Requested by: atotalfandommess

Almost two years had passed since the first president of the newly claimed nation served his term. The wonders of America only continued to grow and inspire other countries in every way, with such independent spirits. It seemed the country was getting along quite well, especially without a monarchy ruling.

But far away from the madness of politics and war, in a more southern location, Washington stared out over the acres of land that he called his home. The land surrounding his estate could only be seen as fields for miles and miles, covered in a blanket of white.

After a long time of getting used to the liveliness of his home again, George reserved time to receive letters and discuss some politic matters with previous friends, who ventured out from the city. Each of them warned him of the actions of the president in term, but he politely shrugged that off.

His time in the field and office was done. No matter how much anyone tried to irritate him with the thought of an unsteady army or presidency, he managed to change the subject and show them the bright side of things.

On this one particular evening, as he poised himself momentarily on the porch, Washington shivered at the frigid winds that whipped and trashed him back and forth. Summer seemed to be a distant season, compared to the risks of the winter weather. How he wished for it to come every single day.

Stumbling inside, he let one of his servants take off his coat. The man noticed his chilling expression and questioned him. "Sir, are you feeling alright?"

Washington coughed in reply, waving his hand in a gesture before he said, "Only a cough and itching in my throat. Otherwise, all is well." He couldn't help but stagger at the sound of his own weakened voice. Nodding to the slave, he headed into the dining room.

Already at the table, his wife sighed upon seeing his dampened clothes and shaking figure. "Oh my, you're soaking!" She raised a hand politely over her mouth, chewing some food. "You must change, George, I insist-"

"No, I'm already late as it is," he gruffly answered. Martha stayed silent as he pulled back a chair, taking his place at the dining table. Beginning to gobble up some of the meal, he tried to show both his wife and the servants just how well he truly was.

Only deep down inside, something didn't feel right, and he couldn't understand what.

Later that evening, Washington strolled in circles around his room, completely unable to occupy himself. Fingers drumming over the wooden surfaces of the walls, his mind wandered into unnecessary reminders of the past he once lived.

Only a few weeks prior, Alexander arrived, clearly in a desperate state. It had come to the older man's knowledge that he managed to become involved with some other woman, resulting in a loss of trust from many. Despite that, the young man had come to discuss other matters of their past together.

"Jefferson never once had a moment of silence in that cabinet, I had to drag him out-"

Holding onto the edge of his chair, George had chuckled loudly. "You needn't remind me of the many times that the both of you bickered until I had to throw you out." He suddenly let out a groan and clutched the side of his chair tighter.

Alexander, looking both frightened and confused, had rushed to his side. Washington recalled the softened glow in his eyes, like a lost child, who couldn't seem to figure out what to do first. "Old age, son. Even the best of us have to face it sometime." He had patted the man on the back firmly.

The memory must have been a dream, for the second after reliving it, George found himself gasping for air. He was sheltered by darkness in his bedroom. But the beating feeling in his chest wouldn't go away.

From beside him, Martha rushed to light a candle. "George!" Her hands rummaged in the shadows, as she hurried to find some light to shine upon the both of them. With a snap of her wrist, the candle suddenly burned into a light that showed her just how pale her husband's face had become.

"You're ill, my dear," she whispered, holding his hand that was pressed to his chest. "It'd be well if I sent for someone to-"

"No," he sharply whispered back. His voice sounded even more forced and tired. "I don't want you leaving this room, Martha. After that miserable cold you experienced, no."

Martha's eyes widened. "I'm getting you the attention you need to fight this off." She pulled her hand from his, placing a kiss on his sweat covered forehead, before dashing out into the hallway, candle in hand. George only remembered that, before a whirlwind of things began to happen.

After his chief aide, Tobias, immediately called upon the physician to see him, Washington fell into a deep slumber. Precisely four hours later, he awoke with even more of a sore throat. That only pushed desperate measures to the test even more, with his physician and aide with him at all times.

After having some blood removed, Washington rested his head back down on his bed. Out of the many people hovering over him, one of them recommended trying his best to rest. But it seemed impossible with such a terribly itching feeling in his throat.

Instead of closing his eyes and sleeping, George let his mind do the work. Just as he had been reminded of one of his previous cabinet members visiting, another memory flooded back to him.

"You seem to have acquainted yourself with the role of second in command, now haven't you, Thomas?" He had finished pouring a glass of wine, before toasting to the man in front of him. Just as intelligent and enlightening as he had been the day they met, Jefferson was the guest he'd been waiting for.

"Well, you don't give me enough credit. What I see in the office is astonishing. Sometimes it brings me back to the cabinet meetings you once held. I recall the foul stench of Hamilton's ranting and what he brought into the room."

Washington had replied, "Ah, I wouldn't be the man I am today without you in my presence for all these years. You truly bring something to the field that no other man can compete with."

And then he had heard the soft reply of, "I have yet to live up to the man you are, sir."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Washington realized his aide had placed a plate of something to please his stomach, shortly after the procedure. It only took a few swallows for him to feel his throat tighten up and constrict any further food. Or air, for that matter.

Choking and banging his hands on the bed, he feared for dear life. The moment soon passed and the people who had rushed to his aid breathed in relief. There was still time left.

The following hours consisted of more blood being drawn and almost torturous medical methods being applied. George gripped onto the hope of something that would keep him alive and well. He clung to the one thing that never left his heart or mind. America.

A few more hours passed, consisting of Martha reviewing his will. She held back tears as she confirmed each line with her husband, who could barely breathe, for he became so exhausted with the intense pain in his throat.

Around ten in the evening, Washington faced the fact there wasn't any more time. He murmured to his secretary, with a strained voice, "I am just going. Have me decently buried and do not let my body be put into the vault in less than three days after I am dead."

Tobias's eyes filled with tears and his mouth opened to reply. He could only manage to nod in reply. Too overcome with the thought of someone he respected greatly dying, the man was lost for words.

"Do you understand?" George pressed the question, hearing a clock in the distance ticking. Time was running out. His aide stuttered in answer, "Yes."

"'Tis well," his hoarse voice whispered back to the man. Washington felt himself tearing up almost too soon, so he shoved forward towards his bed for what seemed to be the last time.

All the strength that once lived within in the former president had already left. George felt the world beneath him shake, as his head began to spin, with every dry breath he took.

He could sense and see all the people surrounding him, each of them breaking down at the sight of the dying man. There was the sound of someone sobbing beside him and he guessed it to be Martha. She knew what was coming.

America. The word hissed in the back of his mind, while everyone waited for the end to arrive. What would be the future of it? He swallowed deeply. Will the people serve the lives we intended them to?

Letting out a weak sigh, George raised his shaking fingers to check his pulse, on the opposite hand. The future lies in their hands, he thought to himself. The pulse he had seemed to be fine, until a wave of darkness and coldness brushed over his forehead.

And that was the last thing the first president remembered, as his life was taken away from the world. His once lively spirit fell into a rest that would stay that way for decades.

With one final breath, he parted the world, saying farewell to everything he knew, with the hope of a promising future for the nation he helped to establish.

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A/N: Thank you atotalfandommess for the request! It was interesting to write about Washington's death and express his final moments through only the accounts of those who were present at his final moments. Hope you liked it!