Hey guys. Translations in the endnotes, hope you enjoy it!

TW for suicide ideation and displays of mental illness

Alexander Hamilton had always been drawn to his work. When he wasn't working he was thinking about work, his fingers twitching as they longed for a quill.

People said that it was unhealthy, that he would benefit immensely from taking a break. Alexander let their words glance off; work had saved his life time and time again.

He had been noticed by Washington, and had been given the position of aide-de-camp; essentially writing letters and delivering messages. He would much rather have a command on the battlefield, but alas, there was not a chance.

Even though it was not the job he would have chosen, he gave it all of his efforts. Alexander would often bury himself in his work, foregoing such mortal needs as food and sleep.

His colleagues were curious about him; constantly writing and never caught without his ink and quill. When he spoke, he was hard to follow; while he was very eloquent, his thoughts and hand gestures were hard for the average man to understand. He spouted words with extraordinary speed, making it impossible to multitask while talking with him.

Even though some doubted it, Washington was content with his choice. Alexander was everything he needed; intelligent, young, and hardworking. The quality of what he wrote was undeniable, mirroring his brilliant mind.

While the boy was exceptional, Washington couldn't help but worry. There was a frightened air about him, and Alexander was small enough to be confused as 13 years old instead of 17 as he claimed. He was skittish, searching for an inevitable trap.

Washington chalked this up to the war, as it was common for men to feel weary. Alexander was young, and the quality of his work hadn't declined. Still, he should keep a closer eye on his boy.

X-X

Alexander was starting to notice a rift forming between him and his colleagues. Constant stares burned into his back, demanding answers. He felt as if everyone was judging him, trying to back him into a corner. Alexander had been forced to open up before, and he wouldn't do it again. Not on his watch.

Washington had instructed the others to keep an eye on Alexander. He could see Alexander getting more irritable, reclusing into his work and cutting off human communication. Washington wondered if this was just Alexander getting defensive, or if it meant more.

X-X

Alexander felt himself toiling away. He was coming apart at the seams, becoming a human disaster. He couldn't remember the last time he ate and hadn't slept for at least three days. He was falling, desperately grasping for a hand to pull him out of his mess. Alas, no such thing came, and he kept falling, hand still outstretched.

Alexander was writing a letter to Congress, a frantic plea for anything they could get. The situation mirrored his tumultuous state. He was furious with himself, as he kept on making mistakes and having to redo it. He was so deeply absorbed in the letter that he didn't notice the tendrils of dawn creeping through the sky and the slight creaking of the door opening.

After a few hours of rest, Washington came back into the office to work. He heard the telltale sound of a quill scratching on paper, and saw his boy working on a letter. Alexander was frustrated, and it looked like the pressure was building before an explosion.

His strokes got more agitated and rushed. He was in a frenzy, writing rapidly with jarring movements. When he flung his arm out, he knocked over his ink bottle, causing it to spill onto his work. Both Washington and Hamilton stared in disbelief as ink seeped through the pages, ruining them. Hamilton was frozen in place as Washington peered at his boy, his emotions unreadable.

"No." Alexander whispered, barely audible in the quiet. "NO!" He had an odd feeling as if his spirit was separated from his body. His body went over to a window and unlocked it. His estranged self climbed onto the windowsill, and said, "Tu m'as manqué, Mamà."

Then the body of Hamilton started to step out of the window, trying to end his time in the mortal world. He was just as frantic as before, yet in a way that seemed controlled.

Washington immediately sprang into action, running towards his boy. He grabbed Alexander, holding him around the waist, supporting whatever weight he had. "Alexander,... Are you alright, son?" The word slipped out, but it made Washington realize that Hamilton was truly his son.

Alexander looked at him, even more, distraught than before. For just a moment, Washington saw the pain and sorrow in his eyes, the marks of a faded flame in his blue-violet eyes. "Sir…".

"Don't call me son!"

Alexander couldn't think. He couldn't comprehend what had just occurred. All he knew was that he was so tired, and longed for the sweet release of sleep. His body decided for him as he sprinted away from his world.

Washington ran after him, confusion and heartbreak taken over by concern for the boy. His heart ached as he ran after the boy, shattered by his dismissal. He knew that Alexander was not in a right mind, but it still caused him more pain than a bullet ever could.

Alexander looked behind himself and saw Washington gaining on him. Hamilton was confused; why would someone keep chasing him so? He thought that no one cared about him, that no one would ever care about him. He had stopped letting people care long ago after he had been abandoned by all. Just as he wondered if Washington could care about him he felt his knees buckle as the world went black.

Washington watched his aide-de-camp collapse right in front of him. He grabbed for Alexander's wrist, desperately searching for a pulse. Luckily, he found one, and the rising and falling of Alexander's chest was a glorious reminder that he was alive.

Washington lifted him, cradling him in his arms. He walked back to camp, but instead of going to the office he took Hamilton to his private quarters, laying him on the bed. Washington didn't realize how long he stayed by Hamilton's side until he was called form. He didn't want Hamilton to be alone when he woke up but had to go to the strategy meeting. He stopped in the doorway to gaze at his boy.

X-X

Alexander blinked his eyes open, squinting in the bright light. He didn't know where he was, but couldn't care less. He just wanted to stay in bed and stare at the wall. After a while, Alexander realized that this must be the Steven's house. He didn't know how he would have gotten there, but he didn't have the energy to mull it over.

Alexander heard the door open but didn't respond. He rolled over so he was facing opposite the door. If he hadn't done that, he might have seen Washington staring at him through the doorway.

"Alexander, are you awake?" Washington didn't know what was worse; Hamilton this morning, or Hamilton now.

Alexander sighed. "Vete a la mierda, Ned!" Washington was confused, as he didn't speak Spanish. "Are you alright, Alexander?"

"Que crees?" Alexander was sarcastic. "Just leave me the fuck alone, Ned!" Washington was shocked but pressed on. "I'm not Ned, Alexander." There was a long pause before Alexander responded.

"Desculpe Sr. Stevens. N-No quite decir-" Washington cut in. "Alexander, I'm Washington. What were you saying?" Washington looked at the boy expectantly.

"I'm sorry sir, I thought you were someone else." Alexander still faced away from Washington, but he could see Hamilton's face turn as red as his hair.

"Do you still want to be left alone?" Washington wished for the fire to return to Alexander's eyes and for him to jump up and start working again like he used to. "Yes sir, if you could?" Washington looked into his eyes and saw that they were devoid of a spark, much less the usual flames.

X-X

For the next few days, Hamilton stayed in bed, unable to summon enough energy to work. He dismissed Washington's requests to converse and instead retreated into his mind.

After a while without Hamilton in the office, Washington was shocked to hear him. Alexander leaned in the doorway, eyes blazing. "Here is the letter, sir." He came over to the desk, dropping tens of thousands of words on Washington's desk. Washington peered at Alexander as he left the toom, his vivid hair trailing behind him.

Washington called after his boy, wanting to know more. "Alexander!" Hamilton turned around his blue-violet eyes piercing him. They only stood there for a second, but the moment seemed to last forever in Washington's mind.

"Sir?" Alexander gazed at him, his eyebrow cocked in a youthful fashion. He had a half-smile, and his eyes conveyed cold inquiry.

Washington tried to but all his thoughts, feelings, and concerns into words. "Alexander, do you know why-"

Hamilton stopped him. "It is an issue of my past which would be improper to review at this moment." He glanced off to the side, relieving Washington of his piercing glare.

Washington felt his boy disappearing from him, the distance growing wider every second. He needed something, anything to say. He hoped a time would come when he would talk with Alexander, divulge his past. Alas, he had only an empty promise. "Alexander, take care of yourself, son." Washington braced for another bitter response.

"I will, sir." Alexander left, quill dangling from his fingertips.

Te m'as manqué: I've missed you

Vète a la mierda: Fuck off

Desculpe. No quite decir: Sorry, I didn't mean to say

Thanks for reading! I know it sucks. I don't know when Laurens I like you a lot will be updated, but definitely by next weekend. Sorry for errors, thanks for reading and reviewing, and have a nice day.