The Other Side - A Jamilton Fanfiction

Chapter Eighteen

John sighed very deeply, indicating that he was tired of the topic. "Oh, Hercules kept a secret from Lafayette that he probably shouldn't have kept, and Lafayette got reasonably angry but then he got unreasonably angry and it was a giant mess." He snorted, and added as an afterthought, "somehow it's still the second worse breakup I've ever seen."

"Second?" I repeated. "What's first?"

"Oh, joining and adding fuel behind a revolution meant to take control of the throne and change everything as we know it just because he killed your father on accident."

"How do you accidentally kill someone's father?"

John opened his mouth, closed it again, and shrugged.

"And who did that, anyway?"

"Thomas."

I nodded in understanding once more, than the two syllable name sunk in and I suddenly felt like I was being stung by a swarm of angry bees. "Excuse me?"

John went as stiff as a board. "Uhh, you didn't know. Umm, okay, you didn't hear that from me. Got it?"

"Wait, what?"

John turned away and held his head in his hands for a second. "Never mind," he mumbled quickly. "It isn't that important."

"Yes it is!"

"It's really not, though," he pointed out. "The past is the past."

I was about to launch into a counterargument when I froze. He had a point; the past is the past. But Thomas shouldn't keep things from me, especially when he gets angry at me for doing the exact same thing.

There was another long lull in the conversation as I played with one of Zachary's petals.

"We saw a dragon the other day," I said suddenly.

"What?"

"Yeah, uh, it was fighting some Kingsmen. They actually managed to defeat it, but they didn't kill it. Thomas is trying to look for a reason as to why—"

"Fuck that!" John protested loudly, springing to his feet. "Let's go find the dragon ourselves!" Excitement and eagerness were dangerously voiced in his tone.

"Wait, John—"

"No! Think about it Alexander! Everyone cares more about bringing back your memories than they do about you now, and everyone treats me like I'm a child that can't take care of myself!"

His words stung like a bunch of needles digging into my skin and pricking at my veins, drawing streams of blood. The world came crumbling down around me.

But he wasn't wrong.

"This can be our chance to prove ourselves."

His words had a very strong appeal to them. I bit down on my lip as he stared at me, eyes wide with anticipation. And there was hope.

"John, if we go by ourselves, we're going to get seriously hurt." The words came out slow, more unsure than I wanted them to be.

He held my gaze, head raised in defiance. "You don't know that."

"I'm not going to let you go find the dragon."

"You aren't my father. You can't tell me what to do," he returned. But a few moments later, his shoulders drooped and he returned to the ground.

Something appeared in front of him along with a writing utensil that seemed similar to a pen. I watched him steadily as the sound of the pen-like object scratching against the paper filled the air.

"What are you doing?" I asked gently.

"Suffering."

"Okay, besides that."

"I don't know. Writing, I guess."

"Can I read it?"

His response was blunt. "No."

I stared at my hands. "Do people really treat you like a child?"

"Yeah, you haven't noticed?"

"No?"

John seemed to shrink at that, shielding himself away in a fortress only he could get into. "Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway."

"It matters to you."

"So? Look, can we just stop talking about this?"

I stared at him as he returned to his writing. He tapped his pen against the paper in no particular rhythm. Then he sighed angrily and set the paper and the hardcover book it was pressed against down. "This is horrible."

"Can I read it?"

"Sure. If you want to subject yourself to that kind of torture, be my guest."

I picked up the paper and skimmed over it. When I looked up at John, his face had reddened, and he was staring at the ground intensely.

"I didn't know you were a poet," I said lightheartedly as I put the paper back down.

"A poet?" he asked, risking a peek up at me.

"Yeah, you know. Someone who writes poems."

"What's a poem?"

I stopped. The consideration that Peritum had no clue what a poem was had never crossed my mind before. How do you explain a poem to someone?

"Uhh, this," I said, tapping my finger against the paper. "This is a poem."

"And these are... common occurrence on Earth?"

"Yeah. Very common. People write them all the time. For fun, money, love."

John looked disgusted when I said that last part, but I decided not to comment on it.

"Not all of them rhyme though," I added. "But most of them do."

"Rhyme?"

"Yeah," I returned. "Like here: land and hand. They rhyme."

"There's a word for it?!" The excitement had returned to his gaze. "I didn't know that! I just... I just picked words that sounded similar!"

I smiled at the way his eyes had lit up with the discovery. His beam was so innocent and childlike.

"I like it," I said. "Your poem. I think you should write more."

John nodded eagerly. Then, he paused and smiled at me. "You know, I'm really glad you aren't dead. And I'm also really glad humans still exist too. Thanks Alexander."

He left without another word.

I turned back to Zachary and stroked one of its petals. Then, I closed my eyes and launched into the next step.

I couldn't stop now, not when I was so close.