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Hamilton knew that many of his closest friends and comrades believed him self-centered, and to be truthful, they weren’t wrong, but he was sure this wasn’t a random kidnapping.
He’d been uncomfortably crammed in some kind of wooden crate for what must have been over an hour now, hands and legs bound with rope, gag in his mouth, and blindfold over his eyes. He could hear men talking quietly, but he couldn’t distinguish a thing from where he was. The crate he was in rocked back and forth, and he could hear a horse's hooves clopping on the ground.
He figured he must be nearing the British encampment, for the uneven ground that must’ve been a forest had slowly become more level, and the ride was suddenly a lot smoother than it had been.
He stayed completely still as he came to a slow stop, horse neighing loudly. He heard voices nearing him, though he still couldn’t make much out.
He couldn’t hold back his cringe as he heard the opening of the crate be flung open and a large hand reach in and grab him by his collar. The hand yanked him out and he toppled ungracefully onto the rocky ground with a stifled groan of pain. Loud guffaws echoed from every direction, but Hamilton forced himself to be still.
“He knock himself out?” a deep voice asked, a smirk audible in his tone. More laughter resounded as the man neared, kneeling down and ripping the blindfold off of Hamilton’s face. He blinked rapidly at the sudden light, head spinning.
He didn’t recognize the man standing over him - he was huge, with square shoulders, a thick neck, and bulky arms. He could probably rip Hamilton in half.
He stayed squatted overtop of him, still smirking gleefully.
“How was the trip?” he asked lightly. Hamilton narrowed his eyes dangerously and the man laughed again. “I can’t begin to express how lovely it is not to hear your voice.”
Hamilton’s eyes only narrowed more, but he refused to give a bigger reaction. Yes, he’d talked a lot, when he’d first been captured by the British. Enough that they’d taken to throwing him around and stomping on him, but even that was not enough to quiet him. It had been only when a rumpled young soldier had ripped off a part of his jacket to use as a makeshift gag that Hamilton had gone silent.
The man chuckled to himself before standing and turning toward the crowd of soldiers.
“Grant! Wilson! Carry the colonel to his new home, would you?” he said, voice sickly sweet.
Two soldiers emerged from the crowd and rushed to Hamilton’s side, crouching down and grabbing him under the elbows to hoist him up. They got him up fairly easily - Alexander wasn’t all that heavy - but began to struggle when they attempted to move him. Not that Hamilton would’ve been compliant, but with his ankles, knees, and wrists tied together, pinned behind his back, moving wasn’t exactly an option.
The man from before waved his hand in their direction.
“Untie his ankles!” he ordered. One soldier held Hamilton upright while the other knelt to cut the rope looped tightly around his ankles. As soon as he had range of motion beneath his knees, Hamilton kicked his heel backward and into the groin of the soldier holding him up. The soldier groaned and curled in on himself, releasing Hamilton.
Hamilton took the opportunity to shimmy himself forward and dig the heel of his boot into the other soldier's hand with as much force as he could muster. The boy cried out in pain and pulled his hand close to his chest.
Through the gag, Hamilton smiled in satisfaction. He didn’t attempt to do anything else - what else could he have done? Certainly not run, or hide, or fight - he truly was trapped. But at least he could get a few could digs in.
More soldiers crowded him, one grabbing his torso and lifting him into the air. He kicked his legs uselessly for a few moments until another soldier took hold of them too and began taking him away.
Hamilton made the journey as taxing as possible for them, fussing, struggling, doing anything to harp the soldiers.
His efforts didn’t accomplish much, and after a few minutes, Hamilton was carried into a large wooden house. He was carried past tables decorated with food and wine, fluffy couches, shag rugs, and the richest of wall decor. The soldiers pushed open a door and began carrying him down a winding stone staircase.
Hamilton squinted his eyes against the pressing darkness. When he was finally back on flat ground, a lantern was lit, and he could finally observe his surroundings.
He was in a circular stone basement. The walls were covered in vines and moss, and the floor was rocky and dirty. Several sets of chains were hanging from the walls, and Hamilton felt sick to his stomach.
He was carried to a set of chains and deposited onto the ground roughly. Before he could even catch his breath, he was chained.
Freezing cold metal encircled his hands like mittens, along with the ropes from before. The soldiers cut the ropes around his wrists and he attempted to pull away, but the metal around his wrists held him in place.
He pushed himself to his knees and narrowed his eyes at the two, who were panting but smiling darkly. He expected them to remove his gag, but the duo simply turned and left, leaving him in the cold and dark room.
Once they’d left, he allowed himself to relax and stop trying to appear as intimidating as possible. His shoulders slumped, and he held his chained wrists out in front of him, observing them quietly. He’d never seen such cuffs before. It was as if he’d stuck his firsts inside a curved metal cup - it was frightening - not only was he trapped, he had absolutely no use of his hands.
He pushed down the bubbling fear in his stomach and steeled himself. The cuffs were heavy, meant to weigh him down, but he strained to lift them to his mouth.
He scraped one across his face and felt the rough metal begin slicing through the gag. He also felt it slicing through his skin, but he grit his teeth and continued the motion, working to wear down the fabric in his mouth.
With each heavy swipe, he felt more blood ooze from the scrapes that ran across his cheeks. He was beginning to wonder just how impossibly strong the redcoat's clothes were when it finally snapped. He spit the remaining fabric out and drew in several deep breaths.
He’d gotten somewhere.
-
It was after two days that Hamilton got a visitor. Two days of freezing metal. Two days of his hands being weighed down. Two days of hunger and thirst. Two days of solitary.
Hamilton leaned back against the wall, hands limp at his sides, staring at the ceiling as water droplets collected on stalactites. The sound of the door creaking open and a ray of light flooding the room interrupted his daydreams of the water falling into his mouth.
Hamilton didn’t waste a second in forcing himself into a standing position, hands weighed down at his sides. He knew he must look like a mess - hair tangled and matted, face scarred with bloody scrapes, eyes hollow and feral - but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He bared his teeth as he heard slow precise footsteps on the stairs, deliberately taking their time. Hamilton refused to be intimidated.
After almost a minute of painfully slow walking, a man emerged from the shadows of the stairs. It took Hamilton a moment to recognize him, but when he did, his eyes widened in fury, and he jolted against the chains.
Benedict Arnold.
Hamilton didn’t waste a second in speaking.
“You filthy, traitorous, loathsome, redcoat scum-” he hissed, still tugging at his chains uselessly. Arnold only smirked, falsely brushing off his pristine red coat.
“You-” Hamilton started again, but Arnold held up his hand and he stopped himself, biting down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood.
“Long time no see, Alexander,” he said smoothly, placing his arms behind his back and stepping closer. Hamilton snarled dangerously, and Arnold’s grin widened.
“Where are your mouthy little companions?” he asked, tilting his head to the side almost mockingly, “Have Jack and Gilbert not come to rescue you yet?”
Hamilton pulled against the chains, the sound of scraping metal filling the room. “You awful, slimy, cocksucking, bastard-” he hissed, and this time he was cut off by Arnold chuckling.
“You always have had quite the way with words, Alexander.”
“Don’t call me that,” he growled, trembling with fury. Arnold smiled again before shaking his head and stepping forward again.
“No matter how fun this is, there are more pressing matters to attend to,” he began. “I heard Washington still hasn’t given you a field command,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“You have no relevancy in mine and Washington’s disagreements,” Hamilton hissed, eyes narrowing. Arnold let out an exaggerated sigh.
“I do apologize, Alexander. I know a command is all you’ve ever yearned for.”
Hamilton bared his teeth again, shoulders sagging from the weight of his cuffs, but he refused to let himself be pulled down from Arnold’s height.
“Do not call me that,” he muttered venomously. Arnold held his hands up in surrender.
“I apologize, Hamilton,” he said, and Hamilton’s brows furrowed at how genuine he sounded.
“What do you want?” he demanded, “Why have you taken me hostage?”
Arnold looked at him for a long moment, silent, before sighing once more.
“You are a very useful asset to the Continental Army, Hamilton,” he said. Hamilton couldn’t hold back his prideful grin.
“So I’ve heard,” he crooned.
“You’re sure you haven’t figured out why you’re here?”
“I’m sure.”
With another sigh, Arnold stepped even closer, now only an arm's length away from Hamilton.
“Knowing how useful you have been to an army of ragtag volunteer soldiers, I can’t help but wonder how useful you could be to our army,” he drawled.
Hamilton’s eyes widened, and he laughed aloud, cringing internally at just how maniacal he sounded, even to himself.
“Have you gone mad?” he demanded. “It pains me to hear just how little you truly knew me! If you think I would ever betray my country, then you never knew me at all!”
Arnold nodded sagely, and Hamilton wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face.
“I suspected you would say something along those lines.”
“And yet you still asked me such a heinous question?”
Arnold smirked and reached into his coat pocket.
“Well, I knew I had a little something that might make you reconsider.”
Hamilton opened his mouth to shoot out a fiery retort, because how could he ever betray his beliefs, when he saw the gleam of gold in Arnold's hand. His eyes widened as Arnold held up the metal like a prize.
Arnold chuckled. “I knew you’d recognize it immediately,” he smiled. Hamilton drew in a deep breath through his nose.
A Major General pin.
What Hamilton had been begging for for years.
Right in front of him.
Arnold looked down at it as if it were unimportant, simply another pin for another soldier. But Hamilton’s eyes were fastened on it, fists clenched within their metal enrapturement, mouth parted slightly.
“It has your name on it,” Arnold whispered, turning the pin around to show that it did, in fact, have his name engraved on it. Hamilton swallowed thickly.
“I will not betray my country.” But his voice trembled. Arnold grinned maliciously.
“Alexander, you and I both know the Continental Army isn’t going to win the war. The fact that they’ve lasted this long is nothing short of a miracle. Not only will accepting my offer place you on the winning side of this fight, it will get you the command you’ve been waiting for all this time,” he said, voice still sickly sweet.
Hamilton shook his head, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the pin.
“You don’t know me,” he choked out. Arnold’s eyes shone with victory.
“I do,” he grinned maniacally.
Arnold held the pin out again and repeated himself. “You get to win, and you get your command.” He raised an eyebrow. “Now, that’s a deal that seems worth taking.” He cocked his head to the side. “But, I guess I’ll leave that up to you…”
Hamilton pursed his lips, eyes still glued to the pin. It was silent for almost a minute, Arnold still staring at Hamilton expectantly. Hamilton closed his eyes and huffed out a breath through his nose.
“It’s intriguing,” he admitted, voice still thready. “But, to go would cost me greatly.” He opened his eyes and tilted his chin up almost defiantly. “And what percentage of control would I be taking?”
Arnold threw his head back and laughed. “Fair enough,” he grinned. “You’d want a piece of all the action… I’ll set you even in rank to Hitchcock, we can shake and make it happen!” He held out his hand expectantly, but Hamilton laughed and shook his head.
“I wasn’t born this morning! Howe would be just fine!” he exclaimed, straightening his posture the best he could with the weighted cuffs. Benedict laughed in disbelief.
“Why not just ask for the direct approval of the king!” he exclaimed, shaking his head vehemently.
“Wright.”
“I’d do Francis.”
Hamilton held out his cuffed hand, maniacal grin still on his face.
“Grant,” he said, excitement audible in his voice. Now Arnold grinned too, reaching into his other pocket and pulling out a key. He grabbed Hamilton’s cuffed hand and unlocked it easily, moving on to the other one with a satisfied smirk on his face. As soon as Hamilton was free of the cuffs, he shook out his hands and rolled his shoulders.
Arnold reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t we get you cleaned up, Alexander?” he asked. Hamilton grinned.
“Thank you, Benedict.”
-
It was nearing hour four on horseback, and John Laurens was no closer to calm than he had been for days. Three days of his Alexander being gone - being held prisoner at the hands of the British. It had been a letter that Washington had received earlier in the evening that had sparked the rescue mission - an informative note about the whereabouts of a certain Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton.
Washington had assembled a quick troop to ride the fifteen miles to the location the letter had given. It wasn’t only Alexander that was being rescued in the prisoner trade, but it went without saying that he was the most important rescuee.
Washington had been stone-faced for almost a day now, speaking only when spoken to or when giving orders. Laurens had been even worse. For the days after Hamilton’s disappearance, he’d spoken to nobody but Lafayette, seldom left his tent, and eaten only what Lafayette could force into his mouth.
But now, there was hope. The redcoats were willing to give Hamilton back. And John would be damned if he was going to mess this up.
“Halt!” Washington’s gruff voice commanded. Two dozen horses screeched to a stop.
It was silent as Washington observed their surroundings, eyebrows furrowed.
“I have come with an army less than thirty,” he called into the brush. “We are unarmed,” (a very untrue statement, John himself had at least five weapons on his person), “We have met all of your demands.”
It was silent for another few moments before a rustling in the bushes ahead of the army drew their attention. A man on horseback emerged, gun in hand.
“You are to choose five of your men to escort ours back to camp,” he ordered. John scowled and spoke before Washington could get to it.
“You tell us to bring thirty and make us cut down our numbers by two dozen?” he demanded. Washington and Lafayette both shot him a warning look, and he swallowed down more unsavory words.
“Direct orders from the general,” the man said, not reacting to John’s disrespectful nature. Washington scowled but turned to his men and waved his hand over the crowd.
“Laurens and the Marquis will come with me, Hugh and Johnson, you escort the prisoners,” he instructed.
John and Lafayette slid off their horses and walked to the general's side as he dismounted his. The other two men gathered the group of hostages and forced them forward with only their fierce expressions and daunting physiques.
When the group neared the redcoat, he turned and began his horses trotting away. The group followed closely, ignoring the moans and groans of the prisoners.
John could feel himself growing more anxious by the second - how long had Hamilton been a prisoner now? How badly injured was he? How scared was he? He wanted to throw up.
It was another hour or so before the forest thinned and they neared a large house. Laurens could feel his heart practically beating out of his chest. He startled as Lafayette grabbed his wrist and looked up at him.
“Vous mettrez Hamilton en sécurité,” he whispered. “C’est votre travail.” John swallowed thickly but nodded.
“Et vous serez en sécurité,” he responded. Lafayette smiled gently and nodded before pulling away again.
Before they entered the house, the redcoat dismounted his horse and turned to the group with a scowl. “You are to answer to every order myself or any of the other generals give,” he said. “We will shoot at the slightest sign of resistance.”
At Washington’s curt nod, he turned and opened the door, leading the men into the house.
The entrance room was huge, and as soon as the entirety of the group was inside, a handful of redcoats emerged.
John’s fists clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm.
“Ah, General Washington, how nice to see you,” a heavily accented voice drawled. John scowled at the admiral, immediately recognizing the face of the man who had shot and killed John’s horse not even a month prior.
Washington nodded, falsely polite.
“I believe you have some prisoners for me?” he said, voice deadly calm. The admiral nodded and waved his hand. Two of the soldiers who had been standing by a door leading to a different room walked out, and after a few seconds, walked back in, this time with a gaggle of scraggly soldiers with them.
John swallowed acidic bile.
“Where is Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice even. Another man walked in then, and John had to physically restrain himself from pulling out a gun right then and there.
“Arnold,” Washington snarled. Arnold smiled, lifting a hand in greeting.
“Ah, I’m afraid our little Hammie isn’t going to be a part of this exchange,” he said with a sick grin. John felt Lafayette grab his wrist again, this time to hold him in place.
“And why might that be?” Washington asked, raising a falsely noncommittal eyebrow. Arnold’s grin only widened.
“Perhaps that is a tale for another day,” he drawled.
“We will not complete the exchange without Hamilton,” Lafayette interjected, voice firm. Arnold shook his head.
“I’m trying to help you,” he said, giving them a fake pout. “I get the feeling you won’t like what you see if I call Hamilton out here.”
John saw red. His entire body was trembling with fury, and now Lafayette was holding onto him with both hands.
“You said you had left the prisoners unharmed,” John hissed, voice shaking with pure anger. Arnold tilted his head to the side mockingly.
“When did I say I had harmed him?” he questioned.
“Then what-?” Washington began, but he was interrupted by another person entering the room. John’s attention snapped over to the doorway as he took in the new guest.
He wore a bright red coat, covered in badges - a major general, a war hero, a lieutenant, a spy, an honorable soldier, a voluntary recruit - it was quite the impressive assortment. He had fiery orange hair that was tied back in a neat queue, and a general’s hat sitting nicely on top of it. John’s heart sank when he looked at his eyes.
Brilliant, beautiful, violet blue eyes, staring right back at him.
He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream. He wanted to fall to his knees and sob. He did none of those things. His hand twitched in Hamilton’s direction, and he felt himself subconsciously leaning towards him.
“Alex…” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if anyone heard him, because Arnold stepped forward and slung his arm around Hamilton’s shoulders, tugging him to the front of the group.
Hamilton had his chest puffed out and chin raised high, a smug and prideful look on his face.
“General,” he greeted. “Good to see you again.”
Washington’s mouth was agape, along with John’s and Lafayette’s.
“What have you done?” Lafayette whispered, horrified. Arnold laughed.
“Oh, truly, it wasn’t nearly as hard as I’d expected it to be,” he chuckled, shaking his head. He reached out to run his finger over the major general pin, and John felt sick to his stomach. He had a feeling Washington felt a similar way.
“A bit of persuasion, a few promises-” he leaned forward, eyes wide with pride; “A command,” he drawled.
Washington shook his head, his eyes were filled with despair.
“Why?”
John wanted to cry for him. Oh, how broken he sounded.
Hamilton raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve always known I was deserving of a command,” he said with a small shrug. “It was you who drew me to this.” He smirked now. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Alex…” John whispered again, louder this time - but before he could continue speaking, a shot rang through the room, and chaos erupted. The prisoners were all on the ground in a moment, and everyone else was firing blindly into the crowd.
John ducked around a redcoat who was reaching for him and ran to where he’d just seen Hamilton. He wouldn’t leave him. Not after all this.
He could see Lafayette locked in a knife fight with a brawny redcoat, but from the look on both of their faces, Lafayette most definitely had the upper hand. Washington was ducked behind an armchair, reloading a musket he must’ve grabbed from a redcoat.
John finally neared Hamilton and grabbed him by the arm. Hamilton whipped around, already reaching for his gun, but he froze when he saw it was John.
“Why are you doing this, Alex?” John demanded, voice shaking. “Why? After everything? For a command?!”
Hamilton shook his head and yanked himself free of John’s grasp.
“You don’t know,” he muttered.
“No, I don’t, do I?” John snapped. He could feel tears welling in his eyes. “Because you would abandon your country for a command? You would abandon me?”
Hamilton’s face fell, but before either of them could say anything more, John was being held in the air by his collar, legs dangling off the ground. His eyes were wide as he stared down at Arnold, who was disheveled and furious.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that his group had won the battle. Eight redcoats lay wounded or dead on the ground, and not a single one of their men had been lost. Washington and Lafayette were frozen, hands up in surrender, horrified expressions on their faces.
“You,” Arnold breathed. “You think you can get away with this?” he demanded, breath hot in John’s face. “You little fucking, bastard, sodom-” he was cut off, however, by a loud resounding clang. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and his grip on John released. John stumbled to the ground, eyes wide, only to be met with Hamilton standing above Arnold’s crumpled form with a musket raised above his head, eyes fierce.
“Petit bâtard de rat,” he snarled. John’s mouth fell open.
“Alex?” he breathed. Hamilton looked up at him now, face softening. John stepped forward and reached out, cupping Hamilton’s cheeks and running his fingers over the nasty scratches that had planted themselves there.
Hamilton dropped the musket and grabbed his wrists, but he looked past him at Washington and Lafayette, who were still frozen in horror.
“You really think I would betray my country?” He was smiling.
Smiling. John wanted to punch him. And pull him into a tight hug, kiss him fiercely, and run away with him and never look back.
“You fucking asshole,” Lafayette breathed, but he was at their side in a moment, wrapping them into a tight hug. John let out a choked laugh.
“Oh, you’re awful, Alexander,” he managed. He looked up when he felt a calloused hand on his back and saw Washington standing over them, a gentle smile on his face.
“You truly are something, Alex,” he said. Hamilton smiled softly before suddenly pulling out of the hug. He threw his red coat onto the ground with fervor and scowled at it before turning back to the trio that was still watching him.
“All of that,” he emphasized with a huff, “Was for you. I could’ve easily accepted death and refused to play along with him. But I swallowed my pride and saved all of your asses.”
John laughed wetly and pulled Hamilton into a bone-crushing hug, which he immediately returned.
“And we love you all the more for it,” he laughed. Hamilton smiled into his shoulder, relaxing a bit.
“I love you guys too,” he breathed.