"Are you sure you don't need backup?"
"Sir, it's just a scouting mission around the perimeter of the camp. It will not take very long."
"I know, son, but...just be careful, okay? Can't be losing my right hand man, now can I?"
"I will be fine. Do not worry for me."
General George Washington did in fact worry for Alexander Hamilton when he did not return.
Night fell, and Washington grew worried for the lack of Hamilton. Nobody had reported him returning, and he began to grow worried.
The next morning came, and now Washington was really getting worried. Hamilton had said it would not take very long, so what the hell had happened?
Many times, he'd been telling Hamilton's friends, that nobody would be going out there. Hamilton may have just gotten lost in the dark and was on his way back now.
"Alexandre is not an idiot," Hamilton's friend Lafayette snapped. "He wouldn't have gotten lost."
"Laf, it is always a high possibility that someone got lost in the woods, given it is quite literally pitch black in there at night." John Laurens answered. Washington knew he and Alex were close.
"John is right," His other friend, Hercules Mulligan, noted. "It's blacker than that of one of the souls of the British out there at night, so Alexander could have easily gotten lost in the dark."
"He should have brought a light, then! Nobody is stupid enough to go out there in the dark without a light! Mon Dieu, Alexandre, espèce d'idiot!" Lafayette shouted, and George cursed himself for not knowing French.
He could tell Lafayette had called Alexander an idiot.
"There are two claims that can nullify that entire statement, Marquis!" Another one of Alexander's friends, who Washington quickly recognized as Benjamin Tallmadge. "One, Alexander left when it was barely sundown. Plenty of light! Second, he was going around the perimeter of the camp. Alexander would not have gone farther than five miles from the camp. Alex has not deserted us, and if anything, he has most likely been captured."
"Oh God...Ben's right. Alexander has most likely been captured if he has not returned yet." Laurens said.
Washington's heart sinks. Dear God, Alexander.
Please be alright. I cannot lose you.
As the small group of Alexander's friends argued over his fate, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Kidder Meade came riding into the camp on his horse, a letter in his hands.
"Sir, I've received this letter from the British." Meade said, already out of breath.
Washington grabbed it, his heart sinking with every passing word.
Where's your right hand man now, General Georgie?
-Admiral Howe
"Alex..."
**A couple of hours earlier**
"Okay, Purple, get it together. Okay, how the fuck can I get it together?! I'm in 1777 with a child version of George Washington's right hand man, Alexander Hamilton, in the middle of the woods with almost no idea what the fuck I'm doing. Doubled with no reception, and I can feel what seems like thirty messages from King weighing on what battery my phone has left of it! God dammit, why does this happen to me?!"
Purple was really starting to question where the earthquake had even come from. They couldn't be anywhere near tectonic plates or fault lines that could cause an earthquake, so where the fuck had it come from?
"Okay, think. You have a child with you."
"Where we going?" Alexander asked.
"Shoot, uhm...right now, we're trying to find a roof to sleep under." Purple made the shape of a roof with his arms.
"Okeh!" Alexander smiled brightly.
Purple couldn't help but return it. As bad as he knew Alexander's past probably was, the boy in front of him was still so happy, despite his older counterparts situation.
Purple caught a glance of someone walking in his direction. Purple knew who he was. British Admiral Howe.
"Get behind me." He whispered to Alex, who scurried behind him, grabbing the hem of his jacket.
He had no weapons, meaning all he could do was either protect the five year old behind him, or fight with his fists.
The former was an easier task, and in his head, it meant running. The latter meant instant death.
"Okay. Breathe. You can do this."
He noticed the object Howe had in his hands.
A gun.
Fuck.
Yet, what he did next confused Purple. In a silent but swift motion, Howe aimed it at the trees, and fired.
Purple automatically assumed something was wrong with him, thinking he was drunk, and wanted to shout something, but kept his mouth shut.
One wrong move and he was deader than Washington's army during the Battle of Long Island.
Something snapped above him, and Purple's heart sunk.
A branch.
"Alex, run!" Purple shouted, grabbing his hand and running away from the falling branch. Another shot fired, and Purple barely had any time to react before something grazed his side, and Alexander tripped.
Shit, they were screwed.