This fanfic request was, once again, written by AteIsa

A/N: This was requested by Shiranai Atsune. They asked for a Hamilton Roleswap AU, so, I wrote... This. Which is, I believe, totally not what they're expecting. The plot was really simple at first, until, at some point, it went crazy. As in, I don't understand what happened.

Originally the plan was to write a short 5,000 word story, short and snappy, but in the end, I wrote a 21,996 word story in the span of several weeks.

Anyways, Shiranai Atsune, I really do hope you like it! Just.. Don't expect anything

Alexander Hamilton's eyes fluttered open as he awoke to greet the day anew. One of the first things he saw when his vision cleared was a large French flag hanging on the roof above his bed. He frowned in confusion as he groggily sat up. I don't remember putting that there..

He yawned, scratching his head. His voice sounded strangely different, for some reason, but he just assumed that it was probably because he was exhausted a lot recently, since the congress constantly wrote to them.

He slid out of the bed and stood the moment his feet touched the ground. As he walked over to the coat rack, he paused. His coat was not there, only Lafayette's, which did not make sense, because he and Lafayette stayed in different tents, which were all the way across from each other.

He looked around the surrounding cots, which were all empty. Hamilton paled. Glancing at the clock, he realized with sudden dismay he slept in. He looked wildly around the tent for his coat, but as his eyes caught his reflection in the old, slightly dirty mirror, he froze.

Lafayette awoke to the sounds of a sewing machine whirring in the floor below.

Wait, a sewing machine?

Lafayette sat up, the bed not making its usual creak. He rubbed his eyes. A clock nearby told him he had slept in. His insides started to panic, but not because of how late he had woken up. No, it was because of when he scanned the room he was in, for it was now a room, and not the tent he had been sleeping in the night before. What-?

He stood up quickly, looking around. A door to the right of the room was slightly ajar, confirming it was not locked. He ran to the window, preparing himself for a tragic sight.

His eyes widened, and he stared. He was now somehow in New York. Did someone kidnap him?

Lafayette shook his head. He was thinking irrationally, because he was not bound in any way, and he had been sleeping in a bed. And, seeing as the door was not in any way barred, he couldn't see how it was possible for him to be being held captive, unless his captor was just incredibly stupid.

He turned back to the window, and his eyebrows furrowed as he saw his reflection. He narrowed his eyes at it to focus his vision, and gasped.

John Laurens awoke to the sound of someone clicking their tongue nearby. He lifted his head sleepily, and he found that there was the page of a book stuck to his cheek. He pulled his head backward to peel it off and glanced down at the book in confusion. Had he been reading?

The clicking tongue soon turned into an impatient cough as someone behind him attempted to get his attention.

Laurens turned to the person behind him. He jumped. "What the-"

He had been expecting Alexander, or another fellow aide-de-camp to wake him, because he was pretty sure he accidentally slept in, judging from the direction the sun was filtering through the window.

But the man standing behind him was none of them.

The strange man standing behind him had his arms crossed. "Why were you sleeping?"

"Umm... Excuse me?" Laurens frowned, taken aback. Am I not allowed to?

"You were supposed to be studying, Mr. Burr, not sleeping. How do you expect me to tutor you if constantly give me such a difficult time?"

Laurens gave him a look. "Excuse me," He frowned, mockingly adopting the man's pompous manner. "but I don't remember asking for a tu- wait, did you just call me 'Mr. Burr?'" He cocked his head in confusion.

The tutor frowned at him. "Yes, I did."

Hercules Mulligan woke up to the sound of Laurens yawning nearby.

Wait, Laurens? How is he-

He opened his eyes. He was in a tent. Scratching the back of his neck, he craned his neck, and his eyes caught the timepiece standing on a desk nearby.

Laurens, who was just opening his eyes as well, followed his gaze and gasped at the exact same moment Mulligan did, the realization of them sleeping in dawning on them. They both scrambled to their feet, and when they nearly knocked into each other, they paused, giving similar looks of equal surprise.

"John?"

"Alexander?"

"Huh?" They frowned in unison, sounding very confused indeed.

"I'm not Alexander, John, why would you mistake me for him?" Mulligan asked.

"Because you are him! Or at least, you look like him.." He trailed off. "But I'm not Laurens- I mean John."

"What do you mean? I can see who you are quite clearly. Why am I here?"

The man who claimed not to be Laurens but looked very much like him looked around the tent, as if only just realizing where he was. "Wait, why am I here?!"

"Don't you sleep here?"

"Don't you?!"

The two of them stared at each other in bewilderment for a few moments, exchanging silent expressions of puzzlement.

"Who do you think you are, exactly?" The supposed Laurens asked, his voice calm in a way that Mulligan never heard before.

".. Hercules Mulligan. Do I not look like me?"

"No." Laurens licked his lips nervously. "So, you say I'm Laurens?"

"..Yes?"

"Well, I'm not Laurens." He said flatly. "If you're trying to play a trick on me, Alexander, I don't find it funny."

"I'm not Alexander! Who do you think you are, then?"

"Aaron Burr, of course." He replied, sounding so matter-of-fact that Mulligan started to feel even more puzzled.

They looked at each other. Finally, 'Burr' turned around, looking for something. He turned to Mulligan. "Come with me." He gestured, exiting the tent. Unsure, Mulligan followed. He saw 'Burr' crouching with his face close to the ground. He was staring into a small pond.

Mulligan followed him and bent down into a crouch beside Burr. Why would he be-

Then he glanced at the pond and saw Hamilton's face staring straight back up at him.

At that exact same moment, the both of them yelled in shock, falling backwards onto their bottoms.

"What the heck?!" Mulligan yelled, his voice filled with alarm. "John, what did you do?!"

"I'm not John!"

"OKAY, stop yelling!"

"You're the one yelling!" Burr retorted. He gripped his head. "Am I going crazy?" He muttered under his breath.

Footsteps sounded behind them. Turning, they saw a young solider. He looked concerned.

"Hamilton, General Washington's looking for you." The man said. "Why are you here and not working?"

Mulligan looked at Burr, who looked right back at him. They swallowed, giving each other subtle nods. They didn't know what was going on, but they did know that they had to play along with this so they could get away to properly figure this out.

"Uh.. yeah, I.. Slept in." Mulligan stammered, only now realizing that his voice changed. He really did sound like Hamilton.

Burr and Mulligan stood up, dusting their bottoms off. Burr, after dusting his hands, shoved Mulligan in the direction of a large tent. "I guess you should go, then."

Mulligan nodded, starting his walk there. The man caught him by the shoulder and frowned. "The general's tent is there, not there." He pointed in the opposite direction, looking a little confused.

Burr and Mulligan made similar little Os with their mouths. "Oh- yes, of course." Mulligan coughed, starting to run towards that direction instead.

Burr gave a small, half-hearted wave. "I'll, uh, just be here, then." He slipped back into the tent.

The man, after glancing curiously in the pond for a moment, obviously wondering what they were doing, caught up with Mulligan. He looked worried. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I am." Mulligan replied. He tried not to smirk when he found that he actually did sound like the real Hamilton, especially with the snarky attitude.

When arrived at the tent, Washington was there, waiting for him with his arms crossed. He looked a little angry. "You're late, son."

Mulligan swallowed, noticing how very tall Washington was. He fumbled into a salute. "I apologize, your Excellency." He stammered, standing to attention, if a little shakily. Was Hamilton supposed to sound so nervous? He himself was never even that nervous around the general. It was probably because the general was a LOT taller in Hamilton's point of view, though it could be fear of messing up Hamilton's job, but either way, he needed to relax.

Washington looked at him in suppressed surprise. Mulligan didn't understand the look he was giving him, as if he had done something totally out of character. Did he already notice his nervousness? Or was it something else?

When Washington noticed Mulligan fidgeting under his gaze, smoothed out his features to that of suspicion. "Is there something you need to tell me?" He asked slowly, ".. Son?"

It was not as angry as it was a moment ago, though no less stern.

How to respond? Mulligan brushed aside the thought that the general had called him son twice, because he didn't think it was important. He began to shake his head slowly. "Nooo.."

When Washington raised an eyebrow, Mulligan looked him in the eye, and with a firmer voice, said, "No, sir."

Washington, who still looked a little curious, let it go. He pointed at a desk. "There's a letter from Congress. I presume you can handle that additional piece of work?"

"Yessir." Mulligan replied, trying to swallow his nervousness while sitting himself upon the chair gingerly.

Taking the top letter from the pile in his hands, he slit it open and started to read. Man, the Congress can be really rude. Mulligan thought in disgust. He tossed the letter down onto the table. He grabbed the quill. He wasn't used to Hamilton's thinner form, and his movements were somewhat faster than his own, and that caused him to accidentally grab the quill too fast, causing the ink pot to tip over. It rolled off the edge of the desk and, as if in slow motion, smashed, breaking into tiny shards of hardened clay.

Mulligan took in a fast breath as the ink seeped into his - Hamilton's, he corrected himself - clothes. In a few moments time, his arm was covered in ink, and as the ink dripped off the edge of the table, his pants was quickly covered in inky spots as well. He swore angrily as he attempted to save all the blank pieces of parchment and other letters from the incoming puddle of ink, and Washington turned sharply at the noises he was making.

Washington sighed. "Everyone has their bad days." He muttered to himself. Just at that moment, Lafayette came running into the tent, panting. His eyes widened at the sight of Mulligan, who was comically holding up the pieces of parchment as his arms dripped the thick, black mixture.

Just a few minutes ago..

Hamilton was staring at, not himself, but the face of the one and only Marquis De Lafayette.

"How is this possible? How on earth.." He murmured. His voice, which sounded nothing like his own, was simply dripping with the French accent. His Rs rolled on his tongue in a way he wasn't used to. It all felt wrong.

He gripped his hair in panic. What in the world is happening?!

Something caught his eyes. It was a note on the nearby desk, lying innocently, but in a position that suggested the person who placed it there was in a rush. He was not a snoopy sort of person, but when he saw the large, loopy scrawl of Washington's hand forming the word "Lafayette", he felt a little inclined to see what he needed from, well, Lafayette. If Lafayette wasn't here, he might as well try to help him keep his place as general.

He walked over to it. Picking up the note, he unfurled it slowly in his hands. The way his body cooperated with him felt terribly wrong.

Narrowing his eyes to read the untidy scrawl, he read: Lafayette, I need you to meet me in my tent immediately. We have something important to discuss.

Hamilton felt panic surge through him as he dropped the note and ran to the coat hanger. Slipping on Lafayette's coat, he flew out the tent, passing several other startled soldiers and aide-de-camps on the way. Some of them seemed a little surprised. He couldn't blame them - Lafayette was rarely ever late. He dashed across the field. His stride was much longer, and he stifled a laugh. When he got there, he noted that the time he got there was a lot faster than he would normally have. Hurrying into the tent, panting on his knees, he saw, to his complete shock, himself, comically holding up some blank pieces of parchment and letters as dark ink continued to seep across the desk, staining it for sure.

Washington turned and gave a relieved smile at him. Hamilton, a little confused at that, stood and saluted, giving a nervous smile back. He didn't know if that was normal reaction to his arrival for the general, but he decided he should just play along.

"I-I'm so sorry that I'm late, sir." Hamilton swallowed. He had to force himself to speak slower, because when he spoke normally, he could feel himself about to stumble over his words. Lafayette's accent didn't seem to want to cooperate with him, and Hamilton didn't know how to deal with it.

As the General came closer, Hamilton had to force himself to hide his smirk as he found that, now that he was in Lafayette's body, he was no longer so abnormally short. It felt good. At least being in this body had a good side. (5'7 was actually not that bad, but Hamilton, being the unsatisfied man he was, did not like it).

Washington held out his hand, and after a heartbeat of a hesitation, Hamilton grasped his wrist. Was this a normal greeting?

Washington smiled and patted him on the shoulder, then brought him to a table laden with—Hamilton's heart quickened—charts and papers; battle plans.

Hamilton glanced at the man at his desk, the imposter who clearly didn't know how to operate a quill. He had to find out who had taken the body that was rightfully his. But first, he had to keep his friend's job.

Hamilton couldn't help it. He grinned at the prospect of getting to be a general of Lafayette's status. But..

His stomach clenched in worry as Washington continued to talk to him about some tactics. If he was in Lafayette's body, where was Lafayette himself?

Lafayette wasn't sure if he was seeing properly. The reflection that was supposed to be his was, somehow, not. It was Mulligan's, to be precise, but how in the world was he occupying Mulligan's body?

Lafayette pulled himself away from the window. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get help, but who to ask? He pulled on Mulligan's coat as he began to muse to himself the possible people he could trust to help, but as he ran down the stairs, he heard men speaking with a thick, British accent:

"So where is your apprentice? He promised us that our trousers would be fixed by today."

Watching from the top of the stairs, Lafayette, who froze at the sound of their voices, saw a man whom he could only assume was the tailor Mulligan worked under, reply, "I don't know, but I'll tell him you need him the moment I-"

Lafayette, who recovered quickly, remembered. Mulligan, though a tailor's apprentice, also doubled as a spy. He also knew that if he continued to stand there when the men were clearly looking for Mulligan, his mentor could lose his job, or worse, so he ran down the flight of the stairs, his unnaturally heavy feet thumping loudly with each step. The men turned at the unintended noise, and the two British soldiers who were there broke into grins at the sight of him.

"Mulligan!" They cried. "Haven't been sleeping in, have you?"

Lafayette tried not to recoil as he shook their hands. He felt disgusted. How could Mulligan put up with pretending to be the friend of these Redcoats? It was revolting, but Lafayette, determined now to keep his friend safe, managed a smile in return as he laughed. "Of course not."

He bit down on his tongue and tried not to panic as he found that his voice, much deeper now, did not sound in any way French. His accent was gone. His Rs didn't roll the way he was used to, and he felt, in a sense, naked without it. As the Redcoats entered the building, Lafayette couldn't help but touch his tongue with his fingers and shake it sadly.

The Redcoats were looking around the piles of clothing, as if they were looking for something. They turned to Lafayette, who immediately took his fingers out of his mouth and stuck it into his pocket as one of the men inquired, "So, where are they?"

Seeing the piles of clothes on top of a table, and another pile on another table nearby, and more in shelves and baskets, he gulped nervously. He glanced at the tailor, who was watching him with some concern. Lafayette mouthed at him, "I forgot where I put it." And the tailor winced.

The men, who were no fools, saw this. Narrowing their eyes, one snapped, "What are you whispering?"

Lafayette turned sharply back at him. His hand in his pocket clenched, but he knew he had to keep his cool if he wanted to get out of here so he could find help. He grimaced. "I.. Forgot where I put it."

The Redcoats frowned at him.

"Je m'excuse, I mean-" He stammered when they rose their eyebrows in confusion.

It was a habit for him to speak in French when he was nervous, but in Mulligan's tongue, it almost sounded ridiculous. He swallowed, hurrying to correct his mistake. "I mean, I'm sorry."

The Redcoats groaned at him. "Find it." They demanded. Poor, confused Lafayette, was forced to obey.

Laurens was puzzled. Why would this man mistake him for Burr? He looked nothing like him, and he-

He was cut out of his thoughts as the tutor yelled, "Are you even listening to me?!"

Laurens couldn't help but recoil in disgust as flecks of spit hit his face. My gosh, how does Burr put up with this man? Laurens wiped his face with his hand angrily. "Of course I was." He snapped.

The tutor recoiled. "You watch your tongue." He said, before announcing. "Well then, since you seem to have lacked in your studies, I'm not letting you go to bed until you finish reading those." He pointed at the three, thick volumes of law books on the table that Burr must have fallen asleep studying. The one that Laurens had awoken on was, thankfully, halfway through. That wouldn't be too hard, now would it?

Laurens nodded, muttering, "It's already morning, though." Which made the tutor sniff, then leave the room, slamming the door behind him.

Laurens rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

He stood up and stretched, rolling his sore neck. The first thing he did was look around the room for anything he could look at his reflection with. He didn't have to look long, because he soon found a basin of water, which he presumed was meant for washing.

As he peered into it, he gasped, accidentally tipping it over and splashing all it's contents all over him as he stumbled backwards. What- how do I look like Burr?!

He heard the repugnant tutor inquiring outside the door. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" Laurens lied. He shook his wet clothing with distaste, then hurried to the nearest cabinet. Opening the doors, he grabbed a new tunic and pair of trousers and changed into them quickly. The thing that he really knew he needed to do was get help, and perhaps find Burr while he's at it. Maybe he'd know what was going on.

Slipping on Burr's coat, he opened the door.

He had barely made it out of the doorframe before the tutor started clicking his tongue from a couch outside. "Where does a young man like you," He said a little too sweetly, "Want to go on a weekday like this?"

Laurens tried not to scowl at him with distaste, instead trying to adopt the calm, cool and neutral expression Burr always wore. "Out." He replied flatly. The door to the outside world was so near. He took several steps forward before the tutor stood. The tutor asked, "Have you finished reading the books?"

Laurens nodded. It seemed the tutor could see through the lie, though, because he immediately exclaimed, "Oh, jolly good. So what is the title of the essay on the last page of 'Law and Loopholes'?"

Laurens hesitated. He tried to make guess. "'Loopholes in Law'?" He asked, trying not to sound sarcastic.

The tutor frowned, obviously put out. "Correct." He muttered. Laurens almost pumped his fist in triumph, but decided to turn and attempt to go out the door again, but the tutor stopped him with another question.

"If that was so easy for you, what was the name of chapter thirty-five in 'Lawyers and All Essential Laws To The Law'?"

Laurens stopped. How was he supposed to remember that? was Burr himself really expected to remember that? That was just utter nonsense!

"I can see your hesitation. You don't remember, do you?"

"Why would I remember a chapter name?" Laurens burst in annoyance.

The tutor merely raised an eyebrow. "It seems you're starting to have a little bit of an anger management issue." He sighed, shaking his head. "You don't normally get so annoyed with anything."

"Hamilton, I do." Laurens muttered to himself. He tried not to laugh at his own joke.

"Who? Who is Hamilton?"

"Just some guy in the army." Laurens answered, trying to get to the door without him realizing it.

"Is this the man who you're going to meet with?" The tutor inquired.

Laurens gave a lying nod. "Yes. And we have something very important to discuss. I don't want to keep him waiting, so I can come back and study again."

He was trying desperately not to sound sarcastic. The tutor, however, looked almost inclined to just let him go, until he started to smirk at himself in such a way that Laurens was beginning to feel worried.

"Maybe I shouldn't let you go. If this Hamilton person can cause you to lose your temper, then I'm not sure you should be spending much time with him," The tutor said, his voice sounding concerned, but his face looking.. Cheeky?

"I'll be fine."

Laurens reached for the doorknob again, and this time, the tutor spoke in a soft voice.

"Not trying to sneak some plans to the American army, now are you?" He asked silently.

Laurens froze. He stared at the tutor for a heartbeat of a second and asked, "You're.. You're a loyalist?"

The tutor hesitated, then grinned evily at him. "You could say that, although, a loyalist with some interesting abilities would be much more accurate."

Laurens, even though he had no idea what those abilities could be, still felt his blood run cold as he paled magnificently.

The tutor sighed. "Oh, Burr," He said in a tone of mock-pity. "I thought you were smarter than that. "

Laurens shook his head and ran for the door, but before he could make it, the tutor was there. He knocked Laurens down, hard.

"Aw, come on, you don't want to leave the party just yet, do you?" He cackled at him. "Now," He stooped down, grabbing Laurens' wrist and forcing it to the ground and kneeling onto his legs so as to prevent him from running. "I'll show you what exactly happens to people who don't take the correct side in a war." He pressed down onto Laurens' leg harder, causing him to cry out.

"What are you going to do to me?" Laurens seethed through his teeth. He was desperately trying to shove the tutor off of him, but he was too strong.

"Oh, many things, but most importantly would be turning you - and your friends - against George Washington and, of course, America."