This was written for the Day 20 theme - Supernatural. It features the ghosts of Abagail Adams, Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, Thomas Jefferson, William Henry Harrison, and a British soldier.

Enjoy.

England smiled at the two Secret Service agents as he approached the White House front door, "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Mr. England," they politely responded. The one on the left, younger, and still fairly new, if England recalled, made to stop him, "Uh, Sir, the President and Mr. America are still at the Capitol. They weren't expecting you for another few hours…"

His partner rolled her eyes, she'd been here for a few years and knew this routine by now, but let England explain, or rather, vaguely avoid answering the non-question.

"Indeed, I have some, business to attend to before our meeting. Its fine, the staff knows I'm here and I'm not going to do anything, so…"

He blushed, embarrassed for not knowing this tradition, quite understandable, he too will learn in time, as his partner elbowed him out of England's way, "Right, sorry about that Mr. England sir."

England nodded, considerate smile on his face, and entered the White House. His first stop was, as always, the East Room. He knocked, to be polite, but received no response, as always, the staff knew to keep out of his way and there was no way she was going to answer him, and entered the room anyway.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Adams," England gave her a respectful bow, "How are you on this fine day?"

The woman in the room, who was in the process of hanging her laundry to dry, stopped to glare at him, "England. I didn't realize you were coming today."

"Odd," he took a few tentative steps into the room, "Usually he goes on about it, at least that's what the others say, because, you know, we're so close now…"

"I've told you before Mr. England," the ghost of Abigail Adams huffed as she grabbed what looked like a nightshirt and hung it up with more force than necessary, "I don't care if he forgives you, I still don't."

"Will you ever Mrs. Adams?" he leaned against the piano, staring at a back that was content to ignore him, "I can't recall how many times I've apologized."

"You haven't yet today," she noted, the smell of her soap spreading throughout the room.

"Ah, well," he bowed his head as she turned to face him, arms crossed in front of her, "I am sorry for all of the wrongs I've done. I was lonely, bitter, and heartbroken at the time, so I ask that you forgive me, although I'd understand if you didn't."

She nodded before leaning down and picking up what appeared to be a dress from her pile of laundry and hanging that as well, "Maybe next time I'll forgive you."

That was the best England ever got from her. He thanked her and excused himself, heading upstairs to the Lincoln Bedroom.

He knocked, again, but this time he received a response, "Mr. England, is that you?"

England smiled and entered the room, "Mr. Lincoln, it's a pleasure to see you again."

The ghost of Abraham Lincoln was sitting on the bed, just finishing up putting his boots on. As England entered, he stood up and gave him a good humor smile, "Likewise. Alfred has been talking about nothing but your visit for weeks. Perhaps now that you're here, he'll calm down a bit."

England smiled at the thought, "You know America, Mr. Lincoln. I doubt he'll ever be calm."

"True enough," he sat down in one of the chairs in the room and offered another to England, "Please, sit down. We haven't talked in what seems like ages. How is life?"

He chuckled as he sat down, "Politics as usual, I'm afraid. Rather dull and pointless. How's Willie? I haven't seen him around yet."

Out of all the ghosts in the White House that England checked up on whenever he visited, Lincoln was his favorite. He loved exchanging stories with England and loved every one of them, even if he had heard them before, and in return gave England an update on America. Unlike some former presidents who still hung about the White House, Lincoln partly stuck around so he could keep an eye on the lad.

"America has been eating less," Lincoln confessed when their conversation steered towards that topic, "Not even his burgers."

"He's probably just worried about the economy. Again. I'll make get him to eat, don't worry," England sighed and glanced at his watch, "Is it that time already? Terribly sorry Mr. Lincoln, but I really do have to go."

"Understandable," Lincoln stood and walked him to the door, "It was nice talking with you, Mr. England. Please try to stop by again before you leave."

"I will, and thank you once again," he spared the ghost one last smile before he shut the door and continued across the other side of the East Sitting Hall to the Queen's Bedroom. He opened the door just a crack and peeked inside, sure enough someone was lying on the bed in the appearance of sleep. England tried to shut the door as quietly as he could, but the figure noticed him and sprang up from the bed, making his way to the door and flinging it open, "England! I thought I heard you poking around out here!"

"Jackson," England nodded as he let go of the door and backed away, "I was just stopping by to inform you that I will be here this week. I hope that be doing this, there will be no need to, ah, interrupt mine and America's alone time."

"Relax England," the ghost of Andrew Jackson put a see through hand on his shoulder, "I've been a good ghost since your last visit. I've only startled him a few times."

England scowled, "While I understand your plight, the plight of all of you, really, you were so close to America and now he's terrified of you simply because you're all ghosts, that does not mean it's appropriate to take advantage of his fears for your own amusement."

Jackson sighed and shook his head as he retracted his hand, "You were never much fun England."

England was about to tell him just how much fun he was, thank you very much Mr. Dead President, but the sound of a violin was suddenly heard through the hallway.

"Is he at it again?" Jackson left his room and stomped down the hall, England following in his wake, until they reached the Yellow Oval Room.

"Jefferson!" Jackson shouted as he threw open the door, "Would you keep that racket down?"

Jefferson stopped playing his violin to glare at the intruder and froze when his eyes found England, only to begin his glare anew moments later, "England. I thought you weren't coming until next week."

"No, I'm here this week," he nodded to be polite, "Mr. Jefferson, sorry for disturbing you."

Jefferson merely nodded in acknowledgment before he picked up the violin again and began playing, ignoring his new audience.

Jackson was about to yell at him again when a new voice joined the fray, "Are we having a party? Is England here yet, oh, there he is," the new ghost nodded, "England, you're looking well."

"Harrison," England nodded in return, "I'm surprised you left the attic."

"I heard you were coming. Did you really think I was going to miss out on that? Although," he gave England a sidelong glance, "You've been coming over a lot lately."

"Seeing as how America and I are in a long term, committed relationship, yes, I think it prudent to visit more often than I have in the past."

"You'd better take care of him," Jackson was leaning against the doorframe, glaring at Jefferson and his violin, "Better than you did before."

England faltered before giving him a glare of his own, "You won't have to worry about that. I have other matters to attend to, so if you excuse me, Jackson, Harrison, Mr. Jefferson," he nodded to each ghost in turn, Jackson smirking, Harrison waving him away, Jefferson ignoring him, before he left the room.

England wandered out onto the grounds, and he found him where he always did, wandering aimlessly among the bushes. He tried to call out, but he didn't have to; the British soldier had already seen him and was heading towards him.

"Good afternoon Sir," he saluted, careful to hold his torch away from both him and England.

"So it is," he looked around the grounds, back at the house, taking the scenery in, before he faced this long dead man again, "Stand down soldier. The war is over, has been for quite some time."

"I know that, Sir," he lowered his hand, always mindful of the torch.

England bit his lip and looked away, couldn't look into the eyes of his fallen soldier, "Is it because of me? Is that why you still haunt these grounds, because of some order I regret that I gave you in life?"

"I wouldn't know," he answered, as he always did. England was foolish to expect a different answer this time, "I am glad to see you here once again, Sir."

"You should try going in the house sometime," England offered him a smile, "They were good people, well most of them were. Don't you ever get lonely out here all by yourself?"

"I suppose it does, but I don't think its right for me to go inside, no matter how many long years have passed.

"I understand," England nodded as he turned to leave, "I'll come find you again before I leave."

He heard the soldier shout "Thank you Sir!" as he made his way back to the White House. America was already waiting for him by the time he got back to the front entryway, and as England approached, he wasted no time in suffocating him with a hug and kissing the air out of his lips.

"I've missed you," he muttered between the kisses.

"And I you," England replied as he melted further into America's embrace, "How did your meeting go?"

"Same as usual," he sighed and held England closer, "I hope you weren't too lonely being here by yourself while I was gone."

England closed his eyes as he heard the banging and shouting from upstairs, smelt soap wafting through the walls, still felt the sadness out on the grounds.

"I managed to find a few friends."