Hamilton One-Shots

34- Burned out Flame (historical)

Loosely inspired by We Can Win This by BruhboiWritesCrap

I'M SORRY I WAS FEELING DEPRESSING ANGST-

TW:
-death
-kidnapping
-angst
-deppresing saddnes
-#fenchbaguetteplzstophurtingwashingdad

~~

The battle was hard. After hours of fighting, Washington could tell how tired his men were.

They weren't fighting with that energy and spark he saw at the beginning of this revolution, five years ago. They were slacking- most of the men struggled with loading their guns, a direct result of the lack of sleep and food.

Washington felt like crying. It was just too much- the suffering of his soldiers, the empty promises from congress, the fading hope of peace and freedom. The dying spirit that led them to fight in what they believed in- all of it was gone now.

A bullet whizzed past Washington's head, barely grazing his cheek. He winced and quickly covered the bleeding scale with his hand, hissing in pain. He had once written long ago that there was something pleasing in the sound of bullets whistling past his ears.

But that was long ago, before he faced the trials and sufferings of war- a war that people hoped against hope that he would win. Pull together the army and defeat the British in one fowl swoop, like in those simple fairytales where the innocent princesses only worry was if the prince loved her as she loved him.

Washington sighed as one of his generals held up a red flag. The sign of retreat.

Washington ride through the throng of men, still clutching the side of his face.

He approached the soldier -Meade, Richard Kidder Meade. Washington looked down into Meads slender face, hollowed with hunger, his eyes swirling with exhausting and guilt as he refused to meet the general's gaze.

Washington sighed through his nose. The battlefield was silently watching Washington, waiting for his next move. Meade finally met the stormy grey eyes of Washington and the two men stared at each other until Washington closed his eyes and bowed his head, sighing once more as he turned his back to the British.

Washington raised his head and painstakingly mustered up the energy to yell, "retreat!"

The British erupted into cheers, but Washington, like so many of his men, hung his head in shame as he trotted through the mass of soldiers and began to lead the solomn march back to camp.

~~

Washington sat of his cot, staring at the floor. Silent tears dropped from his eyes, creating streams of salty water down his face, gathering on his chin and dripping to the floor as Washington silently weeped.

The day turned to night and still Washington sat, though his tears had dried long ago.

He almost dozed off a few times, but he never fully slept. He didn't have the energy to move.

The candle slowly flickered out and Washington closed his eyes. He bowed his head and folded his hands together, holding them to the forehead.

He prayed. He never fully believed in a God, but whoever was up there, Washington desperately needed his assistance.

Tears burned rivers through his dirt-caked face as he whispered and begged for someone- anyone to pull him and his army out if this mess of a war. To give them hope, to give them strength.

A lantern illuminated a patch of fabric on the other side of Washington's tent. The murmurs of the mourning man ceased as he looked up, suddenly alert.

His first instinct was to hide, dive under his covers and feign sleep.

But be stayed in that pray-full position, listening, watching in the dark.

Shuffling sounding around his tent and a muffled curse made it's way to the man's waiting ears.

The tent flaps opened and there stood two British soldiers.

Washington stood his ground, watching them with beady eyes as they entered the tent and looked around, oblivious to the man on the cot- they had left their lantern outside.

One man stumbled in the dark and tripped over something, landing on the floor in such a way that he was directly below the general.

Washington gave a half-hearted glare as the man sprang up, crashing until Washington's desk.

Washington pursued his lips. "If you're going to kidnap me, do it. I'm not afraid. This revolution- I believe in the cause, but the fire of hope has gone out and I have nothing left in this blasted army. My only request is you allow me to leave a letter to my wife explaining my absence." Washington calmly explained.

The redcoats were stunned into silence by Washington's speech. They studied Washington's submissive posture and one of the redcoats instructed Washington to stand up.

Washington did so, but it took much effort to muster the energy. He managed to stand, however, and barely flinched when one of the men tied a rope around his wrists, tightening it to where he could not move. The other clamoured onto the cot Washington was just sitting on and tied what resembled a cravat around his mouth after cramming a handkerchief into his mouth.

Washington stood there, unable and unwilling to break free. If he had nothing but Martha and a handful of friends to live for, why should he resist?

The redcoats were initially surprised by his submissive behavior, but soon began to lead him out of camp.

Washington followed in silence, keeping his eyes on the ground. He was taller than both men and could easily outrun them, but what was the point?

~~

The trio reached the British camp by the next morning.

General Howe was thrilled. Washington just sat there, the fire once filling his eyes had been extinguished. What was left was a hollow sadness.

Washington was hung the next week. He requested of a British aide to deliver a message to his wife. "Patsy, my dear, I love you. Do not weep, for I am in a better place. Inform my aides I love them as my own. I will see you on the other side."

When asked if he was afraid of death, Washington shook his head. "I have led a good life." He said. "'Tis well." He said.

Those were his last words before the embers of the long-extinguished fire finally burned out.

~~

I'm sorry.