Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

XCVII: Seventy-Eight Months in the Making

❝Truth is always a delusion.❞
—Friedrich Dürrenmatt

Alexander titled this poem Vy Smysl Moyey Zhizni. I read it to myself. I love it.

Without you, this world
is nothing,
will never be anything,
but senseless suffering.

I have already fallen.
What is the harm in
falling further when it
has begun to feel like floating?

You are a woman
To drive both
Man and God
Insane.

"It's always been you, huh?"

"Yes... I suppose it has."

July 2, 2063.

The most disturbing of reports have been made earlier.

"Russian refugees in America who have been held in cantonments are being executed by the thousands."

There was no explanation of why or who ordered the mass murders. It simply was stated.

We've gone past Saint Petersburg and are deep in the Valley Divide. The lack of life, both civilian and military, reminds me of how close we are to our destination. We'll be there very soon.

But today, John wants to talk.

"The truth, (Y/N). That's all I ask for. If you can't do that, then at least don't lie."

He speaks with a lightness that has been absent for so long. His hazel eyes are docile and patient.

"The truth..."

"The most that you can tell me. I'll take anythin'."

"John, I won't lie to you. But," I flush with shame, "you may look at me with more resentment than you already do, and that makes me anxious."

"(Y/N)..."

"But if you truly wish to see me fall from grace, then let me start."

I lean back in the car seat, my eyes glazing over the revolver on the dashboard, only one bullet in its chamber.

"I never knew my father..." 

And so I tell John my story. My true history. I tell John of my mother. Of my brother. Of Alexander. Of the shit life we lived. Of our poverty. Of our starvation. Of our pestilence. When it came to speaking of our involvement in the Russian military, my sentences slowed and my mind became troubled.

I draw circles on my knee with my finger, my thoughts drifting through my sweeter memories before settling on a morbid one.

"Russia was growing a child army... Did you know that?"

John's wide eyes are answer enough, but he responds nonetheless. "No, I didn't know."

I purse my lips into a sorry smile. "Children could sign up for a training program at age twelve which would teach them everything from the history of Russia to how to fire rifles (when the children got older, of course). It was a calculated and efficient strategy to turn children into loyal soldiers ready to die for the nation."

John's brows furrow. "That's barbaric."

"But it worked anyway."

"And... you joined?"

I allow a moment of silence as I try to enumerate how much I regretted that decision over the years. "Yes... I joined."

John's jaw slacks as a grand truth is finally confirmed. "You were in the Russian military."