Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alexander Hamilton had shitty luck. This was an indisputable fact. Like gravity, or one plus one equals two. The Earth revolves around the sun, water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen, and the universe hates Alexander Hamilton. 

In fact, one could hypothetically compose an entire smash hit rap musical summarizing every horrible occurence and unfortunate happenstance in his life and would probably end up winning eleven Tony awards and grossing half a billion dollars. You know, if there were a person crazy enough to even attempt such a thing. 

It all started with his birth. Well, actually, it all started with the circumstances of his conception. You see, his parents weren’t married, and in an old-school country like Nevis, that was a big no-no. What was worse was that Alex’s mother was actually married to another man. Admittedly, that man was a colossal asshole, but the point remained that Rachel Faucette had committed a fatal faux pas when she chose to disregard her marital status and hook up with alluring Scotsman James Hamilton.

One could hardly blame her, though, if one considered all the facts. After five years in a hated marriage and with her only son shaping up to be a carbon copy of his father, it’s no surprise that when a mysterious foreign nobleman showed an interest in her, Rachel was helpless to resist. It was a whirlwind romance and within two weeks a pregnant Rachel had packed her bags and left her old life in the dust. She and James settled in a little seaside cottage she had inherited from her father. It was heaven. Rachel and James couldn’t get enough of each other. James’s family wealth kept them reasonably comfortable and on January 11, 2002, they were blessed with the birth of their son. And that, in Alex’s opinion, was when everything started to go horribly wrong.

Rachel’s first husband, Johann Michael Lavien (god, what a pretentious name) divorced her. Now, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except that they lived in Nevis. According to Nevis law, a woman who is divorced on the basis of adultery and familial desertion cannot get remarried. This didn’t particularly bother Rachel, as she was perfectly happy living in unwed bliss with James.

However, it turns out that James Hamilton was not suited for fatherhood. Sure, he gave it a good shot. He even made it an admirable eight years before throwing in the towel. James claimed that he was leaving for their sake, so that Rachel wouldn’t have to live in shame of bigamy and that Alex wouldn’t have to face life as a bastard. 

Alex personally thought that was bullshit.

Without James Hamilton’s financial support, Rachel and Alex quickly fell into squalor. Rachel tried. She worked tirelessly as a cashier in the little convenience store across town and cleaned the houses of their rich neighbors, (and, though Alex didn’t know it at the time, occasionally sold her own body when things were really rough) all while trying to ensure that Alex had the best education she could provide. She spoke a mixture of French and English around their home, and read to Alex every night from her small collection of books. She danced in the kitchen with him as she cooked meger dinners of rice and beans. She sang to him as she resewed his threadbear clothes for the nth time.  She combed her fingers through his hair as he fell asleep in her lap. They continued like this, struggling but reasonably happy, for two years. 

Two years of peaceful and impoverished living in a forgotten spot in the Caribbean suddenly came to a screeching halt when Alex fell gravely ill and Rachel followed not long after. Bedridden, half dead, and sitting in their own sick with no money for medicine or anyone to help them, it was really only a matter of time. Miraculously though, Alex got better, but his mother went quick.

Now an orphan, Alex was sent to live with a distant cousin, Peter Lytton. It should have been a good thing, but Alex’s bad luck persisted. Peter was not a bad man, per say, but he was very wrapped up in his own head. He spent days at a time locked away in his study, sometimes screaming and raging at nothing. Whenever he did leave his study, he seemed to have a hard time even registering Alex’s presence. Occasionally, he would pat the boy on the head, muttering vaguely, and tuck a sticky, aged piece of hard candy into his hand. All-in-all, Peter was a very poor guardian and Alex was left to fend for himself.

Because he had no access to Peter’s bank account and the man himself was rarely put together enough to notice a need for things like groceries, Alex got a job. He wasn’t actually legally old enough to work, he was only eleven, but Nicholas Cruger needed someone to help balance his books and Alex had an affinity with numbers. 

Mr. Cruger is not what one would call ‘a good boss’. He had a quick temper and would sooner smack Alex round the head for a mistake than praise him for some spared expense. Alex was also grossly underpaid and he knew it, but he found that he enjoyed the work, even if he didn’t like Mr. Cruger. 

It wasn’t ideal, but Alex was determined to make his new situation work. And six months in, Alex finally thought that he might be able to be happy here. Until he came home to Peter’s body hanging from the doorframe.

The funeral that followed was short and insincere. Peter had left all of his property to his mistress and their son, who didn’t hesitate to throw Alex out on his ass. 

It was one of Peter Lytton’s business associates, Thomas Stevens, who took pity on young Alex and took him in. 

Thomas Stevens was married to Marie Stevens and they had three children, Edward, Arabella, and Henri. Edward was Alex’s age and the two became quick friends. Little eight year old Arabella Stevens was infatuated with Alex from the moment he entered their house. She was always asking Alex to read with her, or play with her, or sit next to her at dinner. Edward said that she had a crush, which made both Alex and Bella blush bright red. 

Maryse Stevens was Dutch by birth and had taught all of her children the language. She reminded Alex painfully of his mother as she patiently helped him perfect his Dutch. 

Henri was the youngest Stevens. He turned four just two months before the hurricane struck Nevis.

Oh god, the hurricane. It struck with little warning, raining devastation on all it encountered. The wind roared and the sea raged. The air was filled with crashes of collapsing houses, the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed. The Stevenses and Alex huddled beneath the kitchen table, but it did no good. When the rain finally slowed and the wind faded, Alex emerged to find the house gone.

 He dug the Stevenses out of the rubble with his bare hands. In the end, Alex was left with four bodies.

 He never found Edward.

Now homeless and utterly alone, Alex did the only thing he could think of. He wrote. He poured his soul, his anger, his grief onto pages of water stained loose-leaf paper. He wrote until his hand ached and his eyes blurred with tears. He wrote until his pen ran out of ink, until his pencil broke in his fingers. He wrote a testament to his pain, his first refrain, in shaky, bloody letters. And still, he had more to say. He was practically bursting with words. With the need to be heard. At fifteen years old, words were all Alexander had left.

The Red Cross arrived in Nevis a few days after the hurricane. They brought medicine and food and clean clothes. They also brought reporters. Everyone wanted to talk to the survivors. Everyone wanted to hear first-hand what had happened. And Alex obliged. Everything he had written down came pouring out of his mouth. His poetic descriptions of the absolute devastation immediately captivated his audience and his writing was soon published all over America. Then the money came pouring in. Enough money to help rebuild Nevis. Total strangers were moved to kindness by Alex’s story and before long, Alex had his first stroke of good luck: he was offered an American citizenship.

It should have been a good thing. Looking back now, Alex wasn’t so sure. America was nothing like he’d thought it would be. It quickly became apparent that his status as a percieved immigrant made him a second class citizen. Add that to the fact that he was a bastard and an orphan at the mercy of the American Foster Care System, Alex really never stood a chance.

“The Washingtons are great people, just the best! They’ve been working with Social Services for over a decade now. They’ve helped us with a lot of difficult placements before, so I’m sure they’ll be able to handle you no problem!”

Difficult. It was a word that Alex had been called a lot since coming to America. He was a difficult child. Apparently, going through three foster families and a group home in less than a year made one difficult . 

Nevermind the fact that all of the families that CPS had placed him with had been batshit crazy. It was hardly Alex’s fault that he had to resort to some rather unorthodox methods to survive the Swansons. Or that the Macalesters had thought he was a literal demon. Or that the Heigels- Alex cut the thought off with a shudder. Better to never think of the Heigels. 

And it was certainly not his fault that the rat-faced boy at the group home had ended up with a broken nose and dislocated jaw when he’d refused to keep his hands to himself. Well, maybe that last one was his fault a little, but the asshole deserved it.  Except CPS hadn’t seemed to agree because they’d yanked Alex out of that placement so fast he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the few people he’d actually liked there.

All-in-all, Alex would sum up his stay with Child Protective Services so far with one word: shitstorm. And he didn’t foresee it getting any better. His social worker, Kitty Livingston, could sing their praises all day long, but Alex wasn’t holding out much hope for this next family.

“They have one adopted son already, Gerald, or something like that. He’s your age. He’s been with them since he was, like, ten. And guess what? He’s an immigrant too! Isn’t that exciting, Alexander?”

Absolutely thrilling , Alex thought to himself. He pressed a thumb to his split lip as though to remind himself to keep his mouth shut. Not that it mattered. Kitty prattled on without waiting for a response. 

“Martha is a nurse and George has a law degree, I think. They have two dogs, but your file said you weren’t allergic so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Truthfully, Alex had never really been around dogs before. At least, not domestic dogs. A few scrappy looking strays had wandered around on Nevis, but they tended to avoid people unless they were offered food. Alex wondered absently if those dogs had survived the hurricane.

“Here we are!” Kitty exclaimed cheerfully as she turned into the driveway. Alex looked out the window. It was without a doubt one of the biggest houses Alex had ever seen. It was at least three stories tall and shining white with a sun porch that wrapped all the way around. A black fence encircled the pristine yard. It looked like something straight out of a magazine.

“Holy shit,” Alex murmured as he craned his neck to see the entirety of the house. 

“Alexander, language! Imagine what the Washingtons would think if they heard you talk like that!” Kitty scolded as they pulled up to the gate. 

Truthfully, Alex didn’t give two shits what the Washingtons thought of his language, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he watched silently as Kitty rolled down her window and reached out to enter a security code on the keypad that stood before the gate. The keypad beeped shrilly and the gate swung open. Kitty moved the car forward as she continued her lecture.

“I expect you to be on your best behavior, Alexander. I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is for you to fit in here. I had to call in a lot of favors to get you this spot and if you mess this up, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do with you. You’re running out of options, sweetie.”

Alex didn’t respond, istead staring at the looming house as they came to a stop at the head of the driveway. Kitty put the car in park and unbuckled her seatbelt. She smoothed her clothes primly and checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Alex rolled his eyes and got out of the car. He retrieved his backpack which contained all of his clothes and school supplies from the backseat and swung it over his shoulder. He then picked up the cardboard box sitting in the floorboard. He handled the box with great care. It contained his most precious possessions and he had gotten into more than one fight in his efforts to protect it.

Alex clutched the box close to his chest as Kitty led the way to the front door. He tried to focus on the weight of the load he was carrying rather than the growing feeling of dread, heavy and cold in his stomach, like he had swallowed a ball of lead. 

As soon as Kitty rang the doorbell, the dogs that she had mentioned earlier made themselves known. Through the narrow glass window on the front door, Alex could see the forms of two large dogs bounding around excitedly as they barked at the top of their lungs. After several minutes of waiting, Kitty rang the doorbell again.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming, just a minute.”

Alex saw a humanoid form move on the other side of the glass. 

“Venus! Tippler! Get back! Sit down now!” A voice commanded and to Alex’s great surprise, the dogs obeyed. Once the animals were settled, the door opened.

A woman stood in the entry-way. She was average height, with soft brown skin and her caramel-colored hair was pulled back in a French braid. She wore a flannel button-up and a pair of comfortable jeans. Despite her casual appearance, she seemed to possess the casual elegance that Kitty strived for but always fell short of. She smiled when she saw them.

“Hello!” She said cheerfully. “You must be from CPS. I’m Martha Washington. It’s so nice to meet you!” She stuck out her hand for a shake.

Kitty pasted on a friendly smile and took Mrs. Washington’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Martha. I’m Kitty Livingston and this is Alexander Hamilton.”

Mrs. Washington turned to Alex and reached out her hand. Alex hesitated momentarily before taking her hand,hoping she didn't notice the livid bruising on his knuckles. If she did, she didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled. "It's good to meet you, Alexander."

Alex doubted that, but politely mumbled "You too" back.

Mrs. Washington made a sweeping gesture. "Please come in."

Kitty didn't hesitate to accept the invitation and strode confidently through the door. Alex followed more hesitantly.

To the left of the doorway sat two dogs, both wagging their tails furiously. The larger of the two was almost comically shaggy, the hair on its head parted down the middle to keep it out of its eyes. The smaller had short, white fur with large brown and black spots. It seemed to grin at Alex, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

As they passed, Alex subtly held out a hand for both dogs to sniff, which they did with great excitement and many loud snuffles.

The interior of the house was just as stunning as the outside. The entry hall was long and gave way to a grand staircase leading up to the upper floors. Mrs. Washington paused at the bottom of the stairs and called, “George! The social worker is here with Alexander! Come meet us in the foyer!”

A muffled reply could be heard, but Alex was at a loss to decipher it. Mrs. Washington, however, took it as an affirmation and continued into the next room. Alex could hear the ‘click’ of the dogs’ nails on the hard floor as they followed. 

The foyer was open and spacious with massive windows that overlooked the front lawn. The floor seemed to be genuine hard-wood with a large, ornate rug covering the majority of the floor-space. Several fine leather sofas were set around the room, angled to face each other. Mrs. Washington motioned to one of them, telling Alex and Kitty to “make themselves at home.” Alex strategically placed himself so that he was sitting both as far away from Mrs. Washington as possible and with a direct route to the exit. He placed his backpack on the ground next to his feet, but kept the box in his lap. Call him illogical, but he felt better with the barrier between him and the rest of the room.

“My husband should be down in just a moment,” Mrs. Washington said. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Alex shook his head. Kitty asked for a cup of coffee, if they had it.

While Mrs. Washington went to the kitchen, the dogs approached and began sniffing both guests with interest. Alex reached out and carefully patted the shaggy dog on the head. It licked his fingers in response. Alex felt a smile tug at his lips, but he forced it away.

Mrs. Washington returned with an honest-to-god serving tray ladened with three mugs and a bottle of water. She handed one mug to Kitty, who thanked her profusely.

She handed the bottle to Alex.

“In case you change your mind,” she said with a wink. She put the tray on the table and picked up her own mug and sipped it before taking a seat on the adjacent sofa. 

Alex, oddly touched by Mrs. Washington’s thoughtful gesture, bent to tuck his bottle into his backpack. At the same time, footsteps sounded from the entry hall. The dogs yipped happily and ran towards the sound. Mrs. Washington smiled.

“That’ll be George.”

A figure entered the room and Alex felt his heart stutter. George Washington was huge . At least six feet tall and fit, with arms that bulged with muscle, Mr. Washington struck an intimidating figure. He didn’t even stumble as both dogs jumped at his legs, trying to catch his attention.

Alex pulled his box closer to his chest and pressed down hard on one of the fresh bruises on his arm. It ached and the pain forced Alex to take a deep breath, which in turn hurt his bruised ribs. But the pain made him focus. Everything was fine. Kitty was still here. No one was going to hurt him.

 Yet.

Kitty left, of course. 

Alex knew she would, but even still, he couldn't help but feel abandoned. Not that he really trusted Kitty, or even really liked her. She was a bit dim frankly, and she had spent most of the meeting with the Washingtons talking about all of Alex’s issues . How he talked back and got in fights and had attacked his previous guardian. Which wasn't even true! Well, the “talking back” part was, and technically so was the violence, but it wasn't the full story. 

Still, the point was, Kitty had left him and despite his less than fond feelings for her, Alex knew that she, at least, would never purposefully hurt him. The same could not be said about the Washingtons. 

Mr. Washington was a giant, even bigger than Mr. Heigle had been, and dammit if that wasn't terrifying. Mr. Washington could easily break bones if he got mad enough, Alex had no doubt about that. But Washington seemed pretty calm at the moment. Maybe it was because his wife was in the room.

Mrs. Washington was looking at Alex with a smile so bright that it made Alex uncomfortable. She didn't know him. Why did she look so happy to see him?

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Alexander. Do you go by Alexander, or do you prefer Alex?”

“Alex is fine,” the boy mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. He stared at the floor instead, taking note of how much more ragged his worn out sneakers looked when compared to the fine carpet. He scrunched his toes self-consciously. 

“Alex then. I'm Martha and my husband's name is George. You are welcome to call us that.”

Alex nodded. No way in hell was he calling his new foster parents by their first names.

“Your file said you’re fifteen?” Mrs. Washington phrased it like a question. Alex didn’t understand why. If it was in his file, it was obviously right. But, then again, if he was being fair, there was a substantial amount of misinformation (and a few outright lies) in his file, Alex thought derisively. Still, he nodded in confirmation.

“Our son, Gilbert, is about your age. He should be home any minute…”

Alex heard the front door open and an accented voice rang out. “ Mere, Pere ! Is he here yet?”

“Speak of the devil.” Mr. Washington said, sounding amused.

A boy blew into the room like a whirlwind. He was tall and thin, but not scrawny like Alex. He had brown skin and tight black curls that were pulled back into a bun. He wore a sleek floral top and a pair of flattering skinny jeans and boots with a heel tall enough to make Alex nervous for his ankles. The boy was practically bouncing with excitement. 

“Is he here yet? Is he here yet?” The boy asked again, before catching sight of Alex. He squealed in delight. “He is here! Why did you not tell me?” He shot an accusing glare at his parents. 

Mr. Washington snorted. “Must have slipped our minds.”

Gilbert ignored his father and bounded right up to Alex and stuck his hand out.

“ Bonjour, mon ami! Je suis tellement excitée de vous rencontrer ! ” 

Alex stood and shifted his box to hold it under one arm. He cautiously shook the offered hand. “ Bonjour. Je m’appelle Alexander Hamilton. Echanté, aussi. ” 

Gilbert’s eyes widened in surprise before a grin split his face. “ Tu parles français ?”

Alex nodded. “ Oui. Et anglaise et néerlandais .” 

“Ha ha!” Gilbert cheered and actually did a full on pirouette in delight.

“You speak French, Alex?” 

Alex hunched over slightly as Mr. Washington addressed him. He nodded shyly.

“And Dutch!” Gilbert told his father.

“How wonderful!” Martha said. “George and I aren't fluent so it will be nice for Gilbert to have someone to talk to in his native language.”

Gilbert looked at Alex slyly. 

“They only understand French if you use small words and speak… very… slowly.” Lafayette jabbed playfully, drawing the words out several syllables. “Also,” he said with a groan, “please do not call me “Gilbert”. Only George and Martha call me that. My friends call me Lafayette.”

They were friends? They had literally only met seconds ago. But Lafayette was looking at him with such earnesty that Alex had no choice but to nod despite his confusion. 

“Have you seen your room yet?” Lafayette asked him.

“We haven't had a chance to show it to him yet.” Mrs. Washington cut in quickly, watching her exuberant son with obvious affection. “I assume you would like to do the honors?”

Lafayette nodded eagerly and grabbed Alex’s wrist. Alex recoiled sharply. Lafayette’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and… concern? But Alex barely had time to panic before the other boy had moved on.

“Come, mon ami ! I will show you to your room! It is right next door to mine!”

Alex glanced at the Washingtons. Mrs. Washington gave him an encouraging smile and Alex took it as permission to follow his new foster brother. He picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder before following Lafayette up the stairs. Lafayette pointed out different rooms as they passed.

“This is the study… and this is Martha’s sewing room… and here is George’s office…”

Finally they came to a stop in front of two doors.

“This is my room,” Lafayette said and he opened the door to give Alex a brief peek inside. His only impression was “colorful”. Lafayette closed the door again.

“And this,” He grabbed the handle of the other door, “is your room.” He threw the door open.

The room was spacious, painted a light blue with off-white baseboards. There was a tall window opposite the door that let the natural light in. A wooden desk sat against one wall and an empty bookshelf lined the other. The bed was big enough to fit three Alexs and it looked sinfully comfortable. Through another doorway, Alex could see an en suite bathroom. 

“The closet is a bit small, at least, for me. But, then again, I have a lot of clothes,” Lafayette continued, hardly pausing in his chatter as he pressed onward into the bedroom. Alex followed hesitantly. He looked down at his sullied appearance, wondering fleetingly if he would dirty the entire room just by stepping through the door.

“There is a full bathroom through there,” Lafayette pointed, “so you won't have to share with anyone. I'll have to give you the WiFi password. Do you have a phone, Alexander?”

“No,” Alex replied absently as he moved slowly through his room.

“Hm. We'll have to fix that.”

Alex barely heard Lafayette, looking out the window instead. It was a beautiful view, showing a spacious backyard and a colorful flower bed.

Lafayette continued to talk, unperturbed by Alex’s monosyllabic response. “The dogs know not to come into any of the bedrooms without permission, so you won't have to worry about them. And there's a lock on the door if you ever want some privacy. Be warned though, I can pick locks. Well, kind of.”

Alex moved away from the window to the bed and pressed down on the mattress. Memory foam.

“And this is all mine?” He asked quietly. Part of him expected Lafayette to say that he was only joking and take everything away. To tell him that he didn’t deserve all of these nice things. That he was stupid. Dirty. Worthless.

But Lafayette did and said none of those things. He only blinked in surprise. “Of course, my friend.”

Alex closed his eyes firmly for a moment and forced himself to get a grip. When he opened his eyes, he looked directly in Lafayette’s dark eyes. 

“Thank you.”

Lafayette smiled brightly. “It is nothing, mon cher .”

“No,” Alex said earnestly. “ Thank you.”

Lafayette’s expression softened and his smile turned gentle. “You are welcome, mon ami . You deserve it.”

Alex’s face scrunched. “You don't even know me.”

“Not yet,” Lafayette conceded, “but I can tell.” He winked and then disappeared out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

Alex set his bag on the floor and flopped back on the bed. It was even more comfortable than he had imagined. His thoughts were always whirling at a hundred miles an hour but as he lay on the bed, drowning in the comforts of this new home but still aching with the reminders of previous hells, the day's events began to catch up with him quickly. A fog began to fall over his mind. His thoughts began to slow. His eyes slipped shut against his will.

Chapter Text

Alex woke to a loud pounding on the door. He shot upright, shoulders hunched, with both hands held out to ward off an impending blow.

 A blow that never came. 

Alex blinked several times. He was in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed, with an unknown person banging on the door for an unknown reason. Alex immediately took stock of himself.

His ribs were sore and his split lip stung, as did his roughed up knuckles. But all four limbs were still attached and he didn’t feel any evidence of a concussion. Only a slight drowsiness. He accordingly shook his head to clear out the cobwebs of sleep. At once, everything came rushing back to him.

The drive with Kitty. 

The Washingtons. 

Lafayette. 

Alex looked around.

 The room was darker than it had been before he’d fallen asleep and the sky outside the window was now streaked with pink and purple. The person on the other side of the door knocked again. 

“ Alexandre ! Alex, are you in there? It is time for food! Alexander?”

Alex fell back on the bed, wishing he could just stay there and not move for a few days. He was so tired.

But the promise of food spurred him into motion and he dragged himself to his feet and trudged to the door. He had half a second to panic as he realized that he’d left the door unlocked while he was asleep (who knows what could have happened) before he opened the door. Lafayette was mid-knock and he stumbled but quickly regained his balance.

“Ah, there you are, mon ami ! Come, it's time for le diner . Mère made pot roast!” He sounded unreasonably pleased. Alex’s stomach growled and he hated that he was grateful that they had decided to feed him. He meekly followed Lafayette down the stairs. They passed through the living room where they had met earlier and into a spacious kitchen. 

It was by far the nicest kitchen Alex had ever been in. All of the appliances were new and shiny. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling the way Alex had only seen on the front of magazines. There was a breakfast bar with tall leather chairs and a rather cliche bowl of fruit. 

The dogs were in the corner devouring their own dinner. There was a round table to the left that Mr Washington was setting. He turned when the boys entered. 

“Ah, Gilbert, Alex, just in time. Martha’s just about to take the rolls out of the oven. Could you wash your hands and bring the salad and lemonade in?”

“ Bien sûr , Papa !” Lafayette agreed happily and he skipped over to the kitchen, nearly bumping into Mrs. Washington as she carried a basket of steaming yeast rolls to the table. 

“Marie Joseph, don't you run in my kitchen,” Mrs. Washington warned firmly but not unkindly. Even still, Alex gave her a wide berth on his way to the sink. 

“Sorry, Maman !” Lafayette called back.

“Sure you are,” Mrs. Washington responded, but she sounded playful.

Lafayette turned the sink on with only a tap of the faucet and quickly lathered his hands with soap. Alex followed suit. Once they were done, Lafayette grabbed the pitcher of lemonade and handed Alex the salad bowl.

Alex followed Lafayette to the table and set down the salad bowl.

“Okay, everyone sit while I go get the pot roast.” Mrs. Washington ordered. Lafayette obeyed immediately, pulling Alex down into the chair next to him. Alex didn’t resist but his arm burned with the imprint of the touch even after Lafayette released him. Mr. Washington didn’t take a seat, instead moving to intercept his wife. 

“I can get it, darling.”

Mrs. Washington looked back over her shoulder, smiling gently as she strode across the kitchen to the oven.

“No need, my love, I've got it,” She assured him.

Only then did Mr. Washington acquiesce and take a seat at the table. He sat on Lafayette’s other side and Alex couldn’t help but be grateful to have a physical barrier between him and his new foster father.

It was odd. Alex had never been placed with a couple that was so obviously in love as the Washingtons. The Steven’s had been an “old married couple” but the Washington’s acted as though they were still newlyweds. Mr. Washington’s eyes followed his wife with fondness everywhere she went and Mrs. Washington smiled adoringly every time she caught him looking. The Swanson’s had rarely been in the house at the same time and when they were they were either fighting, sleeping, or loudly getting it on. The McAllisters had had an old fashioned marriage where Mrs. McAllister acted subservient to her husband and bended to his will. She had catered to his every whim and hadn’t even questioned him when he hit Alex or even her. The Heigil’s marriage had been a clusterfuck.

  But Mrs. Washington had contradicted her husband to his face, had given him an order, and had received nothing but an affectionate sigh in return. 

“Here we are!” 

Mrs. Washington swept over, looking oddly graceful with her hands full of pot roast. She sat the meat in the center of the table and quickly took her seat next between her husband and Alex. Mr. and Mrs. Washington held hands and Mr. Washington took one of  Lafayette’s hands. Mrs. Washington looked at Alex.

“I hope you don’t mind if we pray before we eat, Alex, dear.”

Alexander shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t prayed since he had been with the McAllisters. Mr. McAllister would cuff Alex across the head and take away his food if Alex dared to eat before the prayer was said. Alex’s mother hadn’t been very religious, but she had insisted on praying before every meal. She said that by thanking God for their food, they would be nourished and strengthened. That had turned out well. Needless to say, the whole “prayer” thing had been pretty much ruined for him.

“You do not have to if you do not wish to, mon ami .” Lafayette said softly. “We really only pray before meals. And we only attend church on holidays.”

Alex looked nervously at Mr. Washington to check that it was really alright for him to sit this out. Mr. Washington noticed Alex’s look and smiled.

“We would never ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Well, that was definity bullshit. But Alex decided to at least accept it as permission to not participate. He clasped his hands in his lap. Mrs. Washington reached across him and took Lafayette’s other hand. Alex had to force himself not to lean away from her close proximity.

“Dear God, we thank you for this day and for this meal that has been prepared. We thank you for all that we have been able to do and accomplish today, God, and we thank you for our good health. God, we thank you for each other and for bringing Alexander into our lives-”

The rest of the prayer was lost to Alex. Surely Mr. Washington didn’t mean that. Why would they be thankful for him? As far as they knew, he was just a bastard, orphan, immigrant with violent tendencies and an attitude problem. He meant nothing to them. And yet, Mr. Washington had thanked God for forcing this burden on their perfect little family. Wasn’t lying to God a sin?

But no lightning came to strike Mr. Washington down and as soon as the final “amen” had been said, Lafayette was diving for the pot roast, quickly loading his plate. Alex hesitantly took a roll and a spoonful of steamed vegetables. Lafayette, even in the midst of his feeding frenzy, paused to look disapprovingly at Alex’s plate. Maybe he had gotten too much? You’re so stupid. Alex told himself. You know better than to be greedy. But Lafayette said nothing, only added a large portion of roast to Alex’s meager meal. 

Bewildered by the gesture, Alex tentatively speared a bit of meat with his fork and put it in his mouth. He almost moaned with delight. The meat was tender, seeming to melt like butter on his tongue and juicy with flavor. Alex quickly shoveled another bite into his mouth. Ignoring the conversation around him, Alex quickly devoured his meal. It was the most he’d eaten in ages. His previous placement had been a group home and mealtimes had been first-come-first-served. He’d gotten in more than one fight over food there. He decided that he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity to fill up.

Lafayette was talking animatedly to his parents, rambling about his day at school and how it was a “good thing it was Friday because one more day of seeing Lee’s face and I was going to seriously lose it.”

At one point, the spotted dog approached him and plopped its head in Alex’s lap, looking pleadingly up at him with wide, dark eyes. It was obvious the animal wanted food, but Alex was hesitant to give it any. He probably wasn’t supposed to feed the dogs table scraps and God only knew what would happen if he were caught. But the dog looked so sad and Alex knew better than most what it was like to go hungry. Surely he could manage to sneak just a little bit of roast…

“Tippler, leave Alex alone, you beggar dog. You’ve already had your dinner.” The dog slinked off at Mrs. Washington’s exasperated reprimand and Alex’s attention was brought back to the others at the table. He noticed that while his plate was now empty, everyone else had only cleared half their plates. He looked down at his lap. God, they must think you’re so rude, stuffing your face like that. Disgusting.

“Would you like seconds, Alex?” Mr. Washington interrupted his self deprecating thoughts. Alex froze. He had no idea how to answer the question. Yes, he was still hungry, but the last thing he wanted to be in front of this new family was greedy. Thankfully, Lafayette took the decision into his own hands and ladened Alex’s plate again. Alex smiled gratefully at the other boy and began to eat again. This time he paid attention to the conversation around him.

“I was thinking that we would go to the mall tomorrow. John needs some new shoes and Hercules wants some new fabric for his current project.” Lafayette was saying.

Alex had no idea what he was talking about.

“Maybe Alexander can go with us and we can pick up some things for him?”

Things? What things? And why did Lafayette want Alex to go to shop with him and his friends? Alex didn’t get along with a lot of people and he was sure to ruin their day. He was difficult after all. But Mrs. Washington seemed to disagree.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Gilbert. I’ll leave you my card and a list of things you need to get before I leave in the morning. Will you be driving?”

“ Oui . John will be coming here and then we’ll go to pick up Herc. We’ll probably eat out for lunch if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect.” Mrs. Washington reassured him.

“ Merveilleux ! We shall leave after breakfast then.”

“Are you okay with that, Alex?”

It was Mr. Washington who asked the question. Lafayette turned quickly to Alex, looking slightly panicked.

“You do not have to come if you do not want to, mon ami . My friends would like to meet you but they can wait if you are not comfortable.” Lafayette said in concern. 

Alex though for a second. Mrs. Washington had already said that she was leaving in the morning and with Lafayette gone with his friends, Alex would be left alone with Mr. Washington. That was not acceptable. He wasn’t stupid. And despite evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t a masochist. 

Besides, all there was to do at the house was write in his notebook or reread his mother’s books for the hundredth time. He didn’t dare assume that he could touch anything in the house without explicit permission and there was no way in hell he was going to ask.

“I’ll go with Lafayette, if that’s okay.” Alex replied, glancing nervously at the adults. Both of them smiled at him. 

“That’s perfectly fine, son.” Mr. Washington assured him. Alex grimaced at being called “son” but didn’t say anything. Backtalk was a sure fire way to get hit. Thankfully, Mr. Washington didn’t notice his distaste, or, if he did, he didn’t mention it.

The Washington’s spent a few more minutes talking about this and that before they began to wander away from the table. Mr. Washington was the first to leave, wiping his mouth on a napkin before announcing that he had work to do and would be in his office. His wife followed him out, intending to take the dogs outside. Lafayette stayed a few minutes longer, asking Alex arbitrary questions about his likes and dislikes before he said that he needed to text his friends and went upstairs.

Now alone, Alex looked at the table covered with dirty dishes and left over food. Biting back a sigh, he began collecting the discarded plates. He cleared the empty dishes first, stacking them neatly beside the sink before rinsing them one by one and loading them into the dishwasher. At the group home, it had always been Alex’s job to do the dishes. The dishwasher there barely worked on a good day and not at all on a bad day, so more often than not Alex had to hand wash dishes for seven other boys plus the adults. That was fine. He’d been responsible for a whole multitude of chores at most of his other foster homes. 

Once the empty dishes were loaded, he moved on to the leftovers. As quietly as he could, Alex began looking through the cabinets, trying to find tupperware. He located it in the cabinet to the left of the dishwasher. Pulling out what he needed, he began to scoop the leftover steamed vegetables into a plastic container. Then he found a tub for the last dregs of salad. He found a ziploc bag for the last of the rolls, which he stored in the breadbox. He was carrying the pot roast over to the counter when he was interrupted. 

“Oh, Alex, you didn’t have to do that!”

Alex startled so badly that he dropped what he was holding. The pot roast tumbled to the floor and the porcelain dish shattered against the tile. All Alex could do was stare in horror. Mrs. Washington said something, but it sounded muffled over the pounding of Alex’s heart in his ears.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, even though his lungs seized like they were trying to draw breath underwater. He dropped to his knees and began to hastily gather the shards of porcelain. Thankfully, it had only broken into a couple of large pieces, so they were easy to gather. They were still sharp, however, and Alex winced as he sliced one of his fingers on an edge. The dogs, who had followed Mrs. Washington in, eagerly converged on the feast.

“Venus, Tippler, no!” Mrs. Washington commanded, but the pups ignored her, happily lapping up every shred of roast that they could get. Alex flinched as a wet nose bumped against his bleeding hand. The same dog that had begged Alex for food earlier, Tippler, whimpered at the smell of his blood.

“What is it, boy?” Mrs. Washington asked, carefully stepping towards the dog. Alex couldn’t help but shrink back as she neared. He tried to hide his bleeding hand behind his uninjured one, but he couldn’t hide the steady drip of blood to the floor.

“Oh my god!” Mrs. Washington exclaimed. She quickly grabbed a clean hand towel from one of the drawers and crouched down next to Alex. She must have mistaken his flinch for one of pain, because she muttered “sorry” as she wrapped his hand tightly in the rag. She then took the shards of broken porcelain from Alex’s other hand and tossed them in the garbage can.

“Come on, now, love, let’s get you up.”

Alex muttered “sorry” once again and allowed Mrs. Washington to help him get to his feet. He remained tense and silent. He was surely about to be beaten for making a mess. She led him through the kitchen and into a room he had never seen before. It seemed to be a less formal living room than the one Alex had been in earlier.  The first thing Alex noticed first was the large flatscreen on the wall, under which there was a shelf packed full of DVDs. A large sectional took up most of the room and the shag rug covered the floor. There was a rectangular coffee table in front of the sectional. Mrs. Washington gently maneuvered Alex onto the sectional and then perched herself on the edge of the coffee table.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered again but Mrs. Washington shushed him gently.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she said.

Just then, Lafayette came into the room, typing on his cell phone. He had a question poised on his lips, but when he looked up, his eyes widened in alarm and he shoved the phone into his pocket.

“ Sacré bleu! What happened ?” He rushed forward and threw himself down next to Alex, grabbing his wrist in concern.

“It’s nothing,” Alex attempted to reassure him, but Mrs. Washington spoke over him.

“Just an accident with a bit of glass, nothing to worry about. Will you keep pressure on this, Gilbert, while I go get the first aid kit?”

Lafayette’s hands immediately replaced his mother’s and she left the room in a hurry.

“How did this happen, mon ami ?”

Alex shrugged. “I was cleaning up dinner and I dropped a dish.” He spoke softly, afraid that Lafayette would be angry.

“Oh, mon ami , you did not have to clean up after us. We would have taken care of it ourselves later tonight.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly against Alex’s wrist. The tightness in his chest eased a bit.

Alex shrugged again. “I did the dishes at my last house too. It’s no big deal.”

“You cut your fingers open, mon cher ,” Lafayette said, worry evident in his tone, “that is a big deal.”

Alex didn’t see why. He’d had worse and he said as much.

Lafayette opened his mouth to respond but Mrs. Washington returned before any sound could come out.

“Here we go,” she said, setting a large red case marked with a white “+” on the coffee table. She opened it quickly and removed an individually packaged alcohol wipe. She tore the package open and unfolded the wipe. “Let’s see that hand, then.”

Lafayette obligingly released his grip on Alex’s injury and peeled back the now ruined towel. The cut ran right along the inside of his knuckles. It wasn’t deep and bleeding had already stopped but it looked rather messy. Mrs. Washington gently wiped the wound clean. Alex twitched as the alcohol stung and didn’t respond when Mrs. Washington apologized again. After the wound was clean, she smeared some antibiotic cream on it (something Alex recognized from his own numerous experiences doing first aid) and wrapped it neatly in a bandage.

“There!” She said happily, “nice to see I haven’t lost my touch!”

She began to pack up the kit again.

“ Maman was an ER nurse for many years before she married Papa .” Lafayette explained.

“I still do some volunteer work with the Red Cross from time to time. Mostly blood drives and the like.” Mrs. Washington added.

Mrs. Washington snapped the first aid kit shut. “Why don’t you boys head upstairs to rest? I’ll put this away and go then go find George.” Panic flooded Alex’s veins.

“Please don’t tell him I broke the dish.” 

The words were out before Alex could even consider them. Lafayette and Mrs. Washington looked at him in confusion.

“Why?” Lafayette inquired.

Alex hesitated briefly before murmuring, “He’ll be mad.”

 Mrs. Washington let out a soft laugh before replying, “I assure you, he won’t be. But I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.”

Alex nodded thankfully.

“Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight, Maman .” Lafayette responded. He gently pulled Alex to his feet and led him through the kitchen, steering him away from the mess of glass and blood on the floor with the assurance that Mrs. Washington would take care of it. 

Guilt coiled in Alex’s gut. It was his mess, he should be the one to clean it up. 

But Lafayette remained unmoved by Alex’s attempts at persuasion as he led him up the stairs. They came to a stop outside of Alex’s bedroom and Lafayette asked, “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Alex bit his lip. “No, thank you. I think I’d like some time alone.”

Lafayette agreed easily. “Very well, mon ami . I will see you in the morning. Bonne nuit .”

“ Bonne nuit ,” Alex parrotted as he slipped into his room. He locked the door and, without turning on the light, managed to unzip his backpack and locate his sweatpants and sleepshirt by touch. Listening carefully for any approaching footsteps, he quickly changed clothes before collapsing onto the bed. 

Now that all of the excitement had died down, Alex had time to think about Mrs. Washington’s reaction. She hadn’t hit him for dropping the food. In fact, she hadn’t even yelled at him. Surely she had been angry, Alex had ruined a perfectly good dish, not to mention half a pot roast, but she had just fretted over his hurt fingers like a mother hen. 

Like a mother.  

Alex pushed that thought away. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted blood on her floor. Maybe she was waiting to punish him later. Maybe she was going to let Mr. Washington punish him. 

That was a chilling thought. 

But Mrs. Washington had said that he wouldn’t be mad. She even promised not to tell him. Alex found that hard to believe. 

And Lafayette, he had seemed almost disapproving when Alex had said that he’d been cleaning up after dinner. Was he not supposed to? Had he done it wrong? Why had the Washingtons left him at the table instead of sending him to his room if they didn’t want him to clean up? Alex had done twice as many dished at the group home and that had been by hand. Compared to that, loading a dishwasher had been a breeze.

And, what was more, they hadn’t made him clean up the mess he had made. Alex had cleaned up the aftermath of more than one beating.

And why had they cared so much when Alex had been hurt? Alex had been hurt many, many times since coming to America, and no one had given a shit before. Maybe it was because Alex was new here. Once they got used to his presence, they would start ignoring him. The thought was both comforting and painful. While it would be nice not to have to worry about drawing Mr. Washington’s attention, Alex had enjoyed getting to talk to Lafayette. He was nice and cheerful and seemed to actually like Alex. And Mrs. Washington reminded him painfully of his mother.

The Washingtons seemed too good to be true. Maybe they were just waiting, biding their time before they showed their true colors. This was going to be just like every other home he had been in, he was sure of it. 

The anxiety that had attacked him after dropping the dish suddenly left him. The bone-deep exhaustion that flooded him was a sharp contrast to the fear and adrenaline he had felt mere minutes ago. 

Alex curled up under his blankets and closed his eyes. Maybe if he was lucky, his nightmares would be quiet tonight.

Chapter Text

Alex woke with the phantom sensation of hands creeping over his skin and a scream lodged in his throat. He shot upright, kicking the sheets off of him, and scratched frantically at his skin in a desperate attempt to get. Jason. Heigel’s. Hands. Off. Of. Him. 

His back hit the headboard and a dull ache echoed through his bruised rib cage. The pain rattled through his entire body, forcibly shaking away the last vestiges of sleep from his brain and leaving panic in its wake. Taking several deep, gasping breaths, Alex opened his eyes and peered around. It was useless to try and see anything in the predawn darkness and it was several minutes before Alex had the wherewithal to think to turn on a light.

The lamp on the bedside table flooded the room with light and Alex had to blink rapidly to get his eyes to adjust. He surveyed the room. It was empty. His backpack and box of meager possessions were still there on the floor at the foot of the bed. He did his customary evaluation of his body.

Ribs? Still painful.

Lip? Still painful.

Hands? Still painful.

Back? Still fucking painful.

His head was getting clearer by the second and Alex took deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

Inhale: un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf.

Exhale: un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf.

When he was finally calm (or, at least, calm er ) Alex decided that it would be as good a time as any to take a shower. He felt filthy in a way that had nothing to do with the drying sweat that coated his body. A different kind of grime was covering him from head to toe, invisible, but Alex felt it keenly. It was enough to make him nauseous. 

He quickly gathered up his clothes from the day before and crept quietly into the en suite bathroom. Flipping the light on, he examined the bathroom for the first time. It was a decent sized room, with a dark blue vanity and plenty of white granite counter space. On the opposite wall were some built in shelves, already stocked with fresh towels and washcloths. The porcelain toilet sat in one corner, with a tub/shower combo in the other. The shower curtain and the bath mat were both a neutral tan color that paired well with the eggshell walls. Alex set his change of clothes on the counter and closed the door, locking it and giving it an experimental shove, just to be safe. It didn’t budge.

As he undressed, Alex carefully avoided looking in the full length mirror on the back of the door, or the large round mirror over the sink. He didn’t need to see the plethora of multicolored bruises covering his hunger-pang frame: green on his ribs, purple on his left shoulder, tender red on his arms. His skin was littered with raised scars caused by everything from belts to fingernails digging into his flesh.

Alex cranked the shower as hot as it would go. Steam began to fill the bathroom and Alex stepped under the spray. The unblemished portions of his skin immediately began to pinken, blending with the livid red scratches he had left behind in the wake of his nightmare.

He hadn’t been able to take hot showers at the group home. There were too many boys and by the time it was his turn, all the hot water had been gone. He had learned to take three minute showers. 

He planned to take his time showering now. As long as he was out before the Washingtons woke up, no one would ever know that he had indulged himself so selfishly.

The shower was fully stocked with shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a loofah. Alex had never used conditioner before. On Nevis, it had always been a luxury that had been too expensive to waste money on and all of his homes in America simply hadn’t had it available to him. In fact, at the Swansons’, he’d only had a single bar of soap to wash his body and hair with. But the Washingtons had left these products in the bathroom that they had specifically set aside for Alex. Surely it was okay to use them.

Alex used a generous amount of shampoo and scrubbed his scalp vigorously, rinsed, then worked the conditioner through his hair with his fingers, just as the bottle directed. Then he used the loofah to practically rub his skin raw.

It took almost an hour of furious scrubbing before Alex began to feel even a little bit cleaner. The water was still running hot, so Alex washed his body again, this time going more slowly and letting the hot water massage his tense muscles. Once he felt clean and more relaxed than he’d felt in a long time, Alex switched the water off and stepped out of the tub. He grabbed the towels from the shelf. It was so soft that he hardly felt it against his skin. Then he dressed in his jeans and t-shirt and attempted to comb through his wet hair with his fingers before he went back into the bedroom. 

The sky had lightened outside the window. The stars were no longer visible and the sky was streaked with the colors of sunrise. It was still early, but Alex felt no desire to go back to sleep. Ideally he would supplement his lack of sleep with coffee, but at a quarter to seven on a Saturday morning, he doubted that anyone would have prepared any yet. And, even if the Washingtons were awake and making coffee, they might not let him have any. Maybe they were the kind of people that thought teenagers shouldn’t drink coffee. God, that was a terrifying thought.

Unsure of what to do with himself and wanting a distraction from his coffee craving, Alex went to his backpack and pulled out his notebook. After careful consideration, Alex decided to utilize the desk. He didn’t want to get ink stains on the bed sheets.

He flipped through his notebook as he made himself comfortable. It was a cheap, spiral bound notebook that he had gotten on clearance for fifty cents. It was stained with food and coffee, tears, and even a little bit of blood. And it was almost full.  Alex didn’t know where he would get another one. He had no money, but living without somewhere to write, somewhere to organize the chaos in his brain and express himself freely, was an unbearable thought. He had been halfway through an essay on the importance of gun control and his fingers were itching to write. He put pen to paper.

When he next looked up and checked the bedside clock, it was 9:48. Alex didn't know if he was allowed out of his room, but he had finally run out of words and the craving for coffee had grown too strong to ignore, forcing Alex to get out of bed. Hopefully, Lafayette would be awake and willing to feed Alex’s addiction.

The floor was cool enough to make him shiver as he crept out of his room. He moved slowly; the floors were genuine hardwood and likely to creak. Hopefully, anyone who heard him moving about would just think it was the old house settling. Alex didn't even want to imagine what would happen if the Washingtons caught him sneaking around the house without permission.

Alex finally made it downstairs and made a beeline to the kitchen and the coffee pot, only to stop short at the sight of a complete stranger already using it.

Alex’s heart sped up to a rapid tempo. He silently debated whether or not to confront the stranger or retreat back upstairs. Just as he had decided to go and wake Lafayette to report the apparent intruder in the kitchen, the stranger turned around.

“Holy shit!”  Both the intruder and Alex jumped in surprise, with Alex hastily taking several steps back, preparing to run if the stranger moved to attack. His heart was beating wildly and a thousand different scenarios ran through his mind in an instant. Should he shout and wake the Washingtons? Should he run and hide in a linen closet? Should he try to restrain the intruder who had apparently broken into his foster family’s home?

Unable to decide on the most prudent course of action, Alex simply stood there, wide eyed and unmoving.

The two stared at each other for a long moment. Then the intruder pressed a hand over his heart and let out a shaky laugh.

“Man, you scared the shit out of me!”

Alex opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. This was not a scenario he had considered.

“I guess you're Alex, then.” It was more of a statement than a question but Alex still nodded in reflex. Who was this boy (for Alex could now see that the intruder was also a teenager) and how did he know Alex’s name? The stranger must have noticed his confusion.

“Laf told me about you. I’m John, John Laurens.” He held out a hand. Alex relaxed fractionally. This was one of Lafayette’s friends, then. Not a thief. That was good, at least. Alex took the offered hand cautiously and gave it a quick shake. Now that it was clear that the boy was not a thief there to rob the Washingtons and possibly murder them all in their beds, Alex took the opportunity to assess him more closely.

Lafayette’s friend was hot. Like, goddamn.

He was not too tall (almost exactly Alex’s height, in fact) with long, dark curls that he wore in a ponytail. His eyes were a vibrant hazel, almost golden and framed with dark lashes. His face was covered in a smattering of barely-there freckles and he had full pink lips that were pulled back to show off a megawatt smile. He was, to put it simply, a dreamboat. 

John’s smile dimmed ever so slightly as the silence stretched out. Realizing that he was staring, Alex gave himself a subtle shake.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he said belatedly. He was rewarded when John’s smile returned in full force.

“Nice to meet ya, Alexander Hamilton.”

For some reason, Alex blushed. He liked the way his name sounded in Laurens’ mouth.

“Just Alex is fine,” he mumbled.

John’s eyes practically glittered as he replied, “Just Alex, then.” Apparently satisfied with the introductions, he turned back to the coffee machine.

“Um… does Lafayette… know you’re here?” Alex asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?” John hummed. He seemed momentarily distracted by the coffee machine and it took a moment for the question to fully register. “Oh! Yeah! I mean, no, he’s probably still asleep. But it’s okay, I have a key.” He assured Alex.

“So you didn’t... break in or anything?”

John laughed and the sound made Alex’s heart stutter. “No, no. I’m allowed to be here, I swear. This is practically my second home.” He opened the cabinet above the coffee maker and pulled out two mugs. “You want coffee?”

“Please,” Alex answered quickly, trying not to sound desperate. John filled both mugs and handed one to Alex. 

“There’s creamer in the fridge if you want any,” John told him as he opened a ceramic jar on the counter and began spooning sugar into his coffee. 

Alex hummed negatively and took a deep drink from his mug. 

The coffee was obviously expensive. It was rich and wonderfully bitter and had a smooth texture that contrasted sharply with the sludge that he’d been sneaking in the group home. It was the best thing Alex had ever tasted. He let out a moan and closed his eyes to better focus on the flavor.

The coffee settled in his stomach, warming him from the inside. Alex held the mug close and just breathed in the steam.

“I’m guessing you like it, then?” John’s voice cut through Alex’s haze of caffeine induced pleasure. Without opening his eyes, Alex nodded vigorously and then took another sip. 

“You hungry?” John asked. There was a clattering sound and Alex opened his eyes to see that John had opened an overhead cabinet and was pulling out a bowl. 

Alex shook his head without even stopping to consider the question. It wouldn’t do to take some of the Washingtons’ food without their permission.

“You sure?” John pressed as he opened another cabinet and surveyed the selection of cereals. “They have a little bit of everything here if you don’t want cereal. There’s yogurt, granola bars, toast. I think there’s some waffles in the freezer. Or we could fry up some eggs.”

Alex bit his lip. He was still mostly full from the night before, but his instincts said to accept food when it was offered. He didn’t have permission to eat anything from the kitchen, but John seemed confident that the Washingtons wouldn’t mind. Plus, he was already drinking their coffee without permission.

Fuck it.

“A granola bar would be great.”

John smiled and retrieved one for him.

Alex had just peeled back the wrapping when Lafayette stumbled in looking rumpled and sleepy. He was wearing Ninja Turtle pajama pants and a faded t-shirt that said “Pardon my French.” Without a word, John poured another cup of coffee, dumped a spoonful of sugar in it, and handed it to his friend.

Lafayette took a long drink, probably burning his tongue. “ Merci , mon gros. ”

John grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Lafayette guzzled the rest of his drink so fast that Alex felt slightly offended that his foster brother hadn’t taken the time to savor the expensive brew. When Lafayette was done, he set the mug on the counter with a loud thud and a satisfied sigh. He certainly looked a lot more awake now. He looked at Alex. 

“ Oh super , you are already eating le petit déjeuner. ” Lafayette looked him up and down and then frowned.

“Why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?”

Alex looked down at his outfit. The familiar warmth of embarrassment began to blossom in his gut as he quietly replied, “These are the only clothes I have.” That was technically not true. Apart from what he was wearing, which consisted of jeans, a t-shirt, and a battered hoodie, he had his pajamas, and two extra t-shirts: one that was two sizes too small and one that was so oversized it was comical. He also had an extra pair of jeans that he could barely button and didn’t reach his ankles. Additionally, he had a couple ratty pairs of boxers and a holey pair of socks. Everything else had been stolen by the boys at the group home. Needless to say, Alex was unwilling to wear any of his other clothes out in public.

Lafayette stuck out his bottom lip in a full-on pout.

“This will not do, mon ami . You will borrow something of mine.” He reached out to grab Alex, causing the other boy to jerk back. Lafayette frowned deeper, but Alex cut off whatever he was going to say.

“No offense, Lafayette, but I don’t think your clothes will fit me.” He gestured at his body to bring attention to his short stature.

“That’s okay, man.” John spoke up. “I’ve got some clothes upstairs that you can borrow.”

It turned out that John hadn’t been kidding when he said that the Washingtons’ house was like a second home. John had his own bedroom across from Lafayette’s and he was happy to loan Alex some of his old clothes. He brought Alex a pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt with Captain America’s shield across the chest.

The clothes were a little loose, but certainly nicer than the sixth-hand clothes he had been wearing for two days. John even offered him a hair-tie, which Alex accepted, tying his now dry brown locks back in a low ponytail.

John and Alex still had to wait nearly an hour for Lafayette to eat and get ready. While they waited, John asked Alex simple questions about his likes and dislikes. Alex answered all of his questions honestly and asked John about himself in turn. Alex found that they had very similar tastes in a wide variety of things. Their strongest disagreement was over the best flavor of Doritos (Alex said Cool Ranch, but John was adamant that it was Nacho Cheese.) Finally, they loaded into Lafayette’s car and headed to the mall. 

It was nearing noon when they arrived and the mall was already chocked full of people. Lafayette, tall as he was, was able to easily cut a path through the crowd. Alex and John, who were both a good three inches shorter, could only follow close behind and hope that they wouldn’t be swallowed up by the sea of people.

Lafayette led them to the food court and secured them a table for four. 

Then they waited. Lafayette and John chatted aimlessly, occasionally asking Alex’s opinion or trying to draw him into the conversation, but Alex’s attention was caught between the two boys and the busy crowd that surrounded them. He kept glancing around, tracking potential threats and checking the exits. Thankfully, Lafayette seemed to gather that Alex was not in the mood to talk and easily diverted John’s attention by talking about some mutual friend that was currently on vacation. Seeing as Alex didn’t know the person they were discussing, he was free from having to weigh in. Every once in a while, though, the crowd would thin, and Alex’s attention would be drawn back to John and the cute way he gesticulated excitedly as he spoke. His smile was bright and unabashed as he rambled. Alex would watch the other boy for several minutes before his attention was drawn back to the strangers around them. Once, while Alex was watching John, Lafayette subtly caught Alex’s eye and cast a significant look at his friend, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Alex blushed and Lafayette grinned triumphantly. 

Shit.

“-and Angelica said she took lots of pictures of the Jackson Pollock exhibit… what?” John cut himself off, looking between his two companions.

Alex’s eyes went wide with panic and he stared at Lafayette, trying to will him to keep his goddamn mouth shut. Thankfully, it seemed to work.

“Nothing, mon ami . Oh look, Hercules!” Lafayette jumped to his feet and rushed around the table to embrace the new arrival. 

Hercules , Alex decided, was a very fitting name . While no taller than Lafayette, Hercules was broad shouldered and obviously well muscled. He had dark skin and short black hair and he radiated the same friendly aura as his friends. 

“Hercules Mulligan.” He offered Alex his hand and Alex hesitated for only a moment before accepting it. 

“Alexander Hamilton.”

Hercules smiled. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Alex barely had time to respond with a “you too,” before Lafayette was fluttering around, chattering excitedly. As they had all eaten breakfast only an hour ago, Lafayette easily herded them out of the food court. Hercules listened to Lafayette’s ramblings patiently, nodding and laughing in all the appropriate places, while John hung back and fell into step with Alex. John offered him a smile that made Alex flush scarlet. Neither boy spoke but instead followed Hercules and Lafayette in companionable silence.

Eventually, Lafayette led them into a clothing store. As soon as they entered, Lafayette rounded on Alex. “Now, what size are you, Alexander?”

“What? Why?” Alex asked, startled.

“So we know what clothes to have you try on.” Lafayette explained.

Alex was confused. “I already have clothes.”

Lafayette clicked his tongue. “One bag of vêtements en lambeaux does not a wardrobe make, mon ami.”

Alex felt his ears grow warm with embarrassment. His clothes were not tattered, they were second-hand, there was a difference. But Alex was not about to argue this point. Instead, he just said, “I don’t know.”

Lafayette tutted again. “Hercules.”

The other boy stepped up and looked at Alex closely. “Can you hold your arms out?”

Bemused, Alex did as he was told and Hercules hummed under his breath. To Alex’s great astonishment, Hercules rattled off what sounded like his exact measurements (or at least a good approximation of them). Lafayette hummed happily and immediately disappeared into the isles of clothing. Hercules caught Alex’s shocked expression. 

“I’ve worked with my grandmother as a tailor since I was a kid, so I’ve gotten pretty good at sizing people.” That was the only explanation he gave before vanishing after Lafayette. 

Within a span of twenty minutes both boys were back, each carrying mounds of clothing. Alex looked at it wide-eyed. He didn’t even get a chance to protest as Lafayette hustled him into a changing room with an outfit and instructions to “Try it on and then come show us.”

The confined space of the dressing room made Alex nervous. But not wanting to disappoint Lafayette, he forced the feeling away and quickly stripped down and redressed in the outfit that had been selected for him. The clothes were stiff with newness that Alex had never felt before and he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable as he stepped out of the dressing room.

Lafayette looked at him critically. “I like the henley, but the cut of the jeans is no good. What do you think, Hercules?”

Hercules nodded in agreement. “We should also try a darker wash on the jeans.”

“What do you think, Alex?” John asked.

Alex looked down at himself. He was wearing a short sleeved red shirt and a pair of light blue jeans. He thought he looked fine, but Lafayette and Hercules obviously disagreed. Alex decided to play it safe and respond with, “It’s alright.”

Lafayette took this as permission to force another outfit into Alex’s arms and send him scurrying back into the changing room.

The next hour or so continued in much the same fashion, with Alex putting on whatever he was given and then Lafayette and Hercules systematically tearing the outfit apart and sorting each item into “yes” and “no” piles. John sat silently in the corner, watching the proceedings and only speaking to ask Alex his thoughts. Alex answered noncommittally each time. 

As the “yes” pile began to outgrow the “no” pile, Alex began to find it hard to breathe.

His hands trembled as he fumbled to put on the next shirt and he nearly fell over as he stepped into a pair of khaki trousers. He didn’t even bother to look at himself in the mirror before gritting his teeth and stepping out to show Lafayette and Hercules. 

As the two boys picked apart his outfit, Alex closed his eyes tightly. The store’s lights had grown increasingly bright over the past hour. The store was now crowded with people and noise battered Alex from all sides. His lungs seemed to have shrunk, each breath was harder than the last and his heart was beating a rapid staccato in his chest.

Something touched his hand and he jumped in surprise and no small amount of fear.

“Are you alright?”

Alex opened his eyes and saw John’s concerned face no more than a foot from his own. Alex swallowed the lump in his throat and forced out a “fine.”

John looked unconvinced but he let it go, instead telling his friends, “I think that’s enough clothes for now. Let’s move on. I still haven’t gotten my shoes.”

Shoe shopping took considerably less time than clothes shopping, with Alex choosing a single pair of white sneakers and Lafayette and Hercules choosing a pair of brown boots for him. John, meanwhile, made off with only a pair of black dress shoes.

As they walked to the check out, Lafayette snagged a belt, a package of underwear, socks, and a white undershirt from displays as they passed.

The cashier looked completely indifferent as the group of teenagers hoisted their pile of goods onto the counter. As she scanned each item, Alex anxiously watched as the price climbed higher and higher. By the time the total passed one hundred dollars, Alex felt ready to faint. 

“Your total is $285.24.” 

Lafayette passed over a credit card like it was nothing. Alex felt nauseous. Almost $300. Alex’s throat tightened as he thought of how Mr. Washington would take this out of his hide.

Next, Lafayette led the group to an electronics store where he immediately selected the same model of phone for Alex as his own. Lafayette passed the phone to Alex, who accepted it with numb hands. 

“Go pick out a phone case,” Lafayette ordered him before swanning off towards the laptops.

Hardly able to focus on anything other than how damn hard it was to get a decent breath of air, Alex wandered over to the wall of cell phone cases and stared at them blankly for a moment, before beginning the search for the cheapest one. Eventually, he found a plain, transparent case for $6.99. 

Feeling strangely proud of himself for his thriftiness in the face of Lafayette’s mass spending, Alex hurried to show Lafayette his selection. Lafayette, however, was not impressed.

“This is no good, mon ami . We must find one to fit your personnalité . Surely there was another one you liked? A pretty one?”

To Alex’s horror, he felt his eyes filling up with tears. He thought he had done well. He found the most affordable option and saved the Washingtons’ money. They were already spending an appalling amount on him and he couldn’t stand it. He didn’t deserve these nice things. He couldn’t even follow Lafayette’s instructions for god’s sake and Mr. Washington was going to be furious at how much money they wasted and Alex was going to be yelled at or beaten or sent away or-

“Alex? Alex, c’mon, breathe.”

Who was talking to him?

“Breathe Alex, you can do it.”

Breathe?

“ Breathe , Alex.”

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t. His lungs were paralyzed. Why didn’t they understand?

“Alex, I know you’re scared, but I really need you to focus. If you don’t breathe, you’re gonna pass out. C’mon, cariño. In , uno, dos, tres. Out, cuatro, cinco, seis. ”

Spanish. Someone was speaking Spanish to him. Alex wasn’t fluent in Spanish, but he knew enough to recognize the language.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut and gathering the splintered fragments of his focus, Alex zeroed in on the words.

In, uno, dos, tres. Out, cuatro, cinco, seis.

After what felt like a lifetime, a gasping sob broke past the wall in Alex’s throat. Then another. And another.

“There you go. There you go, cariño . Just breathe. In, uno, dos, tres. Out, cuatro, cinco, seis . Muy bien , Alex. You’re alright. Just breathe.”

Alex listened to the voice and spent several minutes just breathing in and out slowly. Eventually, Alex peeled his eyes open. His lashes and cheeks were wet with tears and his nose was running freely. Too tired to feel embarrassed, Alex raised a hand and wiped his nose with his sleeve. A hand reached out and dried his cheeks for him.

Alex looked up at his companion for the first time. He didn’t know who he was expecting. Maybe Lafayette. Maybe a kind stranger. One person he was not expecting was John Laurens. And he most certainly was not expecting the look of compassionate understanding in the other boy’s eyes.

“All better now?” John whispered.

Swallowing thickly, Alex nodded. 

“Thanks.”

John smiled brightly. “No problem.” 

They sat in silence for several minutes. John shifted to sit beside Alex with his back against the wall. He didn’t pressure Alex to speak, instead waiting patiently until he was ready. Eventually, Alex managed to muster up his courage.

“You speak Spanish?”

Way to go Alex. Not awkward at all.

John didn’t seem to mind though. He glanced at Alex from the corner of his eye and smiled serenely. “Yeah, I learned it from my mom growing up. She was Pueto Rican. We used it all the time.”

Alex felt his heart drop at the very telling “was”. 

“My mom taught me French. And my first foster mom taught me Dutch.”

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re fluent in both?”

“Yeah.”

“Impressive,” John praised. ”You must have a good ear for languages. Maybe I can teach you some Spanish,” he offered, sounding playful but also sincere.

Alex smiled shyly. “I would like that.”

They sat in companionable silence for several moments until it suddenly occurred to Alex that they were no longer in the electronics store. Instead, they were seated on a cold tiled floor in what seemed to be a handicap stall. Alex could see a toilet over John’s shoulder.

“Are we in the men’s bathroom?”

John flushed a little. “Yeah. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I had a lot of panic attacks in middle school and I always hid in the bathroom so…”

Alex reddened too. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

John waved off his apology.

“No worries, man. Laf can get caught up in himself and sometimes he forgets about other people’s feelings. I’m sorry I didn’t step in earlier.”

Alex shrugged and and his throat got tight again. He stayed quiet for a minute. Eventually, he managed to force out, “It’s just… they’re spending so much money…”

John chuckled and Alex was surprised to find that the sound didn’t make him feel insecure. On the contrary, it made him feel warm.

“Trust me, Alex, if anyone can afford all of this, it’s the Washingtons. They’re, like, stupid rich.”

“So they won’t be mad?” 

Alex asked hesitantly. He felt like a child for asking such a ridiculous question, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to know what to expect when he got back to the Washingtons’.

John ducked his head to make eye contact with Alex. “Not at all,” he said, like a promise. Alex couldn’t help but take comfort in John’s assurance.

They sat in silence for another minute until John suddenly sprang to his feet. “C’mon. I told Laf and Herc to meet us back at the food court when they’re done with their shopping spree. In the meantime, you and I are going to get smoothies.”

John reached down and offered Alex his hand. John’s hand was warm as he pulled Alex to his feet. John led him out of the bathroom and back towards the food court. He kept up a stream of friendly, inane chatter as they walked. Alex couldn’t help but notice that John never let go of his hand.