed her a file. “Please get these to Senator Greene’s office right away.”

“Emily’s bullying me.” Laf said.

“I have no doubt you deserve it.” George said. He winked at Alex, and opened the door to his office. “Come in.”

George’s office was nothing like Alex was expecting. Rich but not extravagant, it was decorated with  pictures of George in a boxing ring, in an Army uniform, of Laf and Martha, and, to Alex’s surprise, one they had taken at Christmas not two weeks ago.  George and Martha stood behind the boys, smiling stately, while Laf and John grinned impishly and Alex looked sheepishly at the camera. George crossed the office and stooped to a mini fridge under a bookshelf.

“Want something to drink?” He asked.

“Coke, please.” Laf plopped himself into the chair behind George's desk.

“As usual. That stuff’s gonna kill you, you know.” George tossed a can and Laf caught it with ease, shrugging as he popped the tab.

“We will all die from something.”

“That’s a happy thought.” George said dryly. “Alex?”

“Uh, just a water, please.”

“Better. Healthy.”

“Yeah, well, Alex has more to live for.” Laf retorted. George laughed and passed Alex a bottle, then sat on the edge of the desk. He seemed to falter, taking a few minutes to shuffle things around.

“Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it, Alex?” He said after a while.

“Oh, uh, yeah, actually. I sort of forgot.” It was actually just in a few days. Given where he had been on his last few birthdays, Alex preferred not to think about them.

“Any thoughts on what you’d like to do? Perhaps go out to dinner? See a movie?”

“Uh…” Alex shrugged. “Anything, I guess.”

“Well, think about it, kid.” George said.

“Yeah, okay.”

Think about what he wanted to do on his birthday. That’s a first. It was silent for a few more minutes, until Laf broke it:

“Uh, Dad? Why are we here? I need to take something home?”

George looked up.

“Not exactly. I need to talk to you two.”

“Okay. About what?” Laf furrowed his eyebrows, and Alex noticed he began fidgeting in his seat.

“Well, you both know John hasn't been at his best, lately.”

“He wasn't sick this morning.” Alex said. John had looked flighty, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and utterly exhausted, but not sick.

“No.” George agreed. “He wasn’t. We got some news from the prosecutor last night. John has asked me to tell you.”

“What?” Alex leaned forward.

“It’s not good.” George cautioned. “It’s awful, actually. The doctor’s office which took the evidence pictures for the case against Henry burned down. The computers were melted. Evidently, they were stuck in 2001 and didn't back anything up online. The files are gone. The evidence is gone. We have no case.”

It was terribly silent for a few seconds. Alex could barely allow himself to feel the horror of George’s words. No case. Henry Laurens, who beat his son, who gave him a black eye so horrible he couldn't open it for a week, wasn't going to jail. Would John have to-?

“Where is John going to live?” Laf asked, words tripping over each other in their rush to leave his mouth. “Because, I’m just telling you, if you say he has to return to that place," Laf spat contemptuously. “Then I swear, John and I are-”

“No, no, of course not.” George interrupted hastily. Alex felt the pressure on his chest lift slightly. Okay. John would be safe. If John was safe, nothing could be so terrible.

“I’ve reached an agreement with Representative Laurens.” George's tone became mockingly political. “He’s agreed to allow John to emancipate himself, as long as it’s down quietly and without fuss, because we threatened to have John attest to the nature of his father on the House floor. John will live with his sister.”

“Not with us?” Alex asked.

“No.” George said. He offered Alex a sympathetic smile. “I offered to let him stay, but he’s close with his older sister.”

Oh.

Okay.

“Basically, what I need you guys to do is support John. This is a whole lot of crap to be piled on at such a young age. Luckily, you both have some experience in navigating such crap. Just. Be his friend.” George leaned back, rubbing his head.

“Of course.” Laf said. “Of course.”

To their surprise, John was waiting for them when they got home, pacing the living room fully dressed and hair pulled into a neat bun.

“Hey! Let's go out?” He said cheerfully. He held up his car keys. “C’mon, I’ll drive.”

“Whoa, wait. I gotta put down my backpack first.” Alex said, laughing as John began to pull him towards the door. “And I have homework!”

“Oh, please, you guys can do it later. Come on. I need to get out of here. I’ll buy you dinner?” He offered.

“I’m in.” Laf said immediately, dropping his bags on the ground.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go.” Alex relented.

John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, humming to the song playing loudly on the radio. Alex looked over from the passenger seat, which John had made Laf give up as Alex claimed motion sickness. Laf, who knew better, was currently giving him an evil look in the rearview mirror from the cramped backseat.

“And we’ll return to our commercial-free drive-at-five after a quick news update. On the Hill today, more hearings for the Refugee Screening Process. Representative Henry Laurens of Virg-” Oh, shit. John swiftly leaned forward and jammed the power button, leaving the car in a heavily awkward silence.

“Now, no one wants hear that!” He said with false cheeriness.

Alex knew he should say something. Anything. But Laf seemed to understand.

“John…” He started cautiously. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

John scoffed, and shook his head.

“Yeah. Y’know, I consider myself agnostic. Most of the time, pretty sure God’s not really a thing. Then shit like this happens, and I think, 'Yeah, God must exist. And he must really not like me’. Guess all those 'God hates fags’ signs were right all along.” The words sound acidic and razor thin as they left John’s mouth, and it burnt Alex’s stomach.

“John, don’t say that.” Laf said sharply. “Don't you ever fucking say that. You-”

“I can say whatever the fuck I want to say.” John laughed humorlessly.

“Y’know why, Lafayette? Because my Dad beat me and threw me out, and he’s not going to jail because the records are burnt. So, yeah, I can say what I want, now can’t I?”

Wait, what? Thrown out?

“Y-you said you left. By yourself.” Alex said.

“Well, I lied. He threw me out. Said I was no son of his. Said I was barely worthy of being called a human, let alone a Laurens. Well, we know who’s right, don’t we?”

“John, shut up.” Laf said. The rage in his voice was burning quietly. “You are wonderful, and your dad is so wrong, you know he’s wrong-”

“No, no, he’s not.” John interrupted. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Alex could see the tears running down his cheek clearly, illuminated by headlights from Alex’s side window.

“I-I’m not human. I'm-”

John never got to finish his sentence. The words were thrown into screams, hoarse and broken, as something big and horrible slammed against Alex’s head, turning his vision red, his ears ringing, and suddenly, he was gone.

Chapter Text

George collapsed next to Martha on the couch, groaning loudly.

“Bad day?” She asked.

“Okay. Tired. Yours?”

Martha ran her fingers through the tiny curls on her husband’s head. He had just began growing it out again after shaving it off last year.

“Fine. Did you talk to the boys?”

“Yes.” George rolled over and looked at her. “Are they home yet?”

Martha shook her head.

“Laf texted me and said they were gonna see a movie and get a bite to eat. It’s only 7. They’ll be home.”

“Yeah, ok. Let’s watch some TV before my assistant gets here and I have to go over casework with her.”

Martha towelled her hair dry, stepping into the bedroom.

“Boys home yet?” She asked. George frowned and looked up from his phone.

“No. I texted Laf while you were in the shower. Nothing.”

“Huh.”

Martha climbed onto the bed and reached for her own phone. 8:38. That’s odd.

“Should they be-”

Martha was interrupted by George's phone ringing loudly. He stared at it for a second before answering.

“Hello? Laf?”

His expression turned stony in an instant, and Martha scooted closer.

“Yes, this is George Washington. Who’s asking?”

George’s eyes widened, and turned to Martha with a horrified look.

“Oh my God. Oh, my God. Is everyone okay?”

There was a pause. Martha had to stop herself from taking the phone from his hand to listen.

“What hospital?”

Hospital?

“We’re on our way.” George jumped out of bed.

“George? What happened? What’s wrong?” Martha got up herself and followed him down the stairs.

He turned to her, and his expression made her stomach churn.  

“The boys were in a car accident. Alex is in critical condition. We have to go. Now.”

“I’m not human! I’m-”

The headlights in Alex’s window grew way quicker than John was expecting.

Something slammed, and his head crashed onto the steering wheel, and everything was gone.

“Lie still, son, you’ve got a horrible neck injury.”

Ow. Ow. Ow. Oh, god. Yeah, that would explain the pain of a knife slicking down his neck.

Oh fuck, and his chest. His arm. His throat hurt. His face was burning. Something acrid was filling his mouth and he coughed, only to jerk back from the pain it caused him.

“Lie still!”

John shifted. He was laying on something hard and cold and lumpy. Something loud was playing in the distance...Sirens? Yeah, that was sirens. John cracked open his eyes, but couldn't see anything but a bright, hazy light above him. It came into focus after a few seconds, and an older man’s face became sharp. He was pulling on something on John’s neck, and John felt a click, and a rush of pain. He jerked away from it, but he couldn't move. He was stuck. The older man seemed to realize what was happening, because he said,

“Son, like I said, you’ve got a bad neck injury. I immobilized you to keep you from damaging it more.”

Ow. Ow. Ok. But how did he break his neck? Didn't make sense.

“But...how?” John croaked out. The sheer words made his chest explode in protest.

“Car accident, kid. Bad one.”

Car accident. He had been in a car. Across from Alex, who had been staring at him with his big brown eyes, hair in his face. Laf in the back seat.

Car accident.

Alex. Laf.

Oh, shit.

“Where’s Alex?” John mumbled. The sirens grew louder in his ears, someone yelled for an EMT.

“Alex? Where was Alex sitting in the car?” The man was tapping his arm now, and John hissed in pain. 

“Front seat.”

The man stopped, and looked at John.

“He’s in the car, still. We’re working on getting him out.”

“What?”

In the car still? What the fuck?

“Get him out. Leave me alone, I’m fine. Get him out. Get Laf out.” John didn't really notice his voice was rising until his throat was screaming hoarse. “I’m okay! It’s my FAULT! GET ALEX OUT!”

“He's hysterical. Gonna hurt himself. Pass me the syringe.”

Hysterical? Fuck. He wasn't hysterical. Didn't they realize this was his fault? Why were they taking care of him?

John opened his mouth to say so, but something stung in his forearm, and the sirens and pains and hazy light drifted away.

Danny Williams had been an EMT for six years, and he’d seen some insane shit. Drug addicts coming at him with knives, screaming for their poison of choice. Kids riddled with bullet holes, caught in the middle of a turf war.

But this, this was probably as bad as it got.

The first kid was struggling with Mark as he lay with a fractured neck on the pavement. He was screaming incoherently, something about getting the other kids out.

Yeah. That’d be a challenge.

“Got him!” There was a crack and two firefighters dragged a gangly kid out of the broken window. Blood matted his hair, and his ankle was hanging at the wrong angle. He was alive, at least. They wouldn't be strapping an oxygen mask to his face otherwise.

Now.

Danny crouched down and reached through the window. They had managed to get a mask over this kid’s  mangled face. Danny put two fingers under the kid's jaw, relieved to find a weak pulse. The kid’s head was at a terrible angle, pushed against the destroyed roof of the car.

“Hang in, there, kiddo. We’re coming.” Danny murmured. He couldn't see anything else. Couldn't see if the rest of the kid was okay. Or even there.

“Jesus, he’s young.” Ashley was the newest on the team. She took a deep breath as she crouched down the prepare the window for the Jaws of Life being dragged out if the apparatus. The car had flipped upside down, and it was impossible to open the door.

“Yeah.” Danny agreed. He really couldn't see much of the kid’s face. Just floppy hair sticky with blood. But he was clearly just a kid.

The screams from the other side of the car abated, and Mark and another tech pulled the gurney upright and began to push it towards a waiting ambulance.

“Outta the way,” Someone grunted behind him. Danny jumped up.  As soon as they had pulled the kid out, they were gonna need to go straight to work. He was clearly in a critical state.

The firefighters inserted the the jaws, and someone turned it on. The screeching was loud, and as the car was jacked up, the kid began to dangle from his seat. Danny could see pools of blood staining the kid’s T-shirt. As the gap grew, it became obvious the awkward angle his head had been forced had done serious damage.

“A few more inches…” One of the firefighters mumbled.

“Aw, christ, he’s got a neck fracture. Stop it there, we have to stabilize him.” Ashley rushed forward with a neck brace, but Danny held her back.

“No, we don't have time. They need to get him out, or we’ll lose him.”

“But-oh.” Ashley gasped. The blood. It was everywhere. The kid seemed to have bathed in it.

There was a large crack. The hole wasn’t huge, but the kid was small. One firefighters reached in to cut the seatbelt off.

“Got him,” He grunted. He began to pull the kid out of the gap under his shoulders.

Danny stepped forward and supported his neck, trying not to think about the fact that he could feel the crack of bone under his fingers.

“Fuck.” Ashley hissed. The more of the kid came out, the more seemed to be missing. Divots were gone from his arms, slashes in his stomach.

“His legs, get his legs.”

Though, Danny wasn't sure he could call them legs anymore.

“He needs a trauma center. CALL FOR AIR SUPPORT.” Danny yelled over his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ. Get him on the gurney. Ash, hand me the neck brace. Get the real tank on him, STAT. We need a tourniquet in his left leg, check right for extensive bleeding.”

Danny could barely allow himself to think. His fingers flew across the kid, strapping him into the gurney, trying to stem the blood that was spurting so many places it shouldn't. The familiar whir of choppers filled the air, and Danny breathed the tiniest sigh of relief. Choppers had better life support. A better chance.

“Let’s move!” They began to push the gurney towards the chopper. The kid didn't make a single moment as they loaded him on, the on-board EMTs began to examine him. They beckoned Danny on. This was going to be a long flight to the hospital. Someone shut the door behind him, and they lifted off. Danny reached for a pulse as the EMTs were hooking monitors up, one putting in an IV.  Erratic. Weak. He wasn’t going to make it.

“Hold on, kid.” He muttered. “Just let your parents see you before you go. Hold on.”

Chapter Text

“WHERE ARE MY SONS?”

George slammed open the door with such force Martha was afraid it would splinter under his palms.

“Senator Washington, sir-”

A doctor hurried up to them.

“I’m Doctor Pendleton. I'm handling Alex's case. They brought them in about an hour ago.”

“Are they breathing?” Martha moved with a nervous energy. “Are they going to survive?”

George reached out and grasped her hand tightly.

“Yes, but you have to understand something. Please, follow me.” He began to stride down the hallway, dodging a gurney. “Lafayette is stable. He has a concussion, several lacerations and his ankle is fractured, but he is otherwise alright. He’s awake and waiting for you.”

“Oh, thank God.” Martha sagged against her husband and buried her face in his chest.

“What about Alex? John?” George's steady tone was just about ready to crack.

The doctor stopped, hesitated, and looked back at them.

“John Laurens is stable. That’s really all I can tell you. His sister’s been called.”

“And Alex?”

The doctor took a deep breath.

“Where Alex was sitting took the brunt of the collision. He’s in surgery now.”

“But how is he?” Martha’s voice was tight.

“Mrs Washington, Senator…I’m sorry. He suffered a spinal fracture, as well as a collapsed lung. His lower left leg is very severely shattered, and his right femur is fractured.”

“Oh, my god.” George’s voice was tiny. “Oh my god.”

Martha gripped his arm tightly.

“Is he going to survive?”

Dr Pendleton looked helplessly at them.

“We don’t know. Right now, his prognosis isn’t good. And if he does survive, the chances that he will be permanently disabled are very high. Now, Alex will be in surgery for several more hours. If you’d like, I can take you to your other son’s room. I’ll have a nurse bring you updates every half hour.”

“Yes.” George said. “I want to see him.”

“Laf!” Martha rushed forward to the bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Ma.” Laf’s eyes filled with tears. At the end of the bed, a doctor was wrapping his ankle in bright red plaster. “I broke my ankle.”

George seemed to break at that, hugging him tightly.

“But you’re okay. You’re okay.” He said quietly.

Laf looked dazedly at him, apparently hurt by George's dismissal of his injuries. 

“I broke my ankle.” He repeated. “My head hurts. What happened?”

“You were in a car accident, sweetie.” Martha smoothed his hair out of the way of the sticky bandages on his forehead. “Do you want me to pull your hair back?”

“Car accident?” Laf frowned. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.” Martha soothed.

“Who else?” He asked.

“Who else what?” George asked.

“Was in the car? Can't remember.”

“Alex. John.” George supplied. Laf’s eyes widened and he sat up, wincing.

“Are they okay? Is everyone okay?” He asked in a rush.

Martha looked away. George could see her wiping tears away.

“John’s fine. But Alex...Sweetie, Alex is really hurt. He’s in a lot of trouble right now.”

George stood suddenly, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Laf seemed to digest this information very slowly. He sat back and stared into space.

“I want to sleep.” He said in a tiny voice.

“Okay, honey. Go to sleep.” Martha ran her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

It’s impossible to describe the hours of horrible, gut-wrenching waiting that ensued. George paced a path around Laf’s room. John’s older sister dropped by to report that John was okay, suffering only a severe case of whiplash and a shattered wrist. Laf eventually went to sleep, no doubt aided by the medication coursing through his IV.

Around six AM, a nurse opened the door the door to Laf’s room, and George flew from his seat.

“How is he?” He asked quickly.

“He’s out of surgery.” The nurse said.

“Oh, thank God.” George sagged against the doorway and rubbed his head. Martha walked up, rubbing her eyes.

“He’s out of surgery.” George whispered to her.

Martha smiled widely and hugged him.tightly.

“Yes, but, well...Could we speak in the hall?” The nurse asked.

“Yes, of course.”

They stepped out and Martha closed the door behind them. The nurse took a breath, and looked at them.

“We were able to salvage Alex’s leg by inserting an artificial knee and a steel rod.”

“Good! That's good news, right?” Martha said.

“Yes, but there’s more. The spinal fracture can very well have caused spinal cord damage. We just can’t know until he wakes up.”

“Okay. We can deal with that. He’s alive. We can deal with that.”

Martha offered an encouraging smile to her husband and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, there’s one more thing I have to tell you.” The nurse said. “We inserted a shunt for his brain. He has a massive amount of intercranial pressure. This is the most serious issue at the moment.”

“Is he…” George asked tightly. “Brain-dead?”

“No. The doctors are monitoring his brain activity, and he has shown very slight improvement. We’re keeping him a medically-induced coma to help, but if the pressure remains at its current level, Alex isn’t going to make it through the day.”

 The words sunk like an anchor tied around their ankles, pulling them deeper and deeper into the water. George could barely breathe. Martha sobbed into her hands. George gripped her shoulders.

“I want to see him.” He said.

“Alright. Follow me. But I have to warn you, he’s in bad shape. I need you to remain calm around him, okay? Even unconscious, Alex is able to sense stress and yelling, which he absolutely does not need.”

“Okay. Of course.”

“Hey, kiddo.” George said softly. He hoped his tone wasn't betraying the absolute anguish tearing his chest apart. He barely noticed the nurse on the other side of the bed, watching the multiple monitors attached to Alex's body. 

Alex. Wasn't. Alex.

He had been replaced by some bad copy of him, where olive skin was turned to purplish bruising and white bandages with shadows of blood lurking underneath.

One leg was cast in white, the other elevated and wrapped tightly in surgical bandages.

He wasn't wearing a hospital gown. Seemed there wasn't a point. A tube was protruding from his throat, breathing for him. More surgical bandages wrapped his chest. The only place there wasn't bandaging, there were monitors.

And his neck. Oh god, his neck. It was encased in a black brace that strained against his neck. 

George took a deep breathe and sat down next to him, taking a tiny, clammy hand in his own.

“It’s me. It’s George. I’m here, kiddo.”

“Me too, sweetie.” Martha had tears running down her cheek as she leaned over to lightly kiss his forehead. “We’re both here, if you can hear us. We’re here. We love you so much, Alex. So, so much. And so does Laf, and so does John. You are so loved.”

Martha ducked to wipe her eyes as if Alex could see out of his tightly swollen shut lids. George couldn't speak. He opened his mouth, and closed it again. When they had adopted Laf all those years ago, this had been his worse nightmare. But he never thought it wouldn't be Laf he was watching die helplessly.

“Alex, I have a confession to make.” George said abruptly. Martha looked at him quizzically. 

“You remember that argument we had over me calling you son? Well, sorry, kid, but I called you son today, and I don't regret it one bit. If you don’t like it, you’re just gonna have to take it up with me when you wake up.”

Martha laughed waterily and wiped her eyes. She turned to him and squeezed his hand.

“He wouldn't have minded, honey. Not at all.” She whispered.

“Yeah, he would’ve. I just-” George got up suddenly. He stood at the end of Alex's bed, gripping the railing and staring at the battered body before him. “This is awful.” He whispered hoarsely. “This is so awful.”

“I know, George. But we’ve gotta stay strong for him. We have to.” Martha hugged him tightly, and George stooped down, trying to steady his breathing.

No one said it, but everyone was thinking it. Alex wasn't going to make it. George and Martha took shifts, one staying with Laf, the other with Alex, keeping their phones right by their side in case of emergency. No one wanted to decide what their definition of "emergency" was. 

George wouldn't let go of Alex's hand. He just held his hand, and he talked and talked and Alex didn't move. He talked more than he had ever talked before. George told him old stories, about his days in the Army, about when Laf was little. What he hoped Alex would be. Anything. Everything. Alex didn't move. The nurse on the other side of the bed looked on silently, only moving to adjust a tube or monitor. The tension only grew as the day grew longer and the pressure stayed almost constant, only barely dipping down.

Sometime around six, Martha wheeled Laf into the room. He was clutching a green book in his hand. He looked terrified as he came in, and George got up to hug him tightly.

“Hey, Laf.” He said.  “How are you feeling?”

“I-I’m,” Laf stared at the bed, eyes wide,  and burst into tears. “He’s gonna die.” He sobbed. Martha soothed him, and George stood up, feeling harsh nausea churn his stomach raw. Die. He’s gonna die. This kid couldn't catch a fucking break.

“Laf brought Alex’s book. Said he was on the last Harry Potter.” Martha handed the green book to him after she had returned Laf to his room. George stared at the dark cover. Deathly Hallows.

“Hey.” Martha said. George looked up. Martha stood on tip-toe and kissed his forehead. “I love you.” She whispered. She went to the bed and did the same to Alex, then left.

George walked back to the bed and sat down, opening the book in his lap.

"Should we read this, you think?" He asked Alex, smoothing a bit of hair off of his forehead. " Okay, let's do it." 

“They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that.” George started.  “They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. Less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved toward him, and on each face, there was the same loving smile.

Lily’s smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as she drew close to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his face hungrily, as though she would never be able to look at him enough.
“You’ve been so brave.”
He could not speak. His eyes feasted on her, and he thought that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would be enough.
“You are nearly there,” said James. “Very close. We are . . . so proud of you.”

“Does it hurt?” The childish question had fallen from Harry’s lips before he could stop it.
“Dying? Not at all,” said Sirius. “Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”

Chapter Text

Something was beeping incessantly in ear. That was how George woke up. He found himself face down on the bed, book beside him.

He looked up, rubbing his sore neck, and saw a nurse pressing something on a monitor.

“Sorry, just readjusting his heart reads.” He apologized. Something jolted in George's stomach and he shot up and went to Alex’s head. He placed a hand on his forehead, trying to imagine the pressure beneath his son’s skull, and looked at the nurse.

“His head. Is he-?” He croaked. The nurse gave him a small smile and gestured at the monitor.

“It’s gone down. A substantial amount, too. We still don't know the damage, but it's very good news that it’s come down so quickly.”

Down. The pressure's down. George smiled widely and squeezed Alex’s hand.

“Attaboy, Alex.” He whispered. He turned to the nurse. “So, his prognosis now. Is it…” George made an awkward hand movement.

“I’m not the doctor, who is coming by later, but I can tell you that this could be great news for Alex.”

George felt relief flood his body. He reached for his phone and grinned through the tears welling in his eyes.

“Time to tell mom.” He said.

The next few days were tense but much better than those first two had been. There was hope. There was a chance. The pressure in Alex’s head was dropping to acceptable levels. There was obviously still the problem of the tube in his throat, the fracture in his neck. Laf and John were discharged. After a couple days sleeping, Laf came to the hospital every day, sitting by Alex’s bed, watching movies, reading him corny jokes. There was no sign of John, however. George even asked Laf, but he had just shrugged and said John wasn't feeling well.

Dr Pendleton shuffled his papers and looked at them over the top of his glasses.

“So, at this point, we feel it’s safe to say Alex is stable. We will begin to wean him off sedatives within five days or so. The main concerns at this point are obviously his neck fracture and his leg.”

“Of course. What sort of recovery time are we looking at for him?” Martha gripped George's hand tightly. Pendleton shrugged.

“Depending on the severity of his spinal cord damage, it could be anywhere from three months to a year.” Martha inhaled sharply, and George couldn't help but think Alex was going to be pissed he would have to repeat the school year.

"If the damage is minimal to none, which, obviously, we're hoping for, Alex will be recovering from the fusion we did to stabilize his neck. He'll be in a hard collar for several weeks, and physical therapy is going to extend for at least a year." 

But George didn't hear any of that. Alex was stable. Alex was okay. 

George sagged back in his chair, still scanning Alex’s face for any sign of movement. It had been two weeks since the accident, and they had finally decreased his sedatives. He had woken very briefly yesterday, just enough to look confused at Martha, start crying, and fall back asleep. They had said that they could expect some more awareness today.

Alex’s eyes fluttered, and George jumped out of his chair. Martha leaped from the couch too, and they stood at the edge of the bed, searching Alex’s face thoroughly.

“C’mon, c’mon.” Martha muttered under her breath. “Wake up.”

Finally, after an eternity of waiting, Alex opened his eyes slighty. They were watering as he stared up, and George reached up to turn off the fluorescent light above him. Martha pushed the button calling for the nurse.

“Hey, kiddo.” George said softly. Martha rubbed Alex's arm, and Alex seemed to try to speak.

“Shh, honey. Don’t talk. It’ll hurt.” Martha said.

Alex swung his eyes over to George, blinking them furiously.

“You did it, Alex.” George grinned widely and wiped his tears before they fell on Alex’s face. “You’re okay. You did it.”

Alex’s arm twitched and he seemed to wince as the nurse came in. George gaped at Alex’s arm before turning to his wife.

“He moved. Did you see? He moved!” He said quickly.

Martha was staring too.

“I saw.” She said disbelievingly.

“He moved his arm!” George said excitedly to the nurse. The nurse smiled.

“That's wonderful. Hello, Alex!” She said clearly. “If you can hear me, blink twice.”

Alex shut his eyes twice in rapid succession and George felt his heart leap. When Laf heard about this, he was going to flip.

“That’s wonderful!” The nurse praised. “Now, your dad here said you moved your arm. What I'm going to do is just touch both your arms, and then your legs. If you can feel it, blink twice, and one of your parents can tell me. Okay?”

Two blinks. This was better than watching the Nats win the world series.

The nurse moved to the side of the bed and gently ran her fingers over Alex’s forearm, avoiding the gashes and bruises.

Two blinks.

Other arm.

Two blinks.

Right leg. The nurse moved to his toes, as his legs were entirely encased in casts.

Two blinks. Martha clapped a hand to her mouth and George laughed out loud, hugging her to him.

Left leg.

Alex seemed to wince, but blinked his eyes twice.

“Great job, Alex!” The nurse said. “Why don't you try and rest your eyes while I talk to your parents?”

Alex closed his eyes, and the nurse beckoned them to the other side of the room.

“Those are all really good signs.” The nurse said. “It seems the nerve damage, if any, is minimal. Not to mention, Alex's comprehension is incredible for what he has been through. This is the best outcome you could have asked for.” The nurse smiled at them.

“Thank you,” Martha said tearfully. “Thank you so much.”

“What’s next?” George asked.

“Next we meet with his doctor to discuss removing his vent. His fracture is going to stop him from any real moments for a while, but he is certainly heading in the right direction. Really, congratulations. Alex is going to be fine.”

Removing the vent was definitely an event, but Alex bore it without complaint. When George returned from lunch, he found Alex sleeping opened mouth, an oxygen mask strapped to his face. George smiled slightly and walked quietly around the bed to hug his wife from behind.

“Never thought I would be so happy to see an oxygen mask.” He said.

Martha laughed and craned her neck to kiss him.

“I know.” She agreed. “Laf was ecstatic, started jabbering at poor Alex so loudly.” She nodded at the couch, where Laf was sleeping on his back, leg propped up on a pillow. The bruises on his face had faded into ugly green shadows.

“We’re so lucky.” George sat down next to his wife and watched his kids sleep, neither quite whole, neither quite healthy, but both on the way.

“Yeah, we are.”

“Has he talked yet?” George got up and an examined a yellowing bruise on Alex’s forehead.

Martha shook her head.

“The therapist told him to keep it very minimal for a few days. Guess what Dr Pendleton said today on rotation?”

“What?”

“Alex is gonna start real physical therapy soon.” Martha beamed at him. “He’s gonna sit up!”

“That’s wonderful.” George reached over and pushed a small lock of hair out of Alex’s face. He was going to need a haircut at some point. Thank God he needed one. He turned to Martha. “Any word from John? I don't think I haven't seen him in this long since he and Laf fought in sixth grade.” Martha shook her head.

“I’ve been talking to his sister. He’s been getting pretty bad migraines since the crash. Hasn't really left the house. I think he feels responsible.”

George made a face.

“Well, we need to fix that. John’s a troubled kid. All our kids are, in some shape or form. I’m certainly not abandoning him.”

A monitor went off, and Alex, almost lazily, opened his eyes. Still restricted by his brace, he looked side-eye at George and Martha, who got up.

“Hey! Heard you got your ventilator out today.” George said, grinning. Alex took a second to respond, bringing his hand slowly to his throat and then slowly back down, wincing as he did so. By some miracle, he had managed to not badly damage his arms, but any movement was painful right now.

“Really?” Alex said in a hoarse whisper. “Didn’t...notice.” Martha laughed and George grinned so widely he thought his face would crack in two. He was okay. He had a long road in front of him, but he was okay.

Chapter Text

Screeching filled his ears. Something flashed, and John watched the truck slam into the side of his car as if he was standing on the side of the road and not in the driver’s seat, helpless.

Alex, he could see in slow motion. He could see as his legs were crushed by the weight of a car, as his head whipped violently and his neck fractured. He heard each crack of the bone, and couldn't do anything but watch the blood drip from Alex's face.  A pungent smell of metal and smoke was filling the air. Blood. Blood in his mouth, coating Alex’s body. John looked down. Dark splotches of blood had dried on his palms, under his fingernails.

Somebody screamed, and John jolted awake, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Oh, god, he was nauseous. He rolled over in bed, wincing at the dull pain in his neck, creeping its way up his skull, and threw up in the trash can.

“John?”

The door opened, the light switched on. Marty padded across the carpet, pulling a robe over her pajamas. She crouched in front of him and felt his forehead.

“Charlie said he heard screaming. Are you okay?” She asked softly.

John nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His stomach curled in on itself again and he felt tears coming to his eyes as the soup Marty had made him eat expelled itself.

“John…” He felt a soft hand on his back, pulling his hair out of the way. The cramps subsided and John collapsed back, pulling his casted wrist to his chest.

“Migraine?” Marty asked.

“It’s coming.” John said hoarsely.

Marty reached for an orange bottle and shook out pills, handing them to him. He swallowed them dry, then settled back in bed, hoping his sister would get the message and leave him alone. 

“John, we need to talk.”

“Later.” He mumbled from under his pillow. 

“No. Now. I’m scheduling an appointment with the doctor. This isn't normal. These migraines aren't normal.”

“Yeah? Well neither is crashing a car and nearly killing your best friends.” John rolled over and glared at her. But Marty seemed unaffected by his comments. She stood, hands on hips, and studied the bottles on his table.

“You haven't been taking your pain meds.” It was a statement, not a question.

“So? Doctor never said I had to.”

“John, are you serious right now? Your wrist is shattered. You tore muscles in your neck. You need them.”

“I’ll take them tomorrow.” John said with what he hoped was an air of finality. He turned over again, trying to get comfortable with those goddamn bandages on his neck, and pulled the blanket carefully up to his ears.

He heard Marty sigh. The bottle clinked on the table, the light switched off, and the door shut.

Pain meds. As if Alex could do without them right now. He’d been getting hourly updates from Laf. Alex had spoken today. Had sat up in bed. If it wasn't for John, Alex would be in school. Studying. Reading. Laughing, as he did, scrunching up his nose and squinting his eyes, one hand over his mouth to stifle the noise.

John wasn’t going to take those pain meds. Marty would have to deal.

At this point, Alex just took it as a fact that he had been in a car crash. He couldn't remember any of it. The last thing he could remember was getting home with Laf and seeing John pace the living room. Everything else was a hazy blur. But, when he had woken up in a hospital room, a common occurrence of the last few months, and couldn’t talk but for the fire radiating from his left leg, his neck, his back, he had accepted сar crash as a reasonable cause.

He shifted and tried to muffle the groan of pain as sharp pain coursed down his leg and neck.

“Alex? What’s wrong?” Martha’s voice came from his side.

“Leg,” He said scratchily.

“Your morphine pump’s by your hand, sweetie.” He felt for it blindly, unwilling to open his eyes, and pressed the button a few times.

The doctor had explained that his leg was going to be permanently injured. Sure, he could get it strong enough to walk with months of therapy, but anything strenuous was out of the question. Alex felt vaguely robbed. He’d never played sports before, but now that it was taken away, he felt like he maybe could have tried it. At the very least, found that he was terrible and willingly given it up.

 Martha and George seemed unnaturally happy as the doctor was talking. When questioned, George’s smile had disappeared. He had ducked his head, couldn't look Alex in the eye. He mumbled something about “coma” and “brain damage”. Alex wasn't sure. It was a little hard to be awake at the moment. Like right now, for example. As the warm medicine coursed through his arm, Alex felt himself drifting away from the small hospital room.

“Alex, petit, can you please stop picking at your food?” Laf asked wearily. Alex stuck out his tongue at his foster brother, but put down his fork. The plate of fries and chicken nuggets didn't seem quite as appealing now as it had when he ordered it twenty minutes ago.

“Do you want something else?” Laf asked. “Pizza? Pudding?”

“No.”

The nutritionist was going to yell at him later, no doubt, but he just wasn't hungry. Nothing seemed appetizing.

“Alex, come on, you’ve gotta eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” Alex insisted.

Laf raised an eyebrow, then sighed and got up, hobbling over to Alex and pulling the tray away. Alex stared at the bright red cast on Laf's foot. 

“Was John hurt?” He asked abruptly. Laf looked up, apparently surprised. 

“Uh, yeah. He broke his wrist and hurt his neck pretty bad.”

“Oh. I just haven't seen him.”

When he had landed himself in the hospital for not taking his antibiotics, John had been there nearly every day, watching movies, reading to him. 

“Well, he’s been getting bad migraines since the crash.” Laf said.

“Oh. Okay.” Alex looked down and picked at the tape around his IV.

“But I could ask him to come when he feels better?”

“Really?” Alex grinned. “'Cus, Y’know, it’s here, and then rehab. Not gonna be home for a while.”

“Yeah. Of course. I’ll see if he can come.” Laf said. 

Marty’s hand was tight on John's shoulder as they left the doctor's office.

“So, the doc said they had an opening for that MRI tomorrow. I’m not working so I’m gonna go ahead and schedule it, okay?” She said.

“Okay.” John flexed his fingers. His wrist was throbbing under his cast. The loudspeaker came on, announcing a code on some floor, and they had to dodge around several doctors sprinting down the hallway. They turned past a waiting room, and Marty stopped suddenly, staring at her phone. 

“So, uh, Dad called me.” She said.

“Did he, now?” John said coldly.

“Yeah. Wants to know if we’ll be over for dinner Saturday night.”

“And?”

“Well, I told him to fuck off and that any man who would abuse and kick out a child just for being gay isn’t worthy of being called a Christian and certainly not a father.”

John smiled weakly.

“In so many words?”

Marty huffed a laugh and slung an arm around his shoulders as they walked down the hall.

“It was a little more grandiose, I think, but it worked.”

“Well, thanks.” John said.

“No problem, kid. I just wished you had told me sooner. I mean, I knew you and Dad didn't get along, but that is utterly unacceptable. I should have pulled you out years ago.”

John shrugged. “I just didn't want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden. You’re not.”

“Okay.”

John looked up and saw the sign for the pediatric post-surgical unit, but immediately looked away. Marty seemed to sense his hesitation, because she said,

“Isn’t your friend in there?”

“Uh, yeah.” Room 605.

“Well, do you wanna go pop in while we're here?”

“N-no, it’s okay.”

Marty gave him an odd look. “I thought you guys were good friends.”

“We are, but-”

“Well, then why don’t you go see him?” Mart began to pull him towards the unit doors.

John stopped and stared at the doors. Marty looked back at him.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” John said softly. “I got him into a car accident, for God's sake. I broke his neck. I almost killed him. He almost died.” John’s voice cracked.

“Are you telling me you haven’t seen him since the accident?” Marty asked.

John shook his head. Marty stared at him, then grabbed his good arm and dragged him into the unit.

“Hey, Marty, wait!”

But she didn't seem to hear him. She checked in at the nurse’s desk, then dragged him down the hall until they reached room 605. She sat down on a bench and pulled out her phone. She nodded at the door. 

“Go ahead. I’ll be out here.” She said.

“Uh…”

John could see through the window. Alex was passed out on his bed. Oh, god, he looked worse than Laf had said. He was still in a neck brace. Part of his head was shaven, and John could see stitches criss-crossing. Both his legs were broken. Both in casts. Jesus.

“John.” Marty said. He looked at her. “Go in.”

John nodded and took a deep breath. Okay. Just go in. That’s easy. He turned the door knob and walked in, then slowly shut it behind him. Laf was here. Or somewhere. John recognized his coat and backpack. Martha probably brought that quilt from the house, and the books stacked by Alex’s bed were definitely George’s doing, seeing the titles.

“Hey,” A hoarse voice said. John jumped and looked up. Alex was awake, looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The stitches over one eyebrow was slightly pushing one eyelid down. He was smiling sleepily. “I was wondering when you were coming.” He said.

“Y-you were?” John said.

“Yeah,” Alex said. He motioned for John to sit down, and he did so, moving nervously.

“So, uh, where’s Laf?” John asked. Alex rolled his eyes.

“He went out to buy me popsicles. Or pudding. Or pizza. Something. I'm not really sure. He think it’ll get me to eat.”

Wait, what?

“You're not eating? Alex, come on, do you remember what happened a couple months ago?” John said. “You almost fainted in a museum! You ended up back in the hospital!”

“Okay, mom, got it.” Alex said. Something beeped and he winced, putting a hand on his leg.

“What’s wrong?” John immediately got up, fully prepared to run out into the hall screaming for a nurse.

“Nothing.” Alex grunted. He reached for a remote by his side and pushed it, sighing as he did so.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just my leg. Hurts.”

“I’m sure it does!” John said. “You really did a number on it. Well, I did. Not you.”

Alex gave him a weird look.

“You?” He asked.

“Yeah, me. I crashed the car.” John said.

“John, Martha said the police interviewed the other driver. He was drunk. He went through a stop light.”

“So?” John got out of his chair, pulling his wrist tightly to his chest. “I was driving. You almost died, and I was driving.”

His words hung in the air. Alex stared at him with those big eyes.

“Is that why you didn't come?” He asked quietly.

“What?”

“Why you haven't been here. I've been here for nearly four weeks. You haven't been once. Granted, I don't really remember the first week, so you might have, but-”

“I wasn’t.” John interrupted.

“Well, why not?” Alex said. His eyes were getting red. Oh, shit. “I thought you liked me, and-”

“I thought you wouldn't want to see me.” John said quickly. 

“What? That’s ridiculous, of course I do.” Alex said, his voice cracking. He was really crying now, wiping at his tears with the edge of his gown’s sleeve.

“Shit, Alex…” John got up and got some tissues, handing them to him.

“Sorry,” He indicated at himself. “It’s these drugs. I can't really do without them, but they make really emotional and it's been kind of awful lately and I’m not gonna go home for a while and I really kind of wanted to see you and-”

John kissed him.

He didn't think about any of the approximately two million different repercussions. What if Alex was straight? Even if he’s not, what if he doesn't like you like that? What if Dad finds out? Nope, none of that.

He just leaned forward and kissed him, right on his chapped lips. Wait, what was he doing?  John broke off and stood up quickly, putting his hands on his head. Oh, god. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god-

“John.” Alex said softly behind him. John forced himself to turn around. Alex was smiling slightly, touching his fingers to his lips.

“Sorry,” John said quickly. “Sorry, I-”

“What are you sorry for?” Alex said. John stared at him.

“That was okay?” He said hesitantly. 

Alex laughed a little bit and nodded.

“That was okay.”

A couple minutes later, when Alex had fallen asleep, and John and scrawled a hasty note to Laf, he left, making sure to close the door quietly behind him. Marty got up as he came out, putting her phone in her pocket.

“You were in there a while. It was good?” She asked. John smiled to himself.

“Yeah,” He said. “It was good.”

Chapter Text

Laf gave him an odd look as he set the grocery bag on the bedside table.

“Why are you smiling?” He asked. Alex had to repress a grin and touched his fingers to his lips. He looked up at Laf, who was currently shaking snow out of his hair.

“John kissed me.” He said.

Laf froze for a moment, then looked up slowly, his face splitting into a smile.

“Well, mother-fucker!” Laf said loudly. For a split second, Alex was terrified that Laf was angry with him. It sounded celebratory, however, and Laf whipped his phone out of his pocket and immediately began texting.

“Uh, Laf?” Alex said hesitantly.

“Yeah?” Laf didn’t look up.

“Was that a good motherfucker or a oh, shit motherfucker?”

Laf laughed and reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately, careful to avoid the line of stitches by his forehead.

“John’s had a crush on you since like November, petit lion.” Laf said. “I’m honestly impressed it took him this long. Goddamn! I gotta text Herc.”

November? That was nearly three months. To be fair, a lot had happened in those months. All Alex could think about was how John had stared at him with wide-eyed pity and guilt, holding his dark blue wrist to his chest. How John had leaned in, so quickly, so effortlessly, so naturally, like he's been doing it for years. How panicked John had been, whipping his head around as if he was sure someone was watching. How John had promised to be back tomorrow, how he had stayed as Alex had drifted off again.

Hours became days became weeks became months. Slowly, painfully slowly, Alex recovered. They removed the cast from his right leg and the surgical bandages from his left, and fitted both for braces that Alex was sure couldn't have been legal under the Anti-Torture Act. He walked, leaning heavily on a walker and dragging his feet forward, with John and Laf cheering him from the side of the room. The bruises faded into ugly green shadows, they removed staples from his stitches, and his hair grew back. He even ate a bit more.

By the day he was to be discharged, Alex nearly looked like a normal teenage boy. Excepting, of course, the giant metal braces over his sweatpants.

He sat in the wheelchair and drummed his fingers on the armrest. God, he was anxious to get out of here. Of course, he would be back tomorrow for therapy. But tonight. He would be home, in his own bed (though, moved to George’s office on the ground floor. Alex didn't even want to think about how long it would be before he could climb those two flights of stairs). George came into the room again.

“You ready, kid? Last of your bags are loaded. Just you, now.”

“I’m ready. More than ready. I haven't left this hospital in forever!” Alex said.

“Seems like it.” George agreed. He stood behind Alex’s wheelchair. “Should we take one last look? At the room you’ve lived in for months now?”

Alex stared silently at the white walls, the mounted TV, the absurd amount of equipment by the bed.

“Ok, I’m done.” He said quickly. “Let’s go.”

“Read my mind.” George turned the wheelchair sharply, popping the front wheels into the air, and pushed Alex out of the room.

Laf and John were waiting in the car, both sitting in the backseat on their phones.

“There you go.” George said cheerfully, as if he had just held the door for Alex and not literally picked him up and placed him in the car.

“Thanks.” Alex said. He rested his hand on his knee. It was throbbing, deep within his shattered kneecap, and he took a deep breath. Want to be awake tonight, and present. More important that killing the pain. Laf caught his eyes in the mirror and stuck out his tongue. Alex smiled back at him.

“Alright, let's get this party started!” John cheered. “Somebody hand me the aux cord!”

“John,” Laf cautioned. “My dad?”

George had come around the car was shutting the driver’s door behind him.

“Please,” John scoffed. “I’ve got it.”

“Lord help us all,” Laf muttered.

From the mirror, Alex could see John elbow Laf in the ribs, then type quickly into his phone. The sounds of a familiar song came blasting through the speakers, the base thumping lightly under his feet. George seemed to approve, smiling and nodding to the beat as he pulled out of the hospital. John caught Alex’s eye, and grinned widely. Alex smiled back.

“Welcome home!” Martha cheered as Alex came through the doorway, with Laf on one side and John on the other.

“Thanks,” Alex smiled as she hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead. She lingered for a second, staring just above his eyes, where he knew there was a scar that hadn't quite faded, and Alex could swear he saw a tear in her eye. 

She seemed to shake it off, patting his cheek and smiling warmly. 

“Come in, come in! We’ll eat in the living room. I’ve got George's study all set up for you, okay?” She said. 

Slowly, one step at a time, they walked to the living room. Alex thought back to when running up that giant staircase was taken for granted. Easy, expected. He bit his lip as pain shot up his leg and buckled slightly.

“You okay?” John whispered as he held him up.

“Fine,” Alex grunted. “Let’s just sit down.”

They lowered him onto the couch. Alex resisted the urge to sigh in relief. So much less pressure sitting down.

He looked around the living room as everyone bustled around him- bringing in bags, setting up food- and found it unchanged. Well, mostly. Same books. Same TV. There were a few new pictures, though. Alex’s school portrait hung next to Laf’s. He hadn't been feeling well that day, and stared into the camera with a glossy look, hair hanging around his eyes. He had apparently managed to grin sheepishly, however. Alex smiled slightly as he stared at the wall. He belonged.

The rest of the night (or hour, more accurately) passed pleasantly. Alex started getting cranky pretty soon after dinner ended, and George deemed it bedtime. Laf and John had protested, but Alex was more relieved than anything. It seemed he needed twice the sleep now than he did before. John, who was sleeping over, disappeared upstairs with Laf, followed by George and Martha, after helping Alex to the study where he would be sleeping.

Alex lay flat on his back, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, moving each time a car passed by the townhouse. He couldn't sleep. The pain running down his legs, aching in his neck, kept him in a perpetual state of cranky and tired, but apparently not exhausted enough for sleep. His phone was plugged in on George's desk, three feet away, but it might as well have been a thousand for how well he could get to it. So he just lay there. Trying not to think about how it seemed nothing would ever stop hurting.

“Alex?”  

Wait. That was John’s voice. The door creaked open, throwing half the room into the shadows. John creeped in, and shut the door quietly behind him. Alex slowly turned his neck, wincing, and saw John, crouched beside his bed. His hair was thrown into a wild bun on top of his head, and he was looking at Alex with hooded, tired eyes, smiling.

“I came down to get some water, thought I'd check on you,” He explained. 

“Lies,” Alex said seriously.  “You came down to see me.”

“Guilty.” John said, smiling. His expression became serious. He furrowed his brows.

“You looked like you were in pain at the end of dinner. Do you need anything? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Alex lied through his teeth.

“Alex, come on.”

“Okay,” He relented. “But my legs always hurt. Probably always will. I can't really do anything about it, besides pain killers. And I took some already. Just gotta wait for it to kick in, really.”

“Okay.” John looked unconvinced. He chewed on his lip, staring at Alex. It was silent for a moment; Alex couldn't hear anything but the gentle whir of the heat, and quick rustle of passing cars.

“I’m sorry.” John said finally.

“Sorry?” Alex said. He knew exactly what John was talking about. “For what?”

“Alex, shut up.” John looked irritated. “You know I was arguing with you when that car crashed into us. I wasn't paying attention. If I had been, maybe I could have swerved. Maybe we still would have crashed, but you wouldn't be in the impact zone. You’d be okay. So yeah, I do blame myself. And I need you to accept that.”

Alex stared at him. To be honest, Alex didn't think it was John’s fault. Given the vast amount of utterly shitty things that had happened to him over the past six years, Alex was fairly convinced some all-powerful being had it out for him, and human interaction had little to no impact on it.

“I forgive you.” Alex said. There was nothing to forgive. 

John’s face broke into a genuine grin. He leaned down, put his hand on Alex's jaw, and kissed him softly. Alex couldn't stop himself from smiling as he did.

“Still okay?” He whispered after he broke off. Alex laughed softly.

“Still okay.” He confirmed. John squeezed his hand, then got up to leave.

“Laf’s gonna be wondering where I am. Call me if you need me.” He waved and left, shutting the door behind him. Alex slowly turned his head to face the ceiling, and watched the shadows dance. 

Maybe his leg was shattered into a million pieces, held together by titanium rods and sheer force of will. Maybe his neck was fused into one giant vertebrae. Maybe he got bad headaches, and his chest hurt, and sometimes, he would wake up in a cold sweat, panting, seeing the vestiges of a flashing red and blue light in his eyes.

But he was alive.

And he was going to recover. He was going to go back to school, and he was going to find those Schuyler Sisters and actually befriend them. He was going to join the school paper, and he was going to get into college. He was gonna walk without assistance.

It was gonna suck. It was gonna be hard. But he had his family. He had John.  And he could do it.

Chapter Text

There was a loud crash upstairs followed by raucous laughter, and Martha paused from chopping carrots to stare at the ceiling, trying to imagine exactly what three teenage boys could be doing to create that noise. 

“BOYS! WHATEVER YOU’RE DOING, STOP IT!”

“Sorry, Ma!” Alex’s voice yelled from above. “We’re coming down, now, I promise!”

Feet thundered on the stairs, and Alex, John, and Laf appeared in the kitchen. Laf and John were both wearing their hair in ridiculously large buns and were grinning wildly, giggling like kids.

Martha put down the knife she was holding and stared at them.

“What did you do?” She asked cautiously.

“Nothing.” Alex had a doe-eyed expression of innocence.

“John,” Martha turned towards the freckled boy. “You never lie to me. What did you do?”

John glanced at the other two, who were frantically gesturing for him to shut up. He looked at Martha, a smile spreading over his face, then turned around. Several streaks of his curly hair were colored bright yellow, pulled into his bun.

“You dyed your hair?!” Martha said.

John turned back around and nodded.

“Yeah, but so did he!” John pointed at Laf. 

Martha’s mouth fell open.

“Let me see!” She demanded. Laf turned around to reveal hot pink streaks on the back of his head. Thank God they were still in college.

“I can’t believe this. Alex?” She said suspiciously. “Was this your idea?”

“What?” Alex said in mock-affrontery. “Me? I’ve never done anything bad, ever. I cannot believe you would-”

“It was his idea.” John deadpanned. Alex mock-gasped and punched his arm.

“Ok. Where is it, Alex?” Martha said. 

“Where’s what?” He asked, eyes wide. 

“Turn around.”

Alex groaned but did as he was asked. He had shaved an undercut into the back of his head, colored bright green.

“Oh, Lord.”  Martha said. “Any tattoos I should know about? Piercings? Illegitimate children?”

“Actually-” Laf started.

“Nope!” John interrupted forcefully. “Nothing!”

“Okay. If you say so.” Martha raised her eyebrows. “Now if you three are done fooling around, everyone should be getting here soon. Laf, can you go help Nate hang the banner?”

Alex paused and looked at Martha warily.

“Banner? What banner? I thought we agreed no banner!”

Laf grinned wickedly and reached over to ruffle his hair.

“Ah, petit, if Mère gets it into her head that we’re going to have a giant banner with your face on saying Columbia bound!, nothing is going to stop her.”

Alex turned to Martha with a pleading expression on his face.

“Please, for the love of all that is good and true and holy, don’t put it up?”

“Sorry, honey. That banner's going up, and it’s staying up until you leave this house for Columbia.” Martha said.

Alex groaned.

“Hey, it’s not too bad.” John said consolingly, patting Alex’s head. “Do you remember last year? Marty made fatheads of me in my graduation gown and put them on the ceiling?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re still there.” John said flatly. “She said she’s not gonna take them off until I graduate college.”

“And how does Charlie feel about this?”

“I don’t think he had a say.” John laughed.

Martha spotted George at the door, struggling under several bags of food.

“Ah, can you two go help George bring the food in? I think he’s about to collapse?”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex said cheerfully. Food, he would never complain about. At least, not anymore. He and John walked off, no doubt scheming under their breaths. 

Late that night, Martha slid into the seat next to George and rested her head on his shoulder. He squeezed her hand, eyes on the table across the room.

Alex was bent double, and George was temporarily worried, until he saw that he was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. John sat next to him, hand on Alex’s shoulder, and the other clapped over his mouth, shaking with laughter. Laf sat on the other side, looking very satisfied at the joke he had evidently just told. Around the rest of the table sat the Schuyler sisters, Hercules Mulligan, and a transfer to Alex’s school senior year, Aaron Burr. Soft music played in the background, and plates of abandoned food and cake littered the house.

Against Alex's repeated requests, a giant banner hung on a wall, with a picture of Alex holding his acceptance letter to Columbia University, blushing hard and grinning.

“Hey,” Martha said softly. George looked over at her. She nodded to the table of teens, smiling. “They turned out okay.”

That they had. Laf was studying International Relations at Christopher Jackson University, George’s alma mater. John was at the University of Maryland, heavily involved in the LGBTQ center. He and Alex had been going steady for nearly a year and a half now, with no signs of slowing down.

And Alex.

Alex had recovered well, after months and months of therapy and conditioning, he was able to walk without a cane. George could see the faint outline of the bulky metal brace under Alex’s jeans. He had caught up on all of his coursework that summer, and entered Junior year determined to prove himself. And that, he did. George started getting calls left and right, mostly from teachers, about how extraordinary Alex was. How well-spoken and articulate. (Occasionally, he got calls that Alex had got into a particularly heated argument and was sitting in the Nurse’s office with a black eye.) Before the year was even over, Alex had declared he was going to study Political Science in New York. He was going to reform the foster care system, and he was going to help kids like himself.

George didn't doubt it. Alex had blossomed into an intelligent, head-strong, opinionated, and utterly kind kid.

George smiled at his wife.

“Yeah,” He said. “They did.”

It had been nearly three years since Alex had come into their life. Multiple hospital visits, therapy sessions, and impromptu visits to the principal’s office later, the homeless, sick, teenaged immigrant who had passed out on their doorstep was alive and well, and going to university in the fall. George and Martha had gained a son, Laf a brother, and Alex a family.

All was well.

Chapter Text

Hey kids! 

Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, Festivus, or just a good week off. Just a little update- I'm going to be adding onto this verse with little one-shots filling in spots that I glossed over in the original series, following the kids as they head off to college, etc. Etc. I'm totally open for suggestions as well!  It'll be put into a new series. 

The first one, about Alex's second Christmas with the Washingtons, should be up in about fifteen minutes, so check!!