Chapter Text
John Laurens was sitting on the ground by the smoldering embers of a campfire, waiting for Alexander to return. He was taking even longer than usual. John chuckled to himself, knowing Alex was probably off talking some poor officer’s ear off.
Lafayette approached the fire. “Laurens? You’re still up?”
“I told Alexander I’d wait for him.”
Lafayette dropped down on the ground next to John. “I will wait with you.”
“Thanks.”
Neither made another sound until they heard footsteps behind them. John jumped up and turned around, thinking it was his Hamilton, but it wasn’t. It was George Washington, and the unguarded look in his eyes and the tears on his cheeks made every muscle in John’s legs itch to run far, far away from whatever was to come next.
“Laurens,” Washington said, and took a deep breath. “Alexander Hamilton has been reported dead.”
Dead.
Dead.
Alexander Hamilton has been reported dead.
The words ricocheted around John’s mind for a full minute before he could process them. Dead. He wasn’t late. He was dead.
Suddenly, the very same legs that had wanted to carry John far, far away from Washington and his bad news decided to stop working, and John collapsed on the ground, huge sobs escaping him. His father would be appalled if he knew John was crying, and in public, too, but John didn’t care.
Alexander Hamilton was dead.
He was aware of a hand on his shoulder, soft words in a French accent, Washington telling him how sorry he was, everything piling up inside of him until he could barely take it.
Alexander Hamilton was dead.
He heard Lafayette talking to Washington, asking him the details, how it had happened, what they would do next, how best to honor Alexander, but John couldn’t process any of it. Finally, Washington walked away, and Lafayette wrapped his arms around John.
It seemed like hours had passed when Lafayette got up, but John knew it was probably only a few minutes. He sat up. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I have to pray for his soul. Will you join me?”
Laurens nodded and stood up. They stood next to the former fire in the darkness, Lafayette whispering in French, Laurens whispering in English.
When Laurens looked up, a figure was approaching from the other side of the fire pit. It looked like— he wouldn’t let himself think it. He wouldn’t get his hopes up.
It was Alexander Hamilton.
John practically vaulted over the fire pit to hug him. Lafayette followed, slower, walking around the fire pit, joining the group hug.
John held on long after Lafayette had let go, his face buried in Alexander’s shoulder.
“Why the warm welcome?” Alexander asked. “It would not be the first time I have kept you waiting up at night.”
Lafayette said something in French. Upon hearing it, Alexander wrapped his arms around John, too.
“I’m not dead, John. I’m not dead, and I don’t plan to be for a good long time. After all, there is so much I must do.”
John finally let go. “Washington said-“
“Washington was misinformed. Which would you rather believe as to my current status, dear Laurens, Washington, or the evidence standing right in front of you? Come, it’s late. Both of us must sleep in preparation for tomorrow.”
Laurens nodded and allowed himself to be led to his bed. However, when Alexander tried to get into his own bed, John grabbed his arm. “Don’t go, Alexander.”
Alexander sat down on the edge of the bed. “John, I must sleep just as much as you.”
“There is a great fear within me that you will not wake up tomorrow.”
“An unfounded fear. There is nothing to suggest that I will perish in the night.”
“Would you stay here with me? Only for tonight?”
“Where would I stay? There’s no room, John.”
“We can make room, Alex.”
Alexander sighed. “If I must.”
John smiled, pulling Alexander down next to him, wrapping his arms around Alex and pulling him close. “Thank you, Alexander.”