then a hurricane came

NOTES- no big TWs, but please mind that there is a non graphic panic attack, implied ptsd, and anxiety

Hurricanes. Raging winds. The pelting of the rain on the roof. The shaking of the walls. But nothing was worse than the pain that it caused the people. The tremors of the building, the doubt that lasted hours. The fear that the building would cave in on you and your loved ones. If anyone you care about isn't with you, you won't know whether they're still alive until after the hurricane, when the dead bodies are towered upon the others in the middle of the town.

Alexander knows that there isn't anyone in Nevis who would be worrying about him. Even the Stevens probably wouldn't be worrying.

Why would they? They all have an entire family.

Alexander, however... he doesn't have a family.

The room was getting cramped and crowded, people all clumped together to enhance body heat. Status and reputation are all ignored in the hunt to remain warm and create a false sense of security and comfort.

There is a conjoined sense of connection in the room, which Alexander finds especially funny after years of being judged just because he's a bastard.

The hurricane goes on and on and on spiralling and spiralling further and further into insanity and destruction and panic and pain and fear.

The occupants of the room have no care towards the seventeen year old sitting alone in the corner, continuously looking towards the blacked out windows in stress, hands clutching his ears, muttering rapidly under his breath something alike to a prayer. He had been sitting there since the island habitants first were made aware of the disaster at dusk, and his face was only becoming darker and darker with fear as time went on. He was trying to ignore the distressed shrieks, the crashes of falling houses, the sound of the roaring of the sea and wind and the perpetual flashes and glares of lighting. The building was at a never ending risk of collapsing, which did nothing to aid the panic and fear in the room.

There was a strong smell of gunpowder in the air which added to the terror, and there were screams coming from outside in the midst of the storm; footfalls from entire families without a shelter, the sick exposed to the rain, and buildings crumpling over people. The water was too brackish that there is no drinking it.

Almost five hours after the start of the storm, there is a sudden break in the storm, a view of sun, of rest. Hopes are raised, and people tentatively step outside of the building. Building ruins are cleared, and the bodies found underneath are all piled in the middle of the island for family members and loved ones to stumble across and bury.

Alexander quickly found his way to the Stevens, who sigh deeply upon seeing him, and envelope him in a hug.

All was peaceful for an hour to come. The final of the stragglers had just made their way inside before the rain began to fall once more, the wind shifted. The atmosphere on the island became tense in fear once more, but it quickly escalated into another lapse of storm, returned with redoubled fury. It continued until around three in the morning, screams and cries and sobs filling the hours.

The hurricane goes on and on and on spiralling and spiralling further and further into insanity and destruction and panic and pain and fear.

On the following days, while many are mourning and trying to clear the destruction, Alexander Hamilton is at a desk, writing a letter to the Royal Danish American Gazette.

'Honoured Sir

I take up my pen just to give you an imperfect account of one of the most dreadful Hurricanes that memory or any records whatever can trace, which happened here on the 31st ultimo at night.'