A/N: Hello, it's been some time since I have update this particularly story, but I'm trying to continue it as much as possible. Even try to add some history here and there. I hope that you enjoy.

History obliterates every picture it takes

Chapter 3: The Wholesome Lie

December 15th, 1774

The roads were isolated from people as they slept under the night. Occasionally horses pulling cards that crossed the dirt road. The streets were quiet, there wasn't much sign of life even, as he started to count the hours and even the seconds. How many days have passed? Three or even four. But to him, this was rather weak, he knew much time is passed- it always did with his kind, sometimes even quickler- But yes, he was trapped in the house. Guards stood in the doorway and around the halls, to stop him from being a "child" as Arthur had put it.

But Alfred isn't getting any of that. If England wants money he should get his own and to stop stealth all of his people. Even now, he could see Arthur rolling his eyes and demanding respect. He would laugh in the dark thinking that he would ever respect someone like him. Maybe in his younger years, when he said it as okay to take money. That he still saw Arthur as that. Arthur the loving older brother, who never did any wrong. But unlike him, Alfred grew up to see the reality of the problem.

His younger self would have been horrified if he heard the thoughts of him. Beacuse America is growing and so is he. Like the fire in the stomach of a dragon. He could feel the whispers and the curses that his people throw out at England.

He didn't know when he started to call Arthur England, but with everything that he happened he couldn't ignore it like others did. He can recall the "incident" on March 5, 1770. He remembers dreaming about the blood and screams. Arthur wrote on the letter that it was their fault in the first place, not his nor his people. He felt like strangling the man there, but instead he burned the letter. Since he knew that the fantasy that he wrapped himself in burned.

Now almost five years later, the blood was overflowing and the people wouldn't stand for it. Arthur was coming in a week. Told him in the last letter to prepare for he he some guest over for Christmas. Which was stupid really. His thoughts betrayed his smile. He was the hero of the people. When he stilled remember the gentle smile of his mother, she told him never to trust people like England. Oh how right she was.

Alfred sighed as he looked down at the window of the second story high up. The cup of tea was sitting cold and untouched for hours. He didn't care of Arthur's guest. He and England would talk eaither if he liked it or not.

1775

Alfred almost screamed in the middle of the road. How dare that git say such words? When he did arrived they spend months arguing, until he punch the man and declared war on England, the world's superpower. Which he knew he would lose, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. Many bowed to hios ruled, where he would enslaved them, and those who oppose him would be all around the other side of the world. So he couldn't get help from them possibly.

The bar brought new smells, it was in Virginia actually where he meet the man. He was still sulking, shy away from the actions of the bar in the corner when he feel another tug. He felt one when he sa the printed words of the paper of the massacre. As well in a far away memory of an fresh-face immigrant full of a bright future. He cleared his head, the drink in his hand was still full, he never liked alcohol.

"Do you mind if I sit?'' Alfred gave a startled glance to the man, he was big with brought shoulders and a warm smile. But his eyes told him that he saw some horrific things. Alfred shrugged, not caring if the actions were offending, and mentioned the seat in front of him. The man sat down and turned away the smug of the ale. The man looked at Alfred if his search of his quest was finally done, and was expecting something.

"May I help you with something," Alfred said with a sigh as he tried to digest the ale that slipped through his throat. The man clear his throat and with a commanding voice, reserved to those in higher up, said, "I want to start a revolution with you." And Alfred coughed up the ale, struggling not to throw it up.

Alfred looked at the man with wide eyes, looking frantically around almost looking for soldiers to bust through the corner to take them away. The fear- the fear that was burned into him- gripping at his chest, the man looked at him with such pity. Alfred had concluded that this man was insane, the familiar feeling tugging at his chest. "E-Excuse me? I am very loyal to-"

"Please son, save me from the speech. This land and her people are no longer loyal to the dogs who bring bloodshed here." Alfred felt the tug again, a pitiful flame building in his chest.

"I am here to start something that will outlive me, I know who you are. Arthur- if that's his real name-spoke too much when drunk," Arthur? The connection clicked and Alfred became more wary. But the stranger either choose to ignore it or never saw it.

"He spoke about a boy, who was just like him, how he was become more and more destructive, and how he cared for him the best. So it wasn't much to figure it out, and I know you can feel it but God help me that the people want freedom." Alfred saw the man in a new light, and this time Alfred saw his eyes, they were haunted, but with a glint of grim determination.

Alfred swallowed the fear that was bubbling under his skin and clawing at his throat, "What's your name?" His voice low, a whisper afraid that someone would hear man, suddenly straighten up, if the world itself was looking at him and him alone.

"My name is George Washington, and tell me son, would you be able to stand up for what's right?" And Alfred looked at the man, tugging was now pulling and stretching as the flame burned all his connections of Arthur. And the question whispered in people's minds. And in the bar, tuck away from prying eyes history expanded.

1777

It wasn't until two years later, from where he meet the General in that crowded bar, that he felt another tug. Like the one that led him to George, but this one was old, familiar. Like meeting an old friend in a long time. It was noon, actually, where he meet the spit-fire man again. Only this time he didn't even look at him when he enter the tent.

Alfred was used to people walking in and out of the General's office. Stacks of papers in his desk, a activity that Alfred hating a little more than Arthur. The man didn't look much older than twenty and already in the General's office. People buzzed around, not paying attention until the General stepped up to Alfred. He looked up, the man didn't change much but his face from the stress that the war would press into the best of them.

"Alfred, this is our new staff member," Alfred put down the feather quill, and looked at the man. Another familiar tug at his naval. He shook his hand, the man had a glint in his eyes as if trying to prove to anyone and anything that he was worth anything. And Alfred was the world that judge him.

"My name is Alexander Hamilton, it's a pleasure working with you Mister Alfred," and they shook hands, because none of them really knew what the future had for them.