Ah, hello again! As a forewarning, this one's gonna contain a little bit of torture and a little bit of Lams, but enjoy!

"Hamilton, is it?" Alexander didn't respond, just glared at the British officer. "I hear you are General Washington's favorite." Alex snorted, struggling against the coarse ropes the British had bound him with. If only he could reach his dagger, hidden in a small sheath on his belt, but his hands were tied behind him, he couldn't quite reach-

"I wonder what Washington would do if I returned you to him in a box?"

Alex looked up sharply at that, eyes wide with alarm. It took all he had to bite back a sarcastic comment, his usual defense. Not that the British bastard would hear it with the gag that had been shoved in his mouth within the first five minutes of his capture due to his constant cursing and ranting.

"Don't you dare fucking touch him!" Alexander stiffened. He glanced to his left, where his best friend and lover John Laurens glared at the officer he'd nicknamed Dickhead with steel in his eyes. Alex winced when Dickhead paused in his pacing in front of them, stopping in front of Laurens.

John, please, please shut up. Dickhead turned to face Laurens directly. "What did you say to me?" Please John don't make it worse-

"I said," John said slowly. "Don't you dare lay a fucking finger on him or I will personally kick your ass." Alex inwardly groaned, increasing his struggles, if only to distract from his lover. John could be more stubborn than him at times and now was not the best time to show that trait. Unfortunately, Dickhead's eyes remained locked with John's.

A sharp crack echoed through the air, and John was thrown to his side, a red handprint on his cheek. Alex made a furious noise, the sound replaying over and over in his head. John was struggling to sit back upright with his hand tied behind his back. Dickhead grabbed a fistful of John's hair, yanking him upright as John muffled a cry of pain. He leaned in close, Alex watched as his lover's face crinkle with disgust. "Listen here, you traitorous scum." Dickhead practically had pressed their foreheads together. Alexander was getting more agitated and angry with every second. "I will do what I want, when I want, to whoever I want. You cannot stop me. In fact, why don't I demonstrate just how helpless the both of you are?"

Finally, the officer dropped Laurens. Alex let out a sigh of relief. That is, until he noticed he was approaching him instead, a knife drawn and glinting in the light of the moon above. For a brief, everlasting moment, Hamilton's mind was completely drowned in terror. Then the logical part kicked in and he kicked out with his bound legs, tripping the British menace. For a second Alex was filled with a smug satisfaction, defiance glittering in his eyes, but then Dickhead stood and the animalistic look on his face made him regret every decision he just made.

He was on him in a second, his head yanked back and the edge of the blade pressed against his bared throat. He could hear the sounds of a struggle next to him, likely a British soldier wrestling with John as he shouted in outrage. All of Hamilton's focus, however, was on the officer in his face. His breath reeked. The look in his eye made him wonder if this man was still in his right mind.

All of that fled him when the blade was dragged across his throat.

Alexander panted heavily, trying his best not to scream, but unable to help the strangled cry as his own blood ran warm down his skin. He knew it wasn't deep enough for him to bleed out, but that meant nothing to his panic-pain hazed mind, his heart hammering in his chest. Laurens was screaming his name, but he could barely hear it. His vision had glazed over, everything was unfocused and hazy, oh God was he actually dying? Was he wrong? Is this where he dies?

He was jolted back to reality by a hand tugging forcefully at his hair and rancid breath by his ear. "If we didn't need you," the officer whispered, "I really would send you back to Washington in pieces." Hamilton couldn't tell if he should be terrified or relieved, his breath hitching. "But." The officer grinned. "That doesn't mean I can't leave some marks."

Both Alexander and John let out a surprised noise as Dickhead began unbuttoning Alex's shirt, leaving it hanging open and revealing his chest. Alex struggled fruitlessly through the whole process, not making it easy. John continued to shout profanities as Dickhead shoved Alex onto his back and picked up the knife once more, the edge dripping red, blood, his blood, and Hamilton felt like his heart was beating out of his chest, his eyes locked onto the metal.

Dickhead touched it to his bare chest, a gentle touch, no pain to it, as he turned to face John. "You will tell me Washington's plan of attack. Every detail of his strategy. Every piece of information you know or else..." He dug the blade in Hamilton's chest, not too deep, but deep enough for blood to immediately well from the wound and he made a strange gurgling sound in the back of his throat, the resulting sharp swallow making his injury there sting and throb.

Alexander locked eyes with John. His lover dropped all his defenses, revealing just how frightened he was, how worried he was for the both of them. His hope for a rescue was dwindling and, honestly, so was Hamilton's. They were far into the forests of Pennsylvania, in an obscure clearing that the British had set up camp in. Hamilton nodded once. John's eyes hardened once more and he glared back at Dickhead, who had watched the exchange with diminishing patience.

"I-we-would rather die."

The grin they got in reply chilled Hamilton to the bone. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, before he was screaming, the officer digging into his chest with a feverish enthusiasm. He will always deny the tears that escaped his closed eyes, biting into the gag in an attempt to stifle his cries. His ears were ringing. John's voice sounded miles away. Suddenly it stopped, and he could breathe again, his breaths coming in rapid, ragged gasps.

"I will ask again-what are Washington's plans?"

John remained firm, despite his lip quivering. "Kiss my ass."

Dickhead raised the knife, that disturbed grin on his face. Hamilton's chest was painted red. He let out a desperate whine when it was placed against his skin, flinching hard.

The forest exploded.

Men, American men, swarmed from the trees, two familiar figures at the head. Within seconds, all British forces, save Dickhead, were dead or dying on ground. Dickhead stood above Hamilton, brandishing his knife wildly, scattering his blood everywhere. It wasn't long before a bullet hole was in his forehead and his body was being dragged away.

"Mes amis! Are you alright?!" Lafayette raced forward, Hercules on his heels, fear, worry, and concern etched in every line on their faces. They reached John first, attempting release him and check him over, but he shook them off.

"I'm fine! I'm fine, check on Alex, he's seriously hurt, Herc get off me, get to Alex!"

Lafayette obeyed John's demands and made his way over to him. At first glance he thought Hamilton was dead: blood painted his chest, staining the white of his uniform, and he was lying completely still on the ground. The cut on his throat didn't help. But then Laf noticed the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and his eyes were open, glazed, but still carrying life. The Frenchman bent over him, carefully working out the gag, and, taking out his canteen and handkerchief, gently, methodically, began to clean him up. "Mon ami, Alexander, pouvez-vous m'entendre?"

Everything felt a thousand miles away. Even so, Alex slowly forced himself to look toward the man kneeling next him, then cracked a smile. "Laf..." He coughed, back arching. "Vous...vous avez pris assez longtemps..." His eyes rolled back in his head and Hamilton was out cold.

"Is he alright?!" John came hurdling toward them, skidding to a halt next to Alex's head. One look at his closed eyes and he began to breakdown, stifling sobs by biting his lip.

"Relax, mon ami, he is just asleep. He'll be fine." Lafayette placed a hand on John's shoulder, Hercules appearing on his other side. After a moment, Laf spoke again. "Come. Help me untie him, then we can bring him back to Washington. He'll be fine, John."

"I hope so, Laf."