The Future Of America! (A HamilSquad X Reader Fanfiction)

Ch. vii- Is that Washingmachine-

(A/N)- BONJOUR PUNKS! so this is a bit of a crack chapter, but... it's a chapter :P.

You awoke to the sound of a thud in the garage.

At first, you were almost convinced that you had just imagined it. You lived in one of the safest neighborhoods in the entire state of New York. As far as you were aware, you'd never even heard about any break-ins in this town for the few years that you'd been here. You didn't know the exact time, but it was dark outside and you didn't feel very rested, so you assumed it was either very late at night or at least very early morning, and the light sleeper you are, you had just imagined something.

Some place in your mind didn't agree with that conclusion though.

Not bothering to check the time, you stuffed your phone in your pocket. You shifted in your bed, placing your feet on the floor. It was cool to the touch. It almost made you regret not wearing any socks to sleep. You slowly opened the door to your room and peeked out. The door to the boys' room was still shut, and as far as you could see, there were no lights on downstairs. You frowned.

Just my kind of luck to be the one to get a break-in, you thought to yourself as you padded down the stairs as quietly as you could, pocket knife in hand just in case, though I suppose there's a first for everything.

You creep over to the lightswitch in the dining room, flicking it on. You didn't see anyone in either the kitchen or the dining room, or in the living room when you checked. Taking a deep breath, you look at the door to the garage. The window peering in is cloudy and nearly pitch black, but you swear on your life you saw some movement inside. You flicked the blade of your knife out and with a sigh, open the door to the garage.

You look around slowly as the room is bathed in light from the door. You didn't see anything, but sonething in you made you feel the need to check around anyways. You take a few shaky steps into the room, holding your pocket knife in a death grip. You wondered briefly how much use it'd be in a struggle. You took in a slow breath, and into the darkness, you called, "Hello?"

The room was already silent before, but it seemed to grow even quieter. The silence rang in your ears. Suddenly, from behind you you heard quiet but rushed footsteps. With a yelp, you twist around, squeezing your eyes shut and holding the knife outwards. It doesn't make contact, so after a few painful seconds of your heart beating in your ears, you manage to open an eye.

Less than an inch from the tip of your blade, which didn't look very threatening the longer you stared at it, was someone's chest. You manage to gather the courage to look up at the man's face. You recognized the face staring back at you from the countless paintings and portraits you'd seen since you were in school. You suppose you didn't even have to ask about the revolutionary clothes at this point. You lowered the knife as you searched his face, which was splayed with many emotions. Surprise, confusion, concern, and something else you couldn't quite place.

"George Washington," You breathed slowly in attempt to calm your racing heart.

"Uh, yes," he spoke for the first time, "That is... my name. May I inquire you of my whereabouts? And what time it is? And why do you wear those clothes, where is your husband or father?"

You folded the blade back into the knife and stuck it in your pocket. "Well, George, you're in my garage, first of all. In a small town near New York City. It is..." you pulled out your phone to check the time, "Exactly 3:06 am. To answer your other two questions, these are normal clothes for this time period. And i'm not married, nor do I live with my father."

He looked even more confused, "What do you mean... 'this time period'?"

You sighed, walking around him to go back into the house, "George, welcome to the year of 2017. Come inside, please."