Hamilton One Shots

Heaven

Requested by: todaywewrite

Breathing heavily, on his deathbed, Alexander looked stared up at the ceiling. Though he was losing the nerves to feel, the touch of his wife's hand in his wasn't gone yet. He returned the gesture, squeezing her hand, tear droplets forming in the corners of his eyes.

He blinked them away, suddenly overcome by a sense of tiredness. It's coming, a soft voice murmured, not any of the ones around his bedside. Alexander could barely turn his head to see his wife's face.

He wanted to toughen up and show her how simple it was to leave, so when her time came, she'd know how to face it.

A breath of air left his lungs, almost too unexpectedly, and then everything froze. The children at the foot of his bed disappeared, then all the visitors, being blurred over by a beaming white light.

Alexander watched as his wife, frozen in a terrified expression, became erased from his field of vision. Eliza. He reached a hand out hopelessly, only touching the overpowering light of what seemed to be heaven.

Moving his fingers and legs, it came to his realization that all his wounds were somehow healed. He gasped, running a hand along his cheekbone, half in tears at the idea of being healthy and feeling young once more.

"It's often a confusion to people why they seem to be young again. But that's the works of heaven, one would say."

Startled by the voice, Alexander leapt to his feet. The surroundings were pristine white in every direction, with a calming affect to the way they caged him in. "Pardon?" He stepped forward uneasy at first with his footing.

"You don't need to be afraid, Alexander."

It can sense fear? Still not sure who or what was talking to him, he cleared his throat. "I'm not afraid," he stuttered, regretting the words the second they came out. Hesitant and shaky.

"You think after all these years I, of all people, have forgotten how isolated you become when threatened? I recall the numerous times we-"

"Who are you?" Alexander took a few steps forward again, praying there would some sort of railing to hold onto if worse came first. "How do you know me? Show yourself, please." A little desperate, he looked up at the whiteness above him and then back to his left.

"Ahem, look over here then, Hamilton."

Alexander glanced behind him, instantly recognizing the person. No, it couldn't be. His mouth dropped open, followed by frantic words. "Y-you died an-and I, how did you find me-where are-" Tears that had been held back since that morning, when he was surrounded by family, began falling down his cheeks.

"John," he finally breathed, breaking down and observing the man he once shared such a bond with. "J-John," he cried out, gazing at that young, innocent face of his.

Stumbling over his own feet, Alexander gasped and spluttered for the right thing to say to his deceased, but now alive, friend.

Still dressed as the day he'd reportedly died, Laurens looked like he might as well cry too, after all the years he'd been waiting. He hurried forward, grabbing the other man by the hands and tugging him into his arms.

The embrace made both of them crumble into a massive amount of emotions and tears.

"I-I-you," Alexander stammered, pushing himself back to get a good enough look at his friend. Ghostly, but real, John was exactly how he remembered him. Not that he hadn't ever forgotten. It just had been too long.