Hamilton / Lams Oneshots

Sweet Jack (Lams) [Blind AU] (Pt. 1?)

A/N: The historical Oneshot I've been mentioning is still being written, but I felt the need to write some late 1800s lams.
The infantilizing in this chapter is on purpose, it's supposed to reflect a certain way of treating disabilities in ye olden days. It's not encouraged, but it's a heavy plotpoint in the story. If there's any issues, please tell me and I'll change it.

It was late in the evening, god knows what hour, and I was walking along the water in the harbor as if I didn't have a responsibility in the world. In a way, it was true, since I didn't have a home anymore, a place to go to or an identity to look after. No deadlines or orders to define me. It felt as if a weight was lifted off of my shoulders, and I could feel my emotions more freely.

I didn't pay much mind to my surroundings, my tired state let me pass by the docks with ease. I was only pulled from that trance-like state by a scream, and a splash. Looking around to find out where the noise was coming from, I quickly saw the person thrashing in the water a few meters away, and so I ran to where they had fallen in. As soon as I arrived and kneeled down at the edge, I reached down and grasped the person's arm.

They coughed and gasped as I pulled them from the dark body of water and onto planks, taking note of how easy it was to pull them up. Under the moonlight, I could identify the person as a young man, maybe 18 at most, dressed in a vest and newsboy's hat, coughing up the salt water that had gotten into his system. I looked down into the water again, and just before it had the chance to drift off, I pulled out a brown leather bag.

"Are you alright?", I asked, unsure how I could help the man, who was now attempting to get back up. "I'm okay, I think...", he answered, and I was surprised at just how boyish his voice sounded. "I don't think whatever is in that bag is though...", I said. He cursed, and scrambled to his knees, clumsily picking up the bag before opening the buckles and revealing a mess of wet paper and run ink. I would've thought he was tearing up, if it wasn't for the fact that his entire body and clothes were soaked and water was running into his eyes from his dirty blond hair, which was cut short but seemed just a little grown out. "My father's going to kill me!", he exclaimed as he tried to carefully pull out one of the papers, causing it to tear beneath his fingers.

"Hey now, atleast you're alive, your father will understand, I'm sure." The man shook his head, softly, as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know, I- I should've noticed the edge of the water, I, my father, he'll be mad, how can I ever make this up...?" The man looked a mess, and so I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Calm down for now. How come you didn't notice the water, the moon is out?" He didn't immediately answer, swallowing hard, he was shivering from the cold night air hitting him. "I- I can't s-see, that's why I was on my way home from the doctors, I must've taken a wrong turn and... oh god, my dad will unleash hell upon me when he finds out all these papers are ruined...!"

The least that I had expected was a blind kid, but I didn't let it show, not that he would've seen my expression. I thought for a few moments of what I could do, staring at the mess in front of me. The boy was shivering, miserable and pathetically trying to choke down his tears. "What's your name?", I asked him. "Jack", he whimpered. "Your full name?", I asked again, to which he flinched slightly at the realization of his undignified answer. "John Laurens..."

"Well, Jack, first we need to get you somewhere warmer than out here, and then we'll see about your papers." He nodded weakly, and so I closed up his bag for him and shouldered it before guiding him up by his arm. "Let's get you somewhere safe, hm?", I told him, softening my tone when I saw just how hopeless he looked. Up close, I could see that his eyes were an unusual shade of blue. "How old are you, Jack?", I asked as I started walking away from the water with him. "Sixteen, sir...", he answered, walking alongside me with careful steps, very careful not to fall again.