Chapter Text
George Warner was a late bloomer. Not in the physical sense, but in that he had yet to experience his revelation. He was 19 years old, and he still didn’t know who he was. His parents had entertained the idea of him being a new soul, but too many of his mannerisms were too...dated.
And who automatically turned around when he heard the word excellency. He did apparently, and he didn’t hear the end of that one for weeks.
He wasn’t that bothered not knowing, there was something peaceful about it. After all, he didn’t have a legacy to live up to. Chances were he was nobody important - in the millions of people that have lived, history only remembered a handful of names.
From a young age George had been a leader. Captain of the football team, student body president, counselor at the city run summer camp; it just made sense to him. He wasn’t made to follow, and it was something he felt deep in his bones.
His parents had encouraged him to study business in college, saying that he had the charisma necessary to become someone important in a company. Frankly, George didn’t know what he wanted to be, and while business didn’t exactly call his name, it didn’t repulse him either.
Unfortunately, you had to take more than just leadership classes to get a college degree.
It was during his history class. He had ended up in a class about the american revolution because he figured that learning it for the hundredth time wouldn’t kill him, and it happened to fit in his schedule.
The funny thing about classes with basic subject matter, is that oftentimes, it’s just assumed you know certain facts. George had never actually learned all that much about the founding fathers; people just assumed he already knew everything, and whenever he was told something, there was always a voice in the back of his head saying that it was wrong.
It was during one of his lectures in his history class that their professor got sick of everyone not paying attention.
“Everybody, eyes here.” Their teacher was a very quiet man, and having him speak with any sort of energy was frankly startling enough to grab their attention.
“Since none of you seem to care how the country you are living in was founded, I am going to give you a test of sorts.”
This of course was met with a wave of groans. George remained silent. He was interested, some part of him knew that there was going to be more to this than what met the eye.
“I am going to pull each of down here with me at random points, and I am going to give you the name of a historical figure. You will do you best to tell me something that person did, and I’ll give you extra credit for quoting them, or acting out a scene that somehow applies. Now, any volunteers?”
No one raised their hands, but one girl did blurt out, “Don’t some people have advantages, like if they knew who you’re asking about in a past life or something”
The professor just laughed, and said, “and that’s when it starts getting fun”
Most were boring, getting a few laughs at most. After all, everyone knew that Sam Adams was the brand of a beer, and that Paul Revere was very obviously the man who went around screaming “The British are coming”
Before he knew it, George was called down. He stood in the middle of the room, and just like every other day of his life, he felt empowered by the eyes directed at him rather than bothered. There was always something that made him stand taller, more proud, when being watched.
The professor, he really was a very short man, stood in front of him.
“Now, Mr. Warner, I want you to be...Aaron Burr.”
George didn’t know who that was, but before he could stop himself he was laughing. “Sir, excuse me, but Aaron Burr? What have I done to deserve this? Why is he even mentioned, how did Mr. “Never do today what can be put off till tomorrow” ever amount to anything in history?”
The professor was amused, but George was only confused.
“Why, Mr. Warner, what has Aaron Burr ever done to you? But if you really must know, Burr is most famous for killing Alexander Hamilton in a duel. And for never becoming president.”
“What could Alexander have possibly done to make Burr feel enough anger to actually shoot him?”
The professor was openly grinning, and asked, “I didn’t realize you were on a first name basis with the first treasury secretary of the United States, Mr. Warner.”
George was only even more confused now, but the back of his mind was whirring. He had always had dreams of a war, but that was so common that he never questioned it. Suddenly, his mind was filled with the image of a short, frazzled looking kid hunched over a desk muttering angrily. He remembered writing letters, he remembers sitting in bed while the doctor let his blood. The smell of gunpowder and blood, and the feeling of hands in his. He remembers hearing mutterings of french in a tent accompanying the sound of a quill scratching.
The people around him, always looking to him for an answer. The hunger pangs he hid so that his soldier wouldn’t see their general in such discomfort. The morale had already been so low, the last thing they needed was their last source of hope beaten down by the same pains they all faced. After all, he was their general, and he needed to lead by example.
Wait.
What the fuck.
He quickly focused in on the scene around him. The professor was still in front him, grinning wildly, his classmate watching, faces a mixture of boredom and confusion.
“Are you going to answer my question, George?”
“What?”
“Why did you refer to Alexander Hamilton by his first name?”
“Because he had made it an art form of conveniently not hearing his last name when spoken in anger.”
“I don’t remember reading that anywhere, Mr. Warner.”
“Neither do I.”
“So, Mr. Warner, who were you?”
George shook his head, “somehow I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
“No, I’m very sure I would. After all, you have a very distinctive walk, General.”
He was shocked, but the glint in the other man’s eyes was somehow familiar; reminded him of parties thrown in times where such revelry was all too rare.
“Friedrich?”
He suddenly had two hands on his arms, and his professor, and previous friend of sorts, laughing in front of him.
“No but seriously Friedrich, why are you so short?”