This side project of mine stars America and his 44 (technically 43...I'm looking at you, Cleveland) bosses doing what they do best, lead America. Or try to anyway.

Political Warning: I happen to be a Democrat. Not a very good one, but still. I usually just let history judge things, so we should be good until more recent Presidents. It'll be a test to my writing skills and I'm going to try to leave politics out of this, but on the off chance that I fail, please don't be offended. I don't mean to.

Needless to say, today's president is George Washington.

Enjoy.

A teenaged America wandered around the landscape, hatchet in hand, quite upset with his caretaker.

"Stupid England…of course I know how to use a hatchet…" as if to prove his point, he chucked it at the nearest object, which at the moment happened to be a cherry tree. It unexpectedly cut all the way through and toppled to the ground.

"That's not good…England's gonna kill me…" the small nation muttered aloud.

"Not if my father gets to you first." A young boy that America hadn't noticed before said as he approached. "He's not going to like that very much. It was his favorite tree…"

"I'm sorry!" he quickly apologized. The last thing he needed at this point in his young (for a nation) life was for his citizens to be after his head. "It was an accident! I really didn't mean to cut down your tree!"

"Then why were you wandering around our property with a hatchet?"

"It's En-I mean, Arthur's fault! He's my caretaker." America explained. "Sometimes he just gets me so frustrated and I just need to get out and…uh, this isn't really helping, is it?" he asked at the boy's blank look.

"No. If anything, now you just look even guiltier."

"I'm sorry. Really, I didn't mean it." He looked directly into the boy's eyes and pleaded his case from the very bottom of his heart. "I'll make it up to you and your father somehow."

The boy returned his gaze, searching the fledgling nation for some kind of conformation in his gaze. After a while he sighed and said, "Well, I'd forgive you. Unfortunately for you, it's not up to me…"

As if on cue, an irate man appeared. "What have you done to my tree you useless brat!" He roared at America's face. The blonde guiltily hid his hatchet behind his back and stared at the ground attempting to form some kind of coherent apology when he felt someone take the tool of destruction from his hand.

"Father, I cannot tell a lie," he heard the boy say. "I did it with my little hatchet."

This stunned the man into silence as he slowly turned to face his son. "George…you…what? Why?"

"I'm sorry Father. I was just practicing a little. I didn't actually think I'd be able to do any damage. Mr. uh-"

"Jones." America supplied. "Alfred Jones."

"Mr. Jones here heard the noise and came to see what happened. He is completely guiltless in this matter."

"Is that so?" The man shot another look at the nation before turning to address his son. "George, I appreciate your honesty. Really though, you should know better."

"I know. I am sorry, Father."

The man took the hatchet from him. "I can't really punish your honesty, but I'm going to have to take your hatchet away." He looked mournfully at the tree. "I guess we can use it for firewood. Bring it in with you." He turned and left George and America alone.

George sighed and went to gather up the tree to haul back to his house.

"Um…" America uncharacteristically stuttered. "Thanks for that."

"It's no problem." He grabbed the tree and struggled to drag it up the slope. America suddenly picked the tree up in his arms.

"You don't have to do that. I can take care of it myself."

"No, I should. It's my fault anyway…where does this go?"

George led America to his house and directed him to the woodpile in the back with the rest of the firewood.

"I'll cut it up later." He explained.

The nation, sweating slightly from the excursion, sat down on the woodpile to rest for a bit. As he did so, the young boy studied him.

"You're…not like everyone else." He stated after a while. America just smirked.

"I could say the same about you. Most people would have just turned me in! Thanks for that again, uh…what was your name again?"

"George. George Washington." He shrugged. "And really, it was nothing."

"Ah, Arthur keeps telling me I'm too reckless! I would have been in so much trouble if he found out, so you really helped me out of that pinch there."

"I suppose." George sat down next to him. "I couldn't just leave you there like that though. Just something about your face made me want to defend you I suppose." A comfortable silence passed over them.

After a while America jumped down from the woodpile and started heading back. "It was nice meeting you George."

"Nice meeting you too…what was your name again?" the boy asked, blushing.

"Alfred Jones." The blonde nation stopped in his tracks and stared out at the horizon.

England had warned him about telling people his real name. It was improper and for his own safety, as well as that of his citizens, it was better if they didn't know who he really was. Only the higher ups in his government were supposed to know, and be his, he meant England's. America knew about all of this, but he couldn't help trusting this kid, despite how young he was, despite how clearly not-a-nation or a member of the English court or Parliament as he was.

"But…" he said after a while, "you can call me America."

Years went by, wars were fought, taxes were raised, rebellions happened. America went from shoving tea in the harbor just to piss England off, to being yelled at by Prussia* at Valley Forge in the cold, to finally cornering England, with France's help, in Yorktown. Somehow, through all of this, George was right by his side, fighting for his independence almost as much as America himself was. Depending on who you asked, maybe even a little more.

So when it finally came down to picking a leader for the new United States of America, there was only one man he wanted for the job.

"C'mon George." The nation looked at his General with puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

"I said no. I don't want to lead this country! I'm not the right man for the job."

"What are you talking about? You're perfect! They voted unanimously. That means they all want you in office, you know."

"I know what unanimously means, Alfred. I'm turning it down, they can pick someone better."

"No they can't, and you know it." George glared at his friend, who glared just as intensely back. "Face it Georgie, you could declare yourself the new King of America and make your first order of business to raise taxes again and they would let you."

"Don't call me Georgie!" he sighed. "And I don't want to be king."

"Good, because I don't want a king."

"I'm no king. I'm no ruler. I can't…I'm sorry, America. You can find someone better."

"No I can't." America stood up and smacked his hands on the table. "I don't want a king, and I don't need a ruler. What I do need is a leader, and you've already proven yourself more than qualified at that buy, you know, beating the English Empire. You are the right man for the job and I refuse to accept any one else."

George looked at him contemplatively for a few moments before turning his head and looking at the wall. "You're very stubborn, you know."

"It's one of my better qualities."

The General chuckled before turning to face his nation. "Alright, you win."

"Really?" America asked excitedly. "You'll do it?"

"Yes, you wore me down: I'll be your fist President."

"Yes!" He rushed over and hugged his new President. "You won't regret, George. This'll be awesome!"

"Only…for a few years though…"

"Of course. Can't have the same guy in charge forever."

"America…I can't breathe…"

"Sorry." He let the man go and waited while he caught his breath. "So, Mr. President, are you ready lead America?"

George Washington was the first president of the United States of America. He served in office from 1789 until 1797, setting the two-term standard most presidents would follow. He is the only truly Independent President elected into office. His farewell address is probably one of the most influential statements on political values in America.

*There was a Prussian drill instructor at Valley Forge. Why is Prussia there too? Because he's awesome.