Author's Note: A shorter chapter, but I wanted to get something up. I'm trying to pass Physics right now so bare with me, y'all. Thank you for your continued support!
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Paul remembered dreaming of Linda before he woke up in 1961. Fitting, he supposed, that he got to dance on a dream with Linda one last time before he fell in love with John Lennon.
Paul remembered a lot of things. Paul remembered John confessing his love, and Paul remembered waking John from screaming nightmares, and Paul remembered curling up with John and Martha in bed. And Paul remembered dancing with John in Paris...
But how often do you remember a dream so vividly, and for so long?
Paul remembered dancing with Linda.
***
John's eyes focused in on the gunman for some reason. He was running away. He couldn't fathom why he was watching the man run away. Shock, probably. He was in shock.
John, he said to himself, you're in shock.
He had heard five gunshots.
Everything was going so slow. Somewhere someone said, "That wasn't Chapman." John didn't know what that meant. He couldn't place the voice.
He had heard five gunshots.
Everything was going so slow. His gaze fell, next, upon the doorway he'd just exited the building through. Stuart hurried through the doorway, looking confused beyond belief, shouting, "What's going on?!" and his words took a long time to reach John's ears.
John, he said to himself, you've been shot. That wasn't registering to him. You've been shot. It still wasn't registering to him.
John looked down at his arm, the blood dripping from it.
He had heard five gunshots.
John touched his arm, and he counted, One. He looked around and spotted the window, shattered, glass scattered everywhere upon the ground, and he counted, Two. Then he ran his hand along his torso, and it was wet with blood.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and thought hard. He needed his brain to catch up.
His arm was throbbing, but his torso wasn't in pain at all. It started to click. The blood was splattered on his clothing. The only thing that wasn't quite clicking was how it got there —
"Paul!"
That was George's voice.
"Paul!"
How was George there? How was Paul there?
Shit. Paul.
Time caught up with John all of a sudden and he looked down, fell to his knees at Paul's side. "Fuck," he said. "Fuck, Paul, why'd you do that?"
"It's okay," Paul gargled out.
"No, it's not," John said, voice shaking. He pulled Paul into his arms, causing Paul to wince in pain, but then Paul relaxed into John's embrace. "Paul, you've been shot."
"I know," Paul said, and he sounded sort of relieved, and that didn't make any sense to John whatsoever.
Stuart stood behind John, looking down over his shoulder. "Oh my god," he said. "Oh my god."
"Paul," George came running up.
"George," John said, "how — how — why are you both here?"
"Long fucking story," George said, dropping to his knees on Paul's opposite side.
"John, you — you need to run," Paul said, mouth wet with blood.
"I'm not going anywhere," John said. "I'm staying right here with you."
"Oh, god, Paul," a new voice said, one that John did not recognize.
John looked up to see a blond man standing with Yoko, looking down in concern at Paul.
"Wha— I —" John stared around at all the people surrounding him, and he couldn't even begin to comprehend how they had gotten here. He shook his head, looked down, focused on Paul. "Paul, I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you, okay? We're going to get you help."
"You — you can't help me," Paul said breathlessly. He tried to shake his head, but it hurt him to do so.
"We need to get out of here," Barney said.
"We need to get him an ambulance!" Stuart exclaimed.
"You had to — to do this all a-alone," Paul said. "I can do that — I can — for you." His eyes were growing heavy.
"Paul, stay with me," John said. "What does that mean, Paul? Talk to me. What does that mean? What did I have to do all alone?"
"I — I love you," Paul breathed out, closing his eyes.
"We need to go now," Yoko said.
"Yeah," said the man that John didn't recognize. He sounded like he was American.
"The ambulance must be coming soon," John said. "Someone in one of these buildings must've called a —"
"Mr. Lennon, my name is Barney Lynch," said the stranger. "I'm going to help you out, okay? And Mr. McCartney is going to be just fine."
"Wh-what?" John said.
"Okay, George," Barney said, "take his hand," he said, pointing to Paul. "Keep holding onto him, Mr. Lennon, and, Mr. Sutcliffe, if you could please go round and take his legs. Thank you. Yoko, take my hand, and —" he leaned down and grasped Paul's shoulder. "Ready?"
"For what?" Stuart asked. "What's happening?"
"What are we doing?" John asked.
But George nodded. "Yes," he said.
"Do it," Yoko said.
"Right," Barney sighed. "Here goes nothing."