Chapter Text
The thirteen-year-old Alfred F. Jones, the personification of the American colonies, sat on the edge of a wooden crate in the bustling streets of Boston. He had lived under the shadow of England—Arthur Kirkland—for as long as he could remember, the elder’s attention fluctuating between neglect and stern discipline. Since the era of salutary neglect, Arthur had been… absent, leaving Alfred’s childhood unmoored, his heart quietly yearning for someone who would notice him.
Alfred didn’t have to wait long. In those chaotic days before the revolution, a group of determined men had taken it upon themselves to nurture him—not out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire to guide the boy who seemed to carry the future of a continent in his bright, restless eyes.
“Careful with that hammer, lad,” Paul Revere said, crouching beside him in the small workshop near the harbor. His hands, skilled from years of silversmithing, guided Alfred’s own unsteady ones. “The metal bites if you’re not precise.” Alfred nodded, concentrating hard. Each strike echoed a warmth he had never felt from England—he felt seen. He was learning craftsmanship, the rhythm of creation, the pride in shaping something with his own hands.
When the day’s work was done, Benjamin Franklin took over, his spectacles sliding down his nose as he demonstrated the workings of a small electrical experiment. “Observe, Alfred,” he said, holding a Leyden jar aloft. “Science is not just knowledge—it’s curiosity. Never stop asking why.” Alfred’s eyes sparkled at the sparks, literally and figuratively, as he watched Franklin patiently explain the laws of nature, turning the world into a place of wonder rather than rigid authority.
Evenings were no less magical. Thomas Jefferson would settle beside him with a book, reading aloud tales of adventure, philosophy, and far-off lands. Alfred would lean against him, letting the words paint images in his mind, his young heart swelling with stories of freedom and courage. The stories whispered promises that maybe—just maybe—he could be more than a colony; maybe he could be someone who mattered.
John and Samuel Adams, ever the watchful and protective figures, fussed over Alfred as if he were a younger brother. They checked that he ate, that he slept, that he was never alone when fear crept in during thunderous storms or the shadowed corners of the city. Alfred, who had grown accustomed to England’s emotional distance, learned the strange and wonderful weight of love.
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, Arthur Kirkland remained blissfully unaware. The colonies were distant, the boy’s absence unremarkable in his daily affairs. He knew them as territories, resources, responsibilities—but not as children in need of care.
All of this changed during the French and Indian War. News of battles, skirmishes, and the young George Washington’s exploits traveled like wildfire through the colonies. Alfred, now older and sharper, had grown in confidence and skill under the guidance of his makeshift family.
“Alfred, are you ready?” John Adams asked, a rare smile tugging at his usually serious face. “The war is not just politics. It will teach him the weight of the world… and perhaps, show England what he’s become.”
Indeed, Alfred had grown. Under the nurturing hands of the Founding Fathers, he had learned more than just survival. Paul Revere had taught him precision; Benjamin Franklin had taught him curiosity; Thomas Jefferson had taught him imagination; John and Samuel Adams had taught him love. And now, as he read letters and reports of Washington’s campaigns—the young officer learning command amidst chaos—Alfred began to understand duty, courage, and responsibility.
When word finally reached England, Arthur Kirkland was stunned. His colonies were no longer neglected children—they had grown into capable, determined, and fiercely independent young adults, shaped not by his attention but by the hearts of those he had underestimated. And Alfred—Alfred, who once craved care and guidance—stood poised to shape history itself.
Arthur didn’t know whether to feel pride, regret, or a strange, unfamiliar ache of love. But it was too late to be the guardian he should have been. The boy he had overlooked was gone, grown under the tutelage of men who had loved him without condition.
And Alfred, now armed with skill, knowledge, and the unwavering support of his Founding Fathers, was ready to step into the future—not as a neglected colony, but as a nation with a story all his own.