AteIsa: This was inspired by my nickname in messenger, which was "The Poor Messenger Of Burr And Hamilton That Got Shot" (Because I was enjoying every single conversation they had). Also, yay! Ilovecheetos butIAMTIMELESS finally helped me write!

ILoveCheetos but IAMTIMELESS: AteIsa writes like she's running out of time. And I edit a lot. ;)

I was scared.

I mean, being a messenger for Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton wasn't exactly a safe job, now was it?

I'd been sent back and forth between Senator Burr's and Mr. Hamilton's homes, delivering their verbally abusive and rude messages to each other. This wasn't even the worst part, if you can believe it. No, the worst part was they never even gave me letters - they always told me to say them aloud myself. Honestly, I was convinced I was going to get myself killed very soon.

My clenched fist hovered above Burr's door for a moment. Steeling myself, I rapped my knuckle sharply on the wooden surface. Burr opened the door immediately. Had he been waiting? I noticed he tried not to glare at me, but it came out anyway. This was the first time he looked anything but stoic - I'd thought Burr was an impenetrable stone, always waiting, forever biding his time, but -

He looked angry. I gulped nervously. I felt a very strong urge to flee.

He nodded stiffly at me. I took a deep breath, then uttered the extremely lengthy, rude yet eloquent and detailed reply to Burr's last message, including all the swears that Hamilton had instructed me to give. I winced as I faltered under his gaze.

Burr's expression had clouded over. He stared at me for a moment, his formerly stony expression cracking with distaste and something like rage. If the ground had swallowed me up at the moment, I would have gone happily. It would have been so much better than this.

He looked away and clenched his fists, angrily squeezing his eyes shut. I stood there silently for a moment, waiting. He finally opened his eyes and dug around in his pocket. He produced a hundred dollars and growled his message to me, which was, annoyingly, a lot more vulgar and uncouth than his last one.

And here I thought that Hamilton had a particular talent with voluble swearing.

Burr made me repeat what he said. I did. He listened silently, and as I finished, he nodded in satisfaction and urged me to go. I hated how my good memory was being used like this, but I had no choice. I licked my lips and stared at the money he had dropped into my hands, then, slowly, I nodded.

On my way back to Hamilton's house, I counted the money I had gotten so far. They've been doing this to me for the whole day now, and the only reason I consented was because my family needed this money. We were extremely close to poverty.

I smiled in triumph as I counted five hundred dollars. I stuffed it into my bag and clambered up the Hamilton household steps for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

He opened the door before I could even knock. The fire in his eyes, the anger, the hate - I felt like it was all directed towards me. I grimaced and retreated a step backwards, almost falling off the step. He caught me by the hand.

I winced and held my breath at his touch. I felt like he was going to strangle me. He didn't, but that didn't really make me feel better. He tugged me up, steadied me, then crossed his arms. "Well?"

I took a deep breath again, then muttered Burr's reply. I was staring at the ground the whole time I said it, but now I looked up to see his reaction.

Hamilton was staring at me with utter disbelief and hate, his eyes flaring. My eyes darted over to his hand, which was tightening on his gun.

Oh, man.

By the sheer force of it, I flew backwards. The pain in my chest was blinding. Blood came spurting out as I landed on my back, hard, my head hitting the rocky ground, causing more blood. I clutched at my chest uselessly. I took in a breath, and the pain was indescribable.

Hamilton was heaving heavily. He looked like he almost had no control over himself whatsoever at the moment. Suddenly, his eyes widened. He stared at the gun at his hand and back at me. He paled and ran forward, dropping his gun. He skidded to a stop beside me then tried to put pressure onto my chest. His shaking hands were soon covered in blood. My blood. He uttered a shuddering swear, then looked me in the eye. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice cracking. "I didn't-"

I shuddered in intense pain. I tried to sit up, but I couldn't move. I forced myself to grab the money I had earned that day. I stuffed it into Hamilton's hand, whispering, "B-bring this to my family."

Hamilton stared at the bloodied bunch of rolled up bills and coins in his hand and nodded, not looking at me.

I felt panic clench inside me, and I gurgled louder, "P-promise me."

He looked down into my eyes. His bright, intelligent eyes tainted by the fire inside of him, which had burned down to the embers at the moment. He nodded slowly and deliberately, whispering, "I promise."

Hamilton then inserted his hands under my limp form and slowly lifted me up. I yelled in excruciating pain. He looked around sharply. There was no one in sight...

Except his wife, who came running out the moment I yelled. She stared at me, the child in her husband's arms, who was bloodied and limp and pale and dying. She glared at her husband, whose hands were covered in my blood. "You shot a child!" she screeched hysterically.

I took in a painful breath. The sheer effort was pure agony. "It-it's fine, Mrs. Hamilton, I-"

I landed in an extreme fit of coughing. Blood filled my mouth. I spat it out.

Eliza ran forward. And Eliza - I knew that was her name because I once overheard Hamilton talking to her - she blanched as she saw my tragic form up close, which was much, much worse than even I would ever understand. "Alexander, what have you done?" She breathed, covering her mouth.

Hamilton looked beside himself with regret, breathing heavily. He was shaking violently. He put me down onto a softer patch of soil gently, shoved my money into Eliza's hand, then took off at full speed towards Burr's house.

I silently mouthed "No.." in his direction in a feeble attempt to stop him. I knew what he was going to do. I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as I realized that whatever was going to happen next, it would all be my fault. Tears escaped my eyes and slowly slid down my face, mixing with the blood that had splattered on it.

Eliza clasped my hand. "Never mind him. We need to get you to a doctor," she whispered frantically, trying to lift me into her arms without doing too much damage. But I knew it was too late. I knew I was dying. But...

I didn't feel scared.

I shook my head weakly, and her eyes teared up. She didn't even know me. Didn't even know who I was or why I was here, or what I've done..

She clutched my hand tighter as my breathing became louder and hoarse, rattling disgustingly, and she hesitated. She whispered, "If you see Philip, my son.."

She stopped, slightly embarrassed at how she was asking me a favor at my deathbed.

I nodded dizzily.

"I'll tell him you said hi," I solemnly promised, swallowing.

As the edges of my vision darkened and my heart slowed down, I heard Eliza whisper in sudden urgency. She gripped my hand tighter. "Wait, what's your name?"

I never had the time to answer.