Ringo ushered John inside, worried just the same. It was unlike Paul to just up and leave in the middle of the night. He made some tea for the both of them, mostly to calm John down a bit.
The tea was taken with a shaky hand. "Do you have any idea where he might be, Ritch?"
Ringo shook his head. "You know...hey, John, do you remember what Paul used to get angry with you about?"
John thought for a moment. "Being late?"
"No."
"Uh, not picking up my dirty clothes?"
"No..."
"Not showering for three days?"
"Ew, John, that's disgusting...but, no."
"Okay, Starkey. I give up."
"You never used to listen to him."
"Oh, that. Yeah." John had forgotten about how he used to tune Paul out when they were first together. Paul could ramble on and on about things, just dragging them out to unnecessary lengths. Now, though, John found it an adorable trait, more or less because he missed it, meaning he listened now.
"Well, when you didn't listen, I did. We need to go to the cemetery."
"His mother..." John grabbed Ringo by the arm, dragging him out the door despite Ringo's protests and name-calling. He didn't think about Mary at all, but it only seemed logical that Paul would go to her. Part of him felt like slapping himself for not listening to stuff like that.
The drive was long and stress levels were high, Ringo hoped Paul would be there. Paul told him about his mother's grave when they were waiting for John to start band practice. He estimated it was about a year before Paul disappeared. Regardless, Paul had said he spent most of the day talking to her headstone. Ringo didn't understand then, finding it strange. An answer couldn't be given from the dead and it, he supposed, would just make someone look crazy.
After Ringo had lost a close friend in the war, he knew why Paul did it. He would sit on the grass, among the flowers left by anonymous grievers and talk. Somehow, they could hear him, Ringo was sure. The wind would sometimes blow or a cloud would cover the sun at the right moment in conversation. Either way, Ringo felt better, and maybe, that's what Paul wanted to feel, too. A light snow began to fall, lending hope to Ringo that Paul got his answer.
"We're here..." John spoke quiet, unsure of whether to go in or not. Julia was in there, a place John never had the courage to visit, not without Paul anyway.
The two friends tiptoed their way through the small cemetery, careful not to scare Paul. It was a good thing Ringo was with him. John didn't quite remember where Mary's grave lay.
"I laid flowers there for Paul when he left," Ringo whispered.
"You did?" John responded.
"Yeah, and there were always some there, though. That's how I knew Paul was alright all these years. Those flowers were from him. I just knew it."
John smiled at the smaller man, realizing how kind and thoughtful he was and that out of the friendships John's had, Ringo's is the one he'd taken for granted. They all had.
"Hey, Rings. Me 'n' Paul...we love you. You know that, right?"
"Are you daft? Of course I know it."
"I just wanted to say it-."
"John."
"-nd we've always taken y-."
"John."
"-ted. I know it's odd-."
"JOHN!"
"What? Christ, Ritch."
"Go over there, now. Paul's not moving."
John took off at a sprint to the cocooned mass on the grass in front of a headstone, Ringo close behind. Outward, there weren't any wounds, except a slight blue tint to Paul's lips. They got on their knees and John shook Paul, getting a groan and shivering.
"Paulie!" He tried one more time. The younger man's eyes fluttered open and the shivering worsened.
"J-J-J-John?"
"Come here, you daft bastard." John pulled Paul in a close embrace, tucking him in his jacket. At this point, John just wanted to stop the shivering and the shaking.
"I-I-I f-f-f-fell as-s-sleep. S-sorry, Johnny." Paul mumbled into John's chest, still violently shaking. He planned to only be there for a little bit and then go back home. An ache in his heart made Paul realize that John probably blamed himself. The warmth slowly returned as John sat on the ground with him, rubbing his back to create a little bit of friction. Paul pulled away to look at his lover's face. John's eyelashes were sprinkled with snowflakes and his nose a little pink.
"It's not your fault, Johnny, okay? It's not your fault."
"Why didn't you wake me up?" John knew this wasn't the best time to fight, but no matter how much Paul said it, he couldn't help but feel a little responsible for Paul coming out here.
McCartney's voice turned quiet. "I'm sorry, John."
"That's not enough, Paul." John took a deep breath. "Get up, let's get you home and in the heat."
The younger man obeyed, hugging tight to John's waist and unsure what to say. John was definitely upset and he had every right to be. Paul made a stupid mistake.
"Give Ringo your keys." John said emotionless. Paul fished them out of his coat pocket, handing them Ringo.
A sympathetic look crossed Ringo's face as he took the keys. "I'll get your car back to you tomorrow, mate," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "John was really worried, Paul."
Paul swallowed and nodded, never looking up from the ground. He knew exactly how John felt, after everything John went through, he didn't need this.
Ringo placed a hand on Paul's shoulder, sending him back to John who waited a few steps away. He watched as the couple increased their distance from him. They had more space between them than he'd ever seen. Ringo could tell Paul desperately wanted to curl up but John was still trying to figure out his emotions. If there was ever a time to be a fly on the wall, Ringo decided it had to be then.
The ride back to their house filled the car with tense silence. Paul was afraid to say anything and John seemed to dare Paul to say something. The latter's knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel too tight, sweat glistened on his forehead due to the heat being cranked up to its highest setting. At five in the morning, people were still at home, some waking up, meaning there was no traffic on the roads.
John focused himself on the shitty songs on the radio, anything to calm him down. He was so angry with Paul.
"Johnny, please talk to me." Paul near squeaked.
"Why?" John snapped, "You don't want to talk to me."
"I'm sorry! I've-."
"No, Paul. Just...no. You don't think that little girl isn't affecting me? It is, but I didn't go out and nearly kill myself."
"I-That wasn't my intention in going out there. I wasn't trying to-to do that."
"Then why, Paul? Explain to me why I found you in the snow after God knows how long you'd been there."
"I just...I don't know, Johnny! I wanted to talk to her...my mum."
"You could've died, Paul! I..." John took a deep breath and softened his voice, "I could've lost you and there wouldn't have been any more chances."
"I'm sorry, Johnny. Please, realize that I didn't intentionally go out there to die. I didn't mean to scare you and I don't want to fight anymore."
John was quiet, a light smile formed on his face, hidden by shadows. "So. No more fighting?"
"No mor-hang on, are you laughing?" Paul switched on the overhead light in the car. "You are laughing. You bastard."
"You just said no more fighting. To me, that means you can't yell at me anymore." The smile widened on John's face.
"John Winston Lennon."
"What?"
Paul flipped off the light. "I hate you."
"Love you too, Paulie."
John glanced over at Paul, seeing a smile appearing and disappearing in the light. The roads were empty, with it being five or so in the morning. The tension between them relaxed to a comfortable silence, with Is This Love? beginning to play on the radio. John hummed along to the song, thinking that it couldn't be any cheesier. Paul chuckled and John started singing as loud as he could. It didn't take much for Paul to join in.
As the light turned green for him, John initiated the turn into their neighborhood. Then, John heard Paul scream his name in terror. He looked over to see bright lights barreling towards them and he tried to avoid getting hit, but failed. The other car hit on the passenger side and John's vision went black.
~~~~
Voices. Hundreds of them. Whispering incoherently.
John couldn't hear what they said but he desperately wanted to know, so he started shouting. Shouting for them to talk a little bit louder, but they didn't they kept whispering. John knew they were talking about him and he wanted to know why. He could eventually hear the voices getting louder, saying his name over and over again.
"John. John. John. John."
"He's coming around."
"John Lennon? Can you hear me?"
John groaned and he fluttered his eyes open, feeling the light burn his eyes a little. He recognized the beeping and uncomfortable stiff sheets.
"Paul?" He asked, thinking it was a dream or a flashback.
"John, are you aware of what happened?"
"No...where's Paul? We were just in the car. Where is he?" He began to panic, thrashing about and almost hitting the doctor standing over him.
"John, you're going to break your IV. Stay still!"
"Paul. I need to see Paul." Tears threated to fall. The doctors and nurses avoided his questions and in his mind it wasn't a good sign.
"He's fine, John. I promise. Now please." The doctor calmed John down, slipping in a sedative. "You've suffered a moderate concussion and minor lacerations and burns of the face."
John tried to force his eyelids open and lost. "Mmm..."
~~~~
Startling himself awake, John scared the young nurse checking his vitals. She was young, obviously new, and he figured he could charm his way into finding out about Paul.
"Excuse me, nurse?" He asked, making his accent stronger.
"Yes, Mr. Lennon?" She seemed tense and he knew he had to put on a little more charm.
John lifted up his hands and lightly touched his face. "Are the burns on my face bad?" Seeing the tensions relax in her posture, he knew he didn't have much longer before she cracked. John always had a way with looking innocent even though he very well wasn't. He could create that glossiness in his eyes and widen them enough to rival Paul's.
She fussed over his pillow. "Oh, you'll be fine! Just as attractive as ever."
"Attractive?" He acted surprised.
"Oh, well...of course." She blushed and John couldn't help but think, got her.
John fiddled with the bedsheets, carefully avoiding her eyes. "Thanks...can I ask you a favor?"
"Depends on the favor, darling."
"Paul McCartney. Is he ok? I have to know, please."
"I don't know...but I can check." She winked and made her way to find the medical chart for a Mr. Mc...McCauley? She hoped she remembered the name. Mr. Lennon acted very worried.
~~~~
In another room, Paul slept rather peacefully following the information that John was okay. It was quite a shock to him when an officer came in and detailed the accident to him: a drunk drove through the red light and slammed into the passenger-side of their car. Luckily enough, John swerved enough to make the impact on the rear part of the car, skidding them into a tree. He was informed that John only had a concussion and some minor cuts and scrapes on his face. Paul, however, wasn't as fortunate. The deployment of the airbag broke his left arm and a few ribs and pieces of glass became imbedded in his right arm.
The doctor assured him that he would be moved in with John in the morning since neither of them were in critical condition anymore.
~~~~
John rested his eyes, waiting for the news on Paul. With his concussion, he wasn't allowed to watch television, which left him to read the same magazine over and over again. The clock on the wall ticked to 1:32 and he should be sleeping but the headaches and dreams wouldn't let him. The voices that whispered to him kept coming back every time he shut his eyes.
"Mr. Lennon?" The young nurse returned with a metal clipboard held tight between her hands. She tried her best to look unemotional.
"Is that his?" John hoped.
"It...yes." She stared at John. "Oh, Mr. Lennon. I'm so sorry..."
"Sorry?"
"He passed on..."
"I need to see him...I need to see him!" John's brain moved slower than his actions. The nurse had doctors in faster than he realized. They were all pinning him down but he still fought them, he didn't want to believe that Paul...Paul was...he couldn't think it.
"John, calm down. Paul is alright! He's not dead. Do you hear me? He's not dead."
John's heart monitor beeped at 140 bpm. "What?"
"Paul's fine and alive, just a little banged up. I'm taking care of you both. The other driver's name was McCauley and the nurse got them confused. The other driver died. Now calm down, you can see Paul in a few hours."
"Okay...okay." John ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Doc?"
"Yes, John?"
"The accident. Was it my fault?"
"No. The driver was drunk and ran a red light. You were lucky you skidded into a tree."
With a nod, John closed his eyes in an attempt to get some sleep. Being able to see Paul in the morning relaxed a little bit of the tensions.
~~~~
The hospital orderlies moved Paul with John first thing that morning. Paul sat awake, reading a magazine and glancing over a few times to see if John had woken up. After an hour or so, he started to get bored and his casted arm was itching. He tried to stick a finger in the cast, but the itch was too far. Paul knew he looked strange, especially with the exasperated whining.
"Excuse me, Mr. McCartney?"
Paul looked up to see one of the nurses standing at the door and he blushed. "Uh, yes?" He knew exactly what she thought he was doing.
"You have a couple visitors." The nurse never looked him in the eye.
"Thanks."
She walked away, ushering in Ringo and George, both carrying cards.
"Hey, Paulie." George carefully placed a hand on Paul's shoulder.
Paul chuckled. "I'm not going to break in half if you touch me, Geo."
"I'm just trying to be loving and caring, McCartney."
"Please." Paul snorted, making Ringo snicker as well. The three of them chatted about anything. George's new girlfriend, Ringo's conflicting decision to quit his job.
"Why do you wanna quit, Rings?" Paul asked.
"I got a taste of being in a band again and it made me realize how much I hate my job. But I know I need to keep it to support Mo. I don't know what to do."
"Quit." Came a tired voice.
"John?" Paul immediately turned to face him. "How long have you been awake?"
"Since George Porgie started detailing his sexual escapades." John replied flatly.
"I thought we stopped with that nickname..." George grumbled.
"Anyway, Ringo, if you're not happy, quit. If Mo leaves you, then she never actually loved you for you."
"He's right, Rings." Paul agreed, "You do what makes you happy."