Work Text:
November 22nd.
1963.
1:00pm.
Dead.
“And… flush!”
Jefferson threw his cards in the middle, spitting out a ‘hah!’ as the rest of the founding fathers groaned. Their weekly poker games always seemed to go this way, it's either Jefferson was just that good, or he was cheating. Washington was more inclined to believe the latter, with what he's known from his many years with the man. And with the outcries from Madison, Adams and Monroe, he wasn't the only one feeling the same thing. However, as designated leader of the ghosts, he felt it his duty to calm down the riled up Presidents.
“Alright, alright, bring it in gentlemen, hush your complaints, Thomas-”
But Washington stopped dead in his sentence, as the familiar feeling washed over him once more. Ah, the cold tingles paired with the hot flush that came with his sense of duty. He knew just what had happened, he was in tune with the white house as much as he was with his own body. A President had died, a new man would be joining them. It was time to bring out the old tradition of bets between Adams and Jefferson.
“Excuse me gentlemen, it seems we have a new house mate joining us.”
The group's eyes grew like saucers, grins settling on their faces as bets were placed.
“Place them now folks, have we got, let's see, two for Hoover, one for Ike, one for Harry… are you placing a vote Generalissimo?”
“No thank you Thomas, I should greet the man before he gets too worked up, despite whoever it may be”
“Spoil sport”
Washington rolled his eyes as Jefferson continued to hype up the others on who it could be this time. He found the bets very silly, and a little cruel considering their situation, but if it kept them happy, he wasn't going to impose unnecessary rules. Strutting down the corridor, he noticed the passing servants looking a bit… more frantic than normal. He had been playing poker in that room for a while, after all, maybe the President had come back? Surely it couldn't be, he had a few days left in Texas had he not?
Chalking it up to an important guest, he continued the journey to the small, unassuming room they all appear in after their deaths. But the whispers unnerved him, their hushed tones weren't simply between the butlers or the nannies, but the staff too. Men in suits scanned through the hallways, footsteps heavy and purpose driving them forward. Washington grew ever more confused, what on earth was happening? Was there a big event he had missed out on? A guest or meeting he hadn't heard of? Adams was a bit of a nosey nellie, he would have updated him on any such events if it was this important, or at least overheard it on the radio.
‘My word, is such fuss needed? Who is this they're fretting over, the Queen?’
He thought to himself, chuckling as he stood square in front of the door. He always loved inviting old colleagues and new friends to their cohort. His face, while familiar, still commands respect amongst all Presidents, dead or alive, and is considered the perfect introduction to the new, strange world they were thrusted into.
He knocked three times.
No answer.
He knocked again. Three times.
None still.
‘Ah, maybe they're still in shock. Best to give him a hand. It is hard to get used to standing in good health after being so weak in old age for so long.’
He creaked open the door, letting the weak hallway light pierce the darkness within the room. Standing up straight, he started with his usual line.
"Welcome back to the White House, Mr Pr-”
He stopped dead in his tracks, as the light fully illuminated the man in front of him. He felt the lump in his throat grow by the second as the man who looked back at him wasn't a familiar old face being welcomed back, nor a panicked old man trying to make sense of the situation, but lying on the floor was a pair of shocked, welled blue eyes he wasn't expecting for at least a few days.
Dead.
John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
.
November 22nd 1963.
.
Cause of Death: Assassination.
Washington was hardly ever speechless, he was hardly ever unable to confront a situation in which he had no control, but seeing that shattered stare go right through him like knives stole his voice. He gripped the hilt of his sword, knuckles white and shaking as the gravity of everything hit him like a bullet. A thousand explanations swirled in his head, none of them good ones. The pieces began to slowly click together, the rushing staff, the men in suits, the whispers. They knew something he didn’t, and this seemed to be it. His words not finding the general, he felt the only real option would be to help the equally confused and scared man below him up.
He extended his hand, the President below him hardly looking him in the eyes as he grasped it. Washington almost let go, it felt slick and hot like…
‘like blood…’
But as the man got up and he retracted his hand, not a speck of a stain was left behind. He felt dwelling on it would only make the man more frantic than he was already feeling, and it seemed the last thing this interaction needed was more tension.
Amazingly enough, the man to break the ice first was not Washington, but the… he supposed now ex President before him. He still couldn't find it within himself to look him right in the eyes.
“Jackie? Is Jackie ok?”
He took his hand to the back of his head, more or less ignoring the man in front of him, as he seemed to feel something on his head. Like a flash from the sun, Washington could have sworn the skull was broken, but just as quick did it come it left his grasp. As much as Washington didn't want to admit it to himself, he felt a horrible, dawning realisation of what happened to the man before him.
“Who… who are you? Are we back home? How long was I out for?”
Washington’s eyebrows knitted together, the pit of guilt growing ever deeper as the man seemed to believe he was alive. It touched him how he thought of his wife first.
It must've been the last thing he saw.
“... Mr President.”
Washington finally found his voice, although it was no more than a whisper, as he grasped at every straw of confidence and cool demeanour he had left to tell the man of his new afterlife.
“The… first lady is fine. But I'm afraid to inform you that-”
“What? What happened?! Spit it out! Did something happen? Did it happen to me? Did it happen to her?!”
He emphasised that last part, raising his voice as the pressure began to get to him. Washington couldn't even berate him for speaking to his elders in such a way. He never knew how it felt to lose your life so suddenly.
‘Maybe Abraham would have been better suited…’
He didn't want to believe it… that once more a man of the office had been ripped asunder by the assassin's bullet, especially in such temperamental times, but as a man of logic and reason, Washington always despised the picking and choosing of facts.
And this seemed as clear as day.
“No. No harm has come to the first lady Mr President.”
“Then what’s wrong with me? The last thing I remember is- gah!”
He folded over, hands clasping his head as the bullet holes became white hot, causing his groans to turn to borderline screams. Washington ran to his side, helping him stand back up again, not letting him fall to the ground. The President was panting, gritting his teeth as his eyes watered, feeling every inch of pain he had in the last 30 minutes directly in his skull at that moment.
“Mr President… Mr Kennedy… I regret to inform that-”
“Robert! Rob!”
Washington looked up to the young President’s line of sight, to see his long trusted advisor Robert MacNamara rush past the door, just as, if not more so, in a hurry as the maids were. He wriggled from Washington’s embrace and struggled to run and keep up with him.
“Robert! Oh thank God, a familiar face! You see that guy back there? Dressed in the colonial getup? Why i-”
But his sentence was cut short as he tried to reach out to the defence secretary’s shoulder, simply passing through without a second thought, and his cries for help falling on deaf ears.
“Wh…?”
The point only punctuated as he felt a frustrated young man walk straight through him, catching up to MacNamara and listing him a scroll full of steps for protocol and updates. The President looked around him, noting how the whole corridor phased through him. Ignored him.
Forgot him.
Except Washington.
His head was spinning, feeling the threat of passing out wash over him, but never quite hitting him. His vision was disoriented, as he mumbled pointless pleas to the others in the corridor, hoping someone, anyone except the madman in the revolutionary outfit would speak to him. To tell him exactly what the fuck was happening?!
“Please… please…”
He threw himself on a small table by the edge of the hallway, decorated with a small bust and a mirror right beside it. He looked deep into its reflective surface, and what looked back was pale, transparent, and god awfully terrified.
It was him.
He was dead.
“Dear boy…”
Washington approached from behind, resting a comforting hand onto his shoulder. The President bowed his head, not wishing to stare the face of his new reality straight on yet.
“I can only imagine what this is like for you…”
He squeezed his shoulder. He could feel him tense up.
“Let me take you to some men I believe can help… if not your situation, your headspace if nothing else…”
The President didn't reply. His hands balled into fists, gripping the table for dear life as icy cold tears streamed down his face, soft hiccups forming as he forced down sobs. Washington could have sworn he said ‘Jackie’.
“What was that my boy?”
“I need… I have to know if she's ok… and God, what about Caroline? John? Are they ok?”
His head picked up, puffy and red with glistening streaks striking down his cheeks. He wasn't looking in the mirror anymore. He couldn't.
“Where is my wife? Where are my children?”
“I… I don't k-”
“Then find out, damnit!”
He slammed a fist against the table, but as quickly as his anger came, it fizzled out into a burst of tears. He slid down the wall, sitting defeatedly on the floor, head buried deep into his knees.
“I've let them down… I've let everyone down…”
He rocked back and forth, mumbling things in-between sobs, grasping at his hair. Everything was wrong. All of it was wrong. What else was there to blame? It was him. He was gone, leaving his infant children to his traumatised wife. If only… if only he held on, if he reacted quicker, if he moved. If maybe he hadn't hung about to shake one more hand, he wouldn't be there. He would be giving his speech as planned, and Jackie’s beautiful pink dress stayed pink.
“If only… if I could just…”
“Mr President, please…”
Washington chimed in, kneeling next to the man, encouraging him to look up. He didn't.
“Your family… they are safe, they are ok…”
“How do you know?”
He spat back, maybe with a bit more venom than he intended. It didn't matter. Washington wouldn't hold it against him.
“There is no one I trust more than the citizens of this great country…”
The President took his hands from his hair, locking them around his legs. His eyes raised up. Not quite looking him in the eyes. But close enough.
“...and I'm sure Jackie, Caroline and little John are in good hands…”
“But they shouldn't have to be in their hands… they should be in mine… I've failed…”
He took a deep breath, stabilising himself if only just to speak more than five words without getting choked up.
“I'm a failed father, a failed husband, and a failed President… the man who killed me made that clear at least.”
He looked into the distance, eyes glassy and shallow.
“And now I'm… I'm…”
The look in his eyes washed over, as he fully focused on himself, and in the rather ridiculous situation he now found himself in.
“Fucking hell, today is just one thing after another isn't it? Do I have to say it out loud?”
He threw his hands up in defeat, laughing bitterly as everything tasted more and more sour. Washington felt his gaze soften, after everything that's happened, explaining the rules of this ghostly plane of existence felt… trivial. Stupid, even.
“No, not yet if you don't wish to. I can leave you, if you so desire Mr President… there is alot to process after all…”
“No, please…”
As Washington sat up to leave, he felt a strong grip on his sleeve. The President looked up pleadingly to the founding father, stopping him in his tracks.
“You said you… knew some people who could help? Who understood?”
Washington simply nodded, helping the other man get up from his slump and brushing off the creases from his well pressed navy suit.
“I suppose… maybe if they have some answers, it's better than sitting and crying, huh?”
“I would suppose so”
The pair walked together, the President still not quite used to being so utterly invisible, ducking and weaving between all the rushing staff coming at them. Eventually, they ended up in the room the general had left not so long ago, hearing the laughter of the men within as the bubble of ignorance they sat in was not yet burst.
“Two kings!”
He heard muffled through the door frame. He looked over at the other man, making sure he was ok, but his eyes were still a million miles away. Washington started to regret having his first interaction be with Jefferson and the other founding fathers mid-debauchery. He raised his knuckle to the door and knocked. The President shivered.
The noise stopped, devolving into excited whispers, obviously placing some last minute bets on the man on the other side. Jefferson spoke the loudest, and as the door swung open he bellowed in confidence.
“Welcome back Mr Ho-”
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Washington had never seen him speechless before.
Jefferson’s pupils became pinpricks as the President stood there, hardly taking notice of him as he stared right through his skull. Jefferson dared a look at Washington, who nodded silently in acknowledgement. He took a step back, letting the others get a good look at him, equally as shocked. The President began to finally notice the circle of eyes boring into him, not a pin could drop.
And he was just as tongue tied as them.
So he did the only thing he thought to do.
He left.
He turned on his heels and left. He walked, not caring about the general calling his name down the hall. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, or what he was going to do, but it was clear that the group wasn't going to do much. What the hell was the man thinking, that they'd provide “headspace”. There isn't anything in those heads! It was pathetic! He was dead. He was dead, surrounded by other ghosts of Presidents, ignored by people who were scrambling for his attention not even a few hours ago. How on earth would headspace help him now? What's even the point? He wasn't going to listen to some old fool diplomise his way around the facts in front of him. He was dead.
He was dead.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
“Ooft-!”
All the whirling about in his own head, the President hardly had a moment to actually look where he was going, and ran straight into… what he could only assume to be another ghost.
Wanting not to remind himself of his existential reality, he moved out the way prepared to continue forward. But he looked up to a pair of fearful eyes, and a face he knew far too well.
‘Abraham Lincoln…’
He could tell Lincoln was scared, afraid he had run into the living, breathing President. Feeling he shouldn't worry the man, he spoke the first words. Hopefully Washington hadn't caught up to him yet.
“No, wait-”
He began, raising his hands to the light, showing how it filtered through his translucent skin. He saw Lincoln’s heart drop.
“Mr… Mr Lincoln I'm sure you know who I am…”
He hardly whispered to the older ghost, who merely nodded slowly, letting the insanity of the situation wash over him.
“I… I think we passed by a similar means.”
The President spoke as confidently as he could. But one look at the man would confirm what a mess he was. His eyes puffy and red, his body tense and hands shaking as he reached to grab the other ghost by the shoulder, making sure he couldn't go anywhere.
“Please… please I need to know how my family is… can you help me? Can you help?”
He began to plead with him, his confident face slipping as soon as it came. The grip on his shoulder got tighter. Lincoln nearly flinched as the pressure increased, but he knew what to do. He pulled the President into an encompassing hug, letting the other man get used to their lack of body heat. It just meant the warmth of his intentions needed to be extra strong.
“Mr President… your children left as soon as the news was broke, they're taken somewhere safe by your friends… I believe a man named Mr Billings came to collect them. And your brother too…”
The President's eyes widened at the naming of his longtime friend, and his closest confidant, his brother. Feeling all other options exhausted, he gripped tight to the lapels of the other ghost and began to sob, mumbling soft ‘thank yous’ to the other man.
“Jackie… oh Jackie… I'm so sorry… they're safe… our babies are safe…”
Lincoln simply held on tight, resting his chin on the other man’s head, not showing signs of letting go till the President felt more than comfortable with it. Lincoln had actually seen John and Caroline be swept away by some men in suits. FDR told him, he was always about playing with those two. He hadn't understood at the time that the reason was… this.
But he had been controlled in the face of this situation.
Like McKinley and Garfield before him.
And himself.
He knew exactly what was on his mind. He just wants reassurance. He just wants normalcy. He just wants understanding.
He worried for the first children too.
Lincoln pat the other man’s hair, letting him stand there and sob as long as he needed till he saw his long time companion come around the corner. Of course, the President must have ran off from him at some point and made the general worried sick. But locking eyes with Lincoln, he understood the silent conclusion that the President needed no more put on him than he already had. Washington left.
“Mr Lincoln?”
Returning his attention to the man clinging to him, he looked down with the utmost care and understanding.
“Mr President?”
“Please… just call me John…”
He paused, gathering himself to speak properly again.
“What… what do I do now?”
“Come with me John”
They came from their embrace and Lincoln wrapped his arm around his younger companion’s shoulder, half to comfort him, half to make sure he didn't fall over. Not after what he just endured. Lincoln remembered it only too well, but this wasn't about him. He wasn't going to let any other President go through what he had to when he first arrived here. Especially one he felt so very… connected to. He didn't quite understand why. Maybe he didn't need to.
“This new life of yours is… not a conventional one.”
They continued their stride till they reached the oval office. It was just as how he left it only a few days ago. He parted from Lincoln’s hold to look about wistfully, taking in how ordinary it felt. How this place had became his home over the last three years, knowing it had been ripped right under his nose in just half an hour.
“You will see the photos you hung up taken down and replaced with dozens of different men and families over the years…”
Lincoln reminisced when a photo of Mary sat where a photo of Jackie was.
“They don't forget, but they certainly move one. Probably faster than you will.”
The President picked up the photo of Jackie, probably looking at his harder than he ever had.
“And the worse part is seeing it all happen right in front of you. And they don't have a clue you're there. They never will.”
His grip on the frame began to shake.
“I won't pretend this life is easy. I won't pretend seeing man after man sit where you sat, getting to live out their term in peace and prosperity simply out of luck, while you are left to rot alongside everything you ever worked for.”
Just as he felt the glass begin to buckle under his fingertips, he let go. He couldn't bear to see another thing of Jackie’s break.
“But as you fade into history, and myth shrouds you and your presidency, you gain a certain perspective not all ghosts here get to have. You get a sense of gratefulness that the country is able to move past you. Move past tragedy and continue through the times you laid out for them, ever walking the path you created, even if they aren't always grateful for it.”
For the first time, the President looked right into the eyes of Lincoln, entirely fixated on what he had to say. It seemed the history books were right about one thing on him.
“You see your family go on too. They remember you. Not the President, not the character, but you. You will get to see Caroline and John grow up, even if they don't get to see you grow old. It might be selfish, but a great relief for me was the ability to watch my sons grow into themselves so wonderfully. I fully credit Mary for turning them into such bright young men.”
The President’s eyes flicked to a picture of John and Caroline together for the smallest moments, before tearing them away to face Lincoln once more. He felt more able to face his reality, even if he did have to look back every now and then.
“And the way I have seen the First Lady conduct herself, I can't believe your children will grow into anything other than bright, beautiful, worthy young citizens. Not with a father like you to uphold.”
“Mr Lincoln-”
“Abraham, please.”
“... Abraham.”
He paused.
“Am I stuck here?”
“The short answer is yes.”
“Ah…”
“But the long answer is… when you took your oath of office, your committment towards the country was sealed by promise of soul. And your soul came here to finish it's duty. Once the duty is fulfilled to the country, you will leave this house. But… that seems like it wouldn't be finishing anytime soon.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Lincoln simply laughed.
“My boy, it's anything you want it to be. The world still spins no matter what you choose”
He sat down on the Oval Office sofas. He tried to encourage the President onto his rocking chair. He chose to sit next to the other ghost.
“This life is what you make of it. I can assure you, one thing if nothing else, there is always something waiting to happen here. It's up to you if you wish to explore this life or not. Because no matter how much you scream and fight the world moves on, and so you can either embrace this, trust your legacy will be well kept by those you love, or you can sit and mope.”
The President was shocked by Lincoln's frankness, and let the words settle. He was useless to the living now, becoming a sensationalised memory as he spoke. But maybe… maybe he didn't have to be a memory to these men. He didn't have to be a failure to them, a mess, a terrible President whose only achievement was getting his brains blown out by God knows who. He knew Jackie was a smart woman, smarter than him alot of the time. There wasn't anyone he trusted more completely with the future of his children, especially with his family supporting her. Bobby, Ted, Peter, mum and dad.
If he couldn't do it for them.
He can do it for others now.
He had to.
“Abraham… thank you…”
Lincoln softly smiled, a gentle hand rubbing the younger ghost’s back.
“John, there is no need for thanks. But I do believe there is just one thing we should do…”
The President's ears perked up.
“Really? Business already?”
Lincoln chuckled. Humour was always a good sign. The man was taking it so very well… Lincoln remembered he was a wreck for weeks, hardly speaking a word after his death. Washington was the only one there for him at the time. He hoped he could provide similar comfort to the recently deceased.
“I believe you walked out from General Washington. The man would certainly appreciate an update on your condition. He's a terrible worrier”
The President let out a half hearted laugh. Despite relaxing ever so slightly, he still was running on an adrenaline high from Lincoln’s pep talk. He didn't quite want to push himself, but looking back he was really quite rude to the general. It was only fair.
“I somewhat guessed that…”
He pushed up from the sofa, expecting a jolt of pain from his back… nothing. That's certainly one part of his living life he wouldn't miss.
“Please… won't you come with me? I don't think I can face this alone”
“Of course, stay with me as long as you need. I'm certainly not going anywhere”
As they walked from the oval office to greet the general once more, the President felt himself relax ever so slightly into this abnormal role he was now in. He was always banging on about the future and that. And if this was the future he was given then so be it. He was so fixated on beginning his new death, he didn't even notice the TV broadcast being watched in the servants quarters he passed.
“From Dallas, Texas. The flash apparently official. President Kennedy died at 1pm Western Standard Time. 2 o’clock Eastern Standard Time some 38 minutes ago. Vice President Johnson has left the hospital in Dallas. But we do not know to where he has proceeded. Presumably he will be taking the oath of office shortly.
And become the 36th President of the United States.”