Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hamilton was running out of breath, each inhale feeling like someone was holding him by the throat. His legs were sore from running as his knuckles were bruised with green traces of blood. The air was polluted with the smell of stomach wrenching guts; so much so that he could taste the fear of the victims. Each step that his feet hit the ground, he could feel the moist dampness of the ground, soaked up by the velvet red color of blood. The smoggy air whipped past Hamilton's face as he ran from his town, trying to reach the escape boat. He left his glasses at home, so he couldn't tell the difference of a running figure from a them.
While running, he felt a sharp ping in his arm, and while turning around he could see a sharp, clawed hand, sinking their fingers deep into his arm. He yelped in pain, out of breath to scream for help, as he tried to rip the hand off his body. In doing so, the ground gave way beneath him, and he slipped into the mud of disoriented limbs and blood mixed with green saliva. His head hit the floor hard, feeling the world spin as his head got warmer with blood. Hamilton was still trying to run, but the thing pulled him back with their disintegrating arm, their stale breath of rotten flesh creeping around the young boy. Eventually, he yanked his arm out of the thing's grasp, getting up with a quiver and trying to run again. He could hear the bone chilling scream rattle throughout the town, bouncing inside of his own head. At this point, his vision wasn't blinded by fog, but by the full tears collected because of the piercing pain screaming from his arm. He held onto his arm tight to stop the pain, but the pain only escalated.
His head was rattled with pain, pinching his nerves as his legs were aching for rest. The world was spinning, dancing, frolicking. He tried to take a breath, but the dust stuck in his throat created a harsh voice from his throat. His tears were thick and plump, falling from his face in streaks and clumps. When he tried to let go of his arm, he noticed all of the blood pouring from his wound. Hamilton took a long gaze at that velvet blood, covering his arm and thick with color. Hamilton took a gulp and closed his eyes, trying to forget the pain, seeing that his entire arm was coated with a red blood color like delicate paint he would use to paint his Christmas projects. The hand covered in a red coat, like the times were he would giggle, painting his entire hand red just for the laughs. The delicate fingers he had, that used to hold the hands of his mother, clutching his plump fingers around hers and running around the field, chasing our pet beagle in circles. Her face, Rachel. So kind and happy, loving, laughable. Her smile used to light up an entire room. Such a beautiful, young face with a kind loving heart.
He felt the world falling, as he started to loose consciousness, a smile planted on his face.

Hamilton flew awake by a gust of wind flying across the tip of his nose. He sighed, lays his head back down on the mossy ground. He looked up lazily up into the starry night with a tint of orange sunrise, still smiling knowing that he was now somewhat safe. He rested for a couple seconds until the sleeping bag beside him rustled and spoke with a warm silkness to her voice, almost like a mother's tone.
"You ok, Alexander?" She didn't sound concerned, but more interested in why he popped awake.
"Oh, uh, yeah," He replied lazily, groggily rubbing his tired eyes.
"Ya sure? That was some hearty yelps."
"Yes, I'm fine. Just, ya know, nightmares."
"Alright... Well, since your awake, let's get up."
The girl rose from her sleeping bag and stretched, taking a sip from her water container. Hamilton gazed into the girl's appearance. Eliza had the longest onyx colored hair of all time, having her hair constantly in a tight ponytail. She had a tight black tank top that was stained with dirt and blood, which went well with her jean shorts and belt that held medical supplies and some weapons. Her body did have some bruises and cuts, but overall she was still stunning, even in a complete apocalypse. Her face was chubby and square, her eyes pinched in the iconic Chinese fashion. The more Hamilton looked at Eliza, the more his face prickled with a blush.
Hamilton got up lazily and started to pack up his sleeping bag and materials and putting them into his backpack. He could hear the others of his group groggily get up as well, hearing several groans and cursing underneath their breaths. One of their crew started to complain about their lack of sleep and saying that if they started moving, they wouldn't get very far with our sleep deprived state.
Once he slipped his backpack on his shoulders, the rest of his group were just about up, rubbing their eyes and stretching out their arms. His group was such a diverse group of people, he didn't know half of them. There were about seven people of color, only two that were females, and he was sure that at least three of their group came from a different country. There was one black guy with a thick beard and tied back hair that spoke in the most indecipherable french known to mankind, and a salty, black man with a bald cut that always carried around a baby. He's refused to speak about his past, nor the child's past. The apocalypse must have hit hard on him.
"Alright, let's move out." A deep, bruting voice spoke, ceasing any other side conversations. George Washington was the leader of our group, and anything that he said, we all did. Just one glance at his scars and a blind eye speaks that you shouldn't test him at all.
We walked for a while, walking along the river line of the forest trees. The ten of us continued to walk through the depths of the forest for no reason. We had no destiny to reach, nowhere to go, and no place to call home. We have fought off all the rottens we could find, and try to assist and bring more survivors to our journey. But, after all, we are just random souls grazing the sad, deserted lands that we used to smile at, but instead we cower in fear, unsettled by the disappearance of people or rottens. For years we've been walking, doing nothing, and our crew had started to go insane. One of our men and started to see rottens out of nowhere, but they've just been going insane. Their boyfriend would always try to soothe their panic attacks, but nothing could calm the screams of fear. Hamilton's hypothesis is that he was the victim of abuse as a child, and is terrified of seeing anything moving in the distance, as it could indicate a painful night.
After a good four to five hours of walking, we arrive at a shed, where George goes first to check out the shed for dangers. After the coast is clear, we check inside and we can see several photos and lawn care equipment. Our french member reaches for the photos and examines each one. They are simple photos, all of the families apparently, and each one is printed on delicate paper, and each photo is a different family. Hamilton dismisses the photos and starts to rummage through the stuff, looking for a good weapon. There was a handy pencil case in a bright pink shade with flowers on it, which Hamilton grabbed for future use. Inside of that case was a small knife, which was coated with a green tinted blood. Hamilton got a shiver down his back.
There was a prominent gasp from one of our french member, as he held a hand to his mouth, his hand shaking along with the photos. One of our members went up to him. "Lafayette, are you ok?"
Lafayette took a second to breathe in, but nodded, smiling. "Yes, yes, I am ok. Just, this photo is my family."
Interest perked the man helping him, as he looked at his photo. He smiled, and nodded, observing the rest of Lafayette's photos. When he went through, he stopped dead as well.
"Hercules, what's going on?" George asked, dragging his attention from the tools.
Hercules gulped and responded with a concerned voice. "There's my family here as well."
At this point, the group as surrounding Lafayette, grabbing for the photos and looking at them in disbelief. Each and every single one of them gasped as they found "their" photo.
"Wait, let me see!" Hamilton grabbed for the last photo in the group and flipped it over to see the image he was holding. Lord and behold, there was his mother, smiling and looking at the camera, carrying a small Hamilton, giggling as he was reaching for her face. His eyes stung with memories, as his expression contorted into a tearful glaze. As he looked longer, he could feel a pain tingle in his right arm. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek as he glanced up, looking to George. He was as dumbfound as the rest of the group, as he had found his family as well. George gulped as he tucked his photo into his tank top shirt.
"Whatever this is, someone's got an eye on us."

Chapter Text

Eventually the group decided to leave the shed and look for a new base, which Hamilton always thought was a bad desicion. Every morning we would wake up from our rotten filled nightmares and be slugged off into the abyss to look for a "safer place". We kept moving, wasting our energy and spending it on looking. Why couldn't we just focus on our survival rather then the softest tuft of grass?

Of course, Hamilton never dared to question Washington at his work. He was very bruting and intimitading at what he did; no one dared to ask what he was doing. He once got real tipsy at a broken down parlor they found, and he got so drunk he tossed the map of the city into the lake. None of them went to go find it, and no one dared to challenge him. Most of us were convinced he used to take steriods because he had the biggest biceps known to man, along with scars scattered on his body. And if you dared to ask him about his scars, you would never ask about his blind eye.

Hamilton overheard Eliza disscussing with her sister about Washington, and they speculated that Washington's wife was infected and causes him to wake up in a cold sweat. He easily believed this myth, as every time he looked at a brown skinned female, you could see his heart drop as he would drag his attention away from the lady. Hamilton talked to people in the group who's been there longer than he's been and they all said that once Washington saw a black, female rotten and shed a tear, frozen on trying to kill it. Lafayette was the one who killed her, and Washington "was never happier about letting go".

Hamilton was brought back to the world when Washington called, "Alright, let's settle here."

As the group started to branch into the area, Hamilton took a good look of where he was. They were in the middle of a large, thick wood with a large circle of dirt with trees surrounding them. The air was quite thick and damp, and it was filled with the scent of pines and fresh water streams. In the middle there was a pile of sticks and burnt clothes, paper, etc. along with some left over trash and litter. North from where the circle was, there was a fresh water stream running with smooth pebbles surrounding the edges.

Hamilton sighed and dropped his heavy backpack on the soft dirt beneath his feet. Time to unload his stuff again. This time, we was smart enough to not completely dump out his bag, but rather just taking out his journal and sleeping bag. He kept the pink pencil case he found in the shed with the dagger, and also stashed his family photo in the case. He was still puzzled on how a pile of photos, all from the same shed his group managed to stumble upon, had a picture for every single person, even dulicates for multiple of the same family. Something was defiantly fishy about that, but he didn't complain. It was a wonder to see his mother again.

"Ugh, why do we have to stay here?" He could hear Jefferson complain across the circle, followed by the rough thump of dropping his large bag of books on the ground.

"Do you want to continue walking for a slightly more decent dirt?" Snarled Eliza.

Silence hovered around Jefferson as the rest of the group set their space up, and some even trying to start the fire in the middle. After laying down his two small items, Hamilton walked over to Eliza to help her with their stuff. Even though she was a very limited woman, she still had her load to unpack, like a blanket, several pictures, her library of weapons, and her assortments of ponytails. Hamilton didn't really understand the somewhat hording personalities of women, but he didn't question; she looked almost as intimidating as Washington.

While they unpacked, Eliza started a friendly conversation. "Hey, so have any plans once we stop moving from place to place?"

Alex sighed. "Honestly, not really. Left my home on an island so I got no where else to go."

"Wow, that sucks. I mean, I plan to go be a marathon runner and win medals for them."

"Oh really? That's pretty cool... All I do is write in a cute little diary."

"Oh shut it, writing is a really nice profession! You can make a living based off it."

Hamilton lifted Eliza's blanket of weapons and laid them down next to her 'bed'. "Barely."

"Barely impossible."

"Oh what ever. I don't plan to write for a living though. I might be a plain old engineer or something."

"Come on man! You got a real talent!! Don't waste it!" Eliza took a long gaze into Alex's eyes, her eyelids almost making her's dissapear. Hamilton's cheeks was sprinkled with blush, his face getting hotter. "You know what, I forgot your name. What was it?"

Alex smiled nervously to release the tension. "Hamilton, but you can just call me Alex."

"Ah, that's what your name was! The guy who keeps waking up from nightmares?"

He laughed nervously, glancing away to the ground. "Don't we all?"

-~-

The night was quite noisy that night, the crickets singing in tune with the owls in their nests, and the frogs croaking sounds of delight. The animals were lucky not to get the virus as we did. They thought that this was the best past years of their life. Sometimes, he wished he just turned into a frog and hopped away, away from all of this misery and death.

At night, no one was ever awake. Maybe some nights Jefferson would have a little too much fun with his boyfriend, for which he'd have to force himself to go to sleep, but besides that the night was free to his will. And on those nights, where the snores of his team mates were the only nosie filling the world, he would sneak out of the camp and walk in the woods. Probably one of the worst habits he has, especially in a rotten infected world, but he has never seen a rotten in a month so he felt safe for the most part.

Hamilton groaned and picked up his dagger, lifting himself up to stroll in the woods. Once he got himself on his feet, he took silent footsteps into the woods where he gazed at the world. The woods were always more peaceful at night, as the animals slept and the brilliant stars filled up the sky. At one point in his stroll, he found an open patch that was lit by the moon; it looked like if Jesus had opened a gate way from hell to heaven, and if he just took a step, he'd climb the staircase up to the clouds.

When he took in the circle and looked up, lord and behold there was a large full moon in the sky, twinkling with several other stars surrounding it. Hamilton had to catch his breath, looking at such a brilliant view. He felt his eyes widen, the world seeping into his iris and making the rotten apocolapse look like a candy land. He smiled, closed his eyes, and smoothly took the hair band out of his silky black hair, letting his hair flow down and brush his elbows. He felt young. He didn't feel 32, but rather 5 as he let out a small giggle. He'd never felt more happy.

He sat there, smiling and giggling for a while until he heard a rustle in the trees. He spun around, his eyes focused on the dark woods. Looking at the moon for so long made a burnt look on his retnas, making it difficult to spot anything at all. His heart was beating out of his chest, the fear of rottens lurking in his brain. Just as he thought it was his imagination, the rustle became louder, and it sounded like the crunch of leaves. His heart spun into panic, his eyes dialted, looking for the source. He didn't want to die here. Nor ever.

The noise got closer. Then closer. Then he could see a black figure, huntched over with a sort of long weapon in hands, walking slowly. Hamilton took several steps back, clutching his dagger in fear. He took a breath, and before he could exhale, he felt a jab in his chest, the end of a long object, poking him. He looked up and saw the figure, a young, teenage boy with short, curly locks. He had a fair, white skin with freckles sprinkled on his face like sprinkles. His wardrobe was a torn, distraught shirt with jeans, an AID kit and a belt with supplies. He wore a dog tooth necklace with some bones, with the string being an authentic wheat string. His face was a square like appearance, his eyes scrunched in anger and dominance.

The boy spoke with a small, obviously pubecent tone. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Hamilton paused for a second, but he replied with a firm voice. "I'm Alex and I was just strolling through the woods."

"Why are you in my base?"

"Look, I didn't know it was your base. I was jus-"

He was cut off by the boy pushing him to the ground, his head slamming into the ground. The boy stepped on his chest with his foot and pointed the long shot gun at his forehead. "Let's try this again. Why are you in my base?"

Hamilton took a deep breath, trying to think of a good responce. "I wanted to see the stars, so I looked for a well lit place."

"Did you steal anything?"

"No, I did not."

The boy paused for a second then stepped off the man. "Get out."

"Are you here alone?"

"I said, get out."

Hamilton took a deep breath and nodded, getting himself off the ground and walking away.

"Hey, boy. I usually take walks, so if I ever stumble across you again, just know that I don't mean harm."

The boy digested this for a second, his eyes swaying in different directions.

"The name's Philip."

Hamilton panted for a second. "Hamilton."