Chapter Text
Alexander Hamilton never liked the rain.
It reminded him of the hurricane that left his home a shell of what it had once been – the crumbling houses, the fallen trees, the people left to mourn for all that they had lost.
He hated the rain. And thunder. And lightning. And strong winds…
Hurricane, cyclone, typhoon. Whatever. Same thing. Only different names, different places.
It wasn’t a hurricane yet, but the storm was really showing off this particular night.
BANG! Went a musket, and Alex quickly shook his head out of his thoughts. He mentally cursed himself for spacing out, in the middle of a battlefield, of all places!
He couldn't die. Not here. But, oh, of course they had to be ambushed while he was sleeping. There was nothing less flattering than wearing nothing but your trench coat thrown over your sleeping clothes.
But no matter.
It was a massacre against the British troops. They had set up camp moving forward in territory when they had been ambushed by the British troops. They were heavily outnumbered-but they sure as hell weren’t going to let them win.
At least there weren’t cannons.
But damn him if the rain wasn’t getting everywhere. He could barely see anything. Also, why on earth did it have to be so cold?
Well, there was no complaining. Not in the middle of battle.
“Behind you, mon ami!” Lafayette hollered to him, and Alex turned just in time to raise his musket and fire at a redcoat charging at him. The man crumpled to the wet, muddy ground, the mud and rain water mixing with the blood.
“Thanks!” he hollered to his friend before aiming and firing at another one. The figure went down.
One thing Alex could count on: he never missed, and he sure as hell didn’t throw away his shot.
BOOM!
He felt the explosion before he turned around and saw it.
Out of everything in a storm, it was the lightning he hated the most.
Even in the pouring rain, the lightning had struck a few of the trees that stood in the middle of the muddy field, setting it on fire. Bright and hot, it danced across the trees, sizzling, and the biggest (and oldest) one creaked, falling-
-towards him.
Alex tried to move. He really did.
But he couldn’t.
The fire was so, so bright. People were screaming. He couldn’t move, his town couldn’t possibly be in ruins-
“ALEX!”
Something pushed him, and he felt himself roll onto the ground just as the tree crashed.
Alex felt dizzy. He didn’t know if it was from the force when he fell or the shock. All he knew was that he was alive-and something-well, someone-was on top of him.
He looked up and saw a very familiar, curly haired, freckled face.
John. Damned. Laurens.
And God, even in the middle of fire and rain and death, he’d never looked so…
Beautiful.
Not handsome. Beautiful.
Dammit, why’d he have to think that now?
He shook his head out as John clambered off him. Alex could swear, even in the dark and rain, that he was blushing.
“You okay?” John yelled, holding out his hand.
Alex took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. “Yeah. Thanks, John.”
John grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Now-“
“ACK!”
They both turned, and Alex’s heart dropped. Several feet away, Mulligan was struggling against a redcoat, rain washing away the blood from a leg wound.
Both moved at once to help, but suddenly John cried out in pain. Alex whipped to see John on his knees, blood trickling from his head and a redcoat stood over him, holding a bloody bayonet.
Alex felt furious, and all at once raised his gun, but suddenly, he felt something heavy hit his head, and a blinding flash of pain exploded in front of his eyes.
He felt himself fall, fall into the wet, muddy ground.
The last thing he saw was the dark sky, and the sound of Mulligan yelling his and John’s name, and someone that sounded like Lafayette shouting in French, and the feel of something thumping beside his body.
Then everything went black.