They hit the ground hard — harder than they usually did when travelling via magic — and, it being his first time travelling in such a fashion, John swears he's had all of the wind knocked out of him completely.
"Heal him," George said, breath heavy. "Heal him, quick."
"The medics are going to do their best," Barney said, nodding.
"What —" John blinked hard.
"Medics?!" George said. "Just use your magic!"
"Mag— what?" John whipped his head around, looking wildly around the unfamiliar place. He had absolutely no clue as to how he'd gotten there when, literally ten seconds earlier, he'd been kneeling on the pavement on the corner of 72nd and 1st. But now...
"There are some limitations to what magic can do, you know," Barney huffed. "Over here!" he gestured to the Unknowables medics.
"Don't touch him!" John said, throwing his body across Paul to protect him. "Who are you?" he demanded of Barney. "Who the fuck are you?"
"John, you need to calm down and come with me, okay?" Yoko said.
"What the fuck — what is happening?" John huffed.
George, who still had a hand wrapped around Paul's wrist, spoke urgently, "His pulse is slowing down."
"He needs to go to a hospital," John said. He looked George in the eyes. "Why are you okay with all this? He needs to go to a hospital. Why are we here? How'd we get here? He needs a hospital."
"John, I'm only going to say this once," George said back to him. "You're going to get up off of Paul right now, and let these people save his life, or you will be removed from on top of him."
John shook his head. "Why do you trust —"
"Move him," George snapped without hesitation, and without remorse.
A few of the Unknowables who had rushed into the room upon hearing the commotion surged forward and lifted a struggling John off of Paul. While John was angrily shouting, "How could you?! How could you?!" at George, Paul was lifted onto a gurney and swept away.
Once the door was secured behind the medics, to be sure that John would not be able to follow after them, the Unknowables holding him in place released their deathgrip on his arms. He rushed to the door that Paul had been taken away through regardless of watching it be locked. He yanked at the door handles and banged fruitlessly on the Plexiglass windows.
After a while, he slid down the door and crumpled up on the floor. He started begging, very softly, but no one could make out exactly what he was begging for. Just "pleasepleaseplease" over and over again, and then some garbled words that no one understood, and then all over again, "pleasepleaseplease, oh God".
"George," Barney said very softly. "Go to him."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say," George said, voice barely louder than a breath. "I can't imagine there's anything to say."
Barney shook his head. "We're going to have to say a lot pretty soon. There's so much to tell him. And if Paul dies —"
"Don't say that," George hissed.
Barney sighed. "Okay, okay... No matter how Paul's surgery goes? Yeah? No matter how Paul fares in there, we still have so much to explain to him. It's going to be a lot for him to have to take in. But right now you can just be there for him, help him calm down."
John eventually stopped saying anything at all. He just curled up, sobbing and banging his fist against the floor.
George walked over very slowly. Each step took exorbitant willpower, but he made it across the room eventually. Without a word, he sank down at John's side and wrapped his arms around him. They stayed like that.
***
It took John upwards of two hours to calm down enough that he could be moved to a room. Barney showed George where he could take John to lay down, but when George asked John if he wanted to get some rest, John refused.
"John, you should take a nap, you've had a rough day," George said.
"Yeah, and whose fault is that?!" John snapped, glaring at Barney, who was standing in the doorway.
"John, please," George whispered.
"I want to know what's going on," John spit, venom in his voice.
"Now isn't the time," George insisted, but John wasn't paying him any mind anymore.
"I want to know what the fuck is going on," John said, moving toward Barney. "And you're gonna tell me right now or so help me God —"
"How do you plan to make me explain it to you, Mr. Lennon?" Barney asked. It wasn't said in an intimidating way, or a cruel way, or even like he was laughing at John. It just sounded like he was genuinely asking how John planned to force Barney into doing what he wanted.
"I — I don't —" John shook his head. "Tell me. Tell me."
"What do you think is going on?" Barney asked.
"You — you killed Paul —"
"Paul is still alive."
"You tried —"
"We are trying to save him."
"You... wanted to kidnap the lot of us, then," John said, sounding defeated.
Barney nodded slowly. "Do you believe that?"
John was quiet.
"I"m just trying to figure out where it is that your head is at," Barney said. "I will explain what's going on. But you need to come into it with an open mind, and you need to be patient with us. I promise we're doing all we can to help you, and I'll prove that to you if you give me the chance."
John was quiet once again, but this time Barney didn't dare disturb the silence. The three of them stood, weighed down by the agonizing quiet for a long time until, at long last, John nodded and said, "Yeah, okay."
Barney waited another moment, waited to see if John would change his mind and flip out again, but he didn't, so Barney nodded. "Right. Let's go."
"Where?" John asked.
"Just somewhere we can sit and chat," Barney said.
"I want George with me," John said.
"Absolutely," Barney said. "Come on."
Barney and George walked a ways ahead of John, down a corridor, whispering to one another. George was anxious, John could tell as much, and he didn't know what to make of that. He had been able to tell already that George was in on this somehow, in some way. He knew that when George said that he would remove John from holding Paul down and protecting him, he had known as much when George did exactly that with no remorse, but he hadn't wanted to admit it. This Barney guy (that was his name, as far as John could tell) was keeping himself composed, but there was something about his behavior that made John suspicious. He thought that he wasn't as sure of himself as he appeared.
Barney held a door open, ushered George inside, then held it open. "Come on in, John," he said. It was the first time he had used John's first name instead of his last.
John paused a moment. So far, this whole situation had just been, quite plainly, confused. Everything was frustrating and he wanted to cry and he had cried for a very long time. He wanted to tear his hair out and scream. He wanted to push against the walls that he could feel closing in on him, but they were invisible and he couldn't feel them out. He was confused, but at least he didn't know.
He had a sneaking suspicion that once he went into that room, once he knew, his life was never going to be the same again.
And he was right.
***
He didn't repeat everything back to Barney and George when they were finished explaining, like George had done when Paul told all. John spent the whole time avoiding eye contact, fussing with the hems sewn into the sling they'd put his arm in at some point. He was taking it all in, and they were careful to explain one thing at a time, and to go very slowly.
At the end of it all, John nodded his head slowly for a long, long while. Then he said, "Okay."
George blinked. "Okay?"
John nodded again. "Mhm."
"Just okay?" George said. "That's it?"
"Are you okay?" Barney asked.
"No," John said. "Not okay. Definitely not okay." He laughed. "I might never be okay again..." he said on a sigh, an oddly light tone in his voice. But it grew darker, sadder, as he said, "No, it's just... this kind of explains, like... a lot."
"Does it?" George said, sounding unconvinced.
"Like, how Paul just... says things sometimes," John said. "Things that make no sense at all."
George considered this. "Yeah, I guess. Sometimes."
Toward the beginning of their explanation, John couldn't wrap his head around the fact that George knew about all of this but was not from the future. Once he had grasped the concept that Paul had simply told him about it, John then asked why Paul had not told him. George did his best to remain calm while he explained that he had been kidnapped and Paul had been forced to tell him.
"What..." John began, stopped, thought about it, then started over. "What happens now?"
"We wait," Barney said. "We see how Paul fares after surgery. We go from there."
John looked down at his hand that wasn't in a sling. It laid in his lap. He squeezed his hand into a tight fist, held it as tight as he could and kept that tension there for as long as he could until it hurt, and then he released it. He watched the angry red indents the his finger nail put in his palms, and he kept watching them until they had disappeared. Then he repeated the process.
After he'd done that a few times through, he looked up to find that George and Barney had been watching him the whole time, never taking their eyes off of him.
"What?" John said.
George shook his head. "Nothing."
"Well, it's something," John grumbled, going back to squeezing his hand into a fist.
There came a knock at the door, and Barney crossed the room to get it. Darren appeared behind the door, speaking softly. "Can you come with me, please? Just you."
So Barney went with him, saying that John and George could go back to the room he'd shown them with the bed if they cared to. He closed the door behind himself and he was gone.
George expected a long and terrible silence, but almost as soon as Barney was gone, John spoke. "So what's really going on?"
"John, don't do this," George sighed. "I thought we —"
"George!" John snapped, and George jumped in surprise. "You can't seriously believe all this shit?!"
"You haven't seen the shit that I've seen," George snapped back, and it was John's turn to be taken aback. George was not usually so forward. "You haven't — you don't know what — the things I've seen, the shit I've been put through all these years... And it isn't half as bad as what Paul's been through. Not even close."
"Have you considered that maybe Paul's just deluded?" John asked.
"Don't talk like that," George said. He shook his head. "He's your husband."
"He can be my husband and still be deluded," John shot back.
"Okay, so what?" George said. "He's just crazy? And all these people are just crazy? And they just happen to all agree on the same crazy story? John! You can't make this shit up!"
"Apparently you can," John sighed.
George slammed his fist down on the table in front of him. "Fucking —" he stopped, shook his head, and got to his feet. "Fuck you. Fuck you." He stormed across the room, wrenched the door open, and was about to stomp out of the room when John said, in the smallest voice possible, "What've you seen?"
George turned, still fuming. "Fuck — what?"
"You said I haven't seen what you've seen, or been through what you've been through, so tell me." John would no longer meet George's eye. He stared down at his fist, clenching it and unclenching it. "Tell me how you experienced all this, make me understand. Not this overview, fucking sum-it-up shit like Barney did."
George frowned, but he nodded. "Okay," he said. He slammed the door shut and stomped back to his seat. "Okay — fucking okay, John. I had someone sneak up behind me and attack me — in your kitchen, actually — and then I woke up in a dingy room tied to a chair. Gagged so I couldn't speak, and watched Paul get interrogated. I thought I was gonna watch Paul die. And then when Paul realized what they had done — when they showed him that I was there — then they just whisked us back to 1969. They dropped us off and left Paul to pick up the pieces, and he did. He fucking did. He explained it all — he did his best. So I go about my life, or I try to anyway. And then Paul got fucking the flu, or heat stroke, or whatever he got that summer and you and Ringo ran him off to the hospital. Meanwhile, this random guy —" he jabbed a finger toward the door that Barney had left through just a few minutes earlier. "— just shows up in your house! Asking if I can see him, and what's wrong with Paul, and is he going to be okay? And I can't put two and two together fast enough and I can't understand why you can't see him and I know this has got to be connected to the Shadows and the F.H.O. and the whatever somehow, some way. And yeah, it's just Barney. I figure that out. But I didn't know — I didn't know. And then what I do? I spend years trying to navigate this weird fucking life, getting whisked off to meetings with these weird people who are from — the — fucking — future! Trying to deal with the fact that we could all be dead at any second, probably, because there's magic and there's people who would willingly use it to kill us! Dealing with all this shit Paul lets slip from the first time he lived his life! Like how the Beatles were supposed to be over by the top of the seventies! And how Roger Taylor and John Deacon are also from the future, I guess! That was a fun one! Or how about how I, apparently, die of lung cancer! And the one no one ever lets you forget when you're in the middle of this! They're always watching over your shoulder! They're always on and on about it! 'December 1980! Don't forget! Don't ever fucking forget!'"
"Don't forget what?" John insisted, even as George was near to collapsing, sobbing so hard he could hardly breathe. "George that's now. What can't you forget?"
"You got shot, John," George spat. "Paul and them couldn't have predicted that by chance."
"But Paul got shot, too!" John exclaimed.
"Yeah, because he stepped in front of the fucking bullet! Because he knew what was coming! Because he saved your life!"
John froze, and George hid his face in his hands. He sobbed violently.
"He — I —" John couldn't find the words he was looking for. They were there, staring him right in the face, but it couldn't be that simple. Could it? But it was. "I died..."
And John cried. And George screamed.
***
John sat by Paul's bed, at long last.
John and George had sat across from one another for a long time — a really long time — before the crying had stopped, but eventually the crying did stop, and it was replaced with silence. Heavy silence, yes, but it wasn't so bad that it hurt. It was bearable. So they sat, and they didn't say anything. Neither of them ever spoke up.
Someone came looking for them eventually. Whether they were an original Unknowable or an ex-Shadow, John certainly did not know, but neither did George. He didn't recognize this person. But then, of course, George was not quite so well-acquainted with these people as Paul was; most of his involvement with the Unknowables was done through Paul.
Whoever it was standing in the doorway didn't really matter. They said, "Mr. Lennon, I was sent to come and fetch you because Mr. McCartney is out of surgery. You're allowed to come and see him now. Mr. Harrison, you've been asked to a meeting with Darren and Marbella."
So John sat with Paul. He was determinedly awake for a long while, but eventually his body succumbed to exhaustion. When he woke up again, he had a blanket tucked around him and there was a cot set up in the corner of the room with more blankets and some pillows. He sighed and wrapped the blanket more tightly around him. He held onto Paul's hand and squeezed it tight as he laid his head down on the bed beside where Paul laid, and allowed himself to drift off once again.
The next time he woke up, he did so because Paul was stirring. Paul had yanked his hand away from John and was kicking at the blankets that were tucked around him. He was asking for George.
"Hey, Paulie, sshhh," John said soothingly. He pushed the hair that had fallen into Paul's face away. "It's me... It's John... Can you hear me?"
Paul just kept kicking at the blankets, muttering, "George... Where's George... Tell him... Tell him..."
"What do you need to tell George?" John asked softly.
Paul choked out a soft sob. "George..."
"Rest," John said. "George will be here when you wake up. Rest now." It took time and constant reassurances that George would be there when Paul was fully awake, and that Paul could tell him what he needed to say then, and that now was a time to rest, and that Paul was safe, but eventually Paul calmed down and was sleeping peacefully once more.
As John laid his head back down against the blanket, he thought about all the years he spent having reoccuring nightmares, night after night. He thought about waking up to Paul's soothing voice, his calming touch. He held tight to his memories, and slipped back into slumber.
When next he woke, a second chair had been pulled up beside Paul's bed. John jolted upright.
"Hello, John," Barney said, calm as ever.
"What're you doing in here?" was John's reply.
"I'm checking on Paul," Barney said. "You're not the only one who cares about him, you know."
"You don't care about Paul," John spat. "You care about what he can do for you."
Barney was silent for but a moment as he gathered his thoughts, then he spoke calmly: "I regard Paul as one of my very dearest friends. I would trust him with my life, just as he has trusted his with me."
John scoffed, but he couldn't shake the sense that this man was telling the truth. Instead of commenting further, John instead decided to ask, "Where's George?"
Barney set his jaw. "Why do you ask?" he said very slowly.
"Because Paul woke up very briefly a little while ago," John said. "He was asking for George. Kept saying he had something to tell him, but wouldn't say what it was. He wasn't coherent at all, really." His tone turned, then, to one of concern when he asked, "Why? Has something happened to George?"
"No, no," Barney said quickly. "George is just fine. It's just that he's sort of... preoccupied at the moment."
"Doing what exactly?" John asked suspiciously.
"He's been sent away on an assignment," Barney said, careful of his wording.
"He what?!" John exclaimed.
"He's not alone —"
"You sent him — ?"
"He insisted that he be the one to go —"
"You let him —"
"And it made sense to send him! He was right to go!"
"How many people are you going to drag into your schemes?!" John spat him, moving his chair away from Barney's and grasping Paul's hand tightly, as if that could protect his husband from harm.
Barney sighed. "George will be back soon enough."
"And when do we get to leave this place, hm?" John said. "When can we all finally go home?"
"I'm afraid that may be..." Barney struggled to find the words that he was looking for. He gave a minute shake of his head. "Most likely, not for some time. I'm sorry."
John squeezed his eyes shut. "Just... just go away, would you?"
Barney didn't speak. There were a few moments of silence that passed between them, tense as ever. Then John heard Barney's chair scrape the floor, heard his retreating footsteps, and finally the door clicking shut behind him.
John moped for a while. He wished Paul would wake up and talk to him, but he also dreaded the conversation that was to come when Paul did wake.
The next time that he started to doze off yet again at Paul's bedside, he decided he was time he had a lie down on the cot. He had some trouble adjusting himself so that his wounded arm wasn't strained, but he managed. He was just starting to think that maybe he should go back to the chair so that if Paul woke up, he was right there with him, but his head hit the pillow that had been laid out for him and exhaustion won over instantly.
He woke a while later, feeling well-rested at last. He forgot, for a moment, where he was. But then he opened his eyes and it all came rushing back. He sat up, ready to go back to Paul's side, and thinking that maybe he could swallow his pride enough to find Barney and ask for some food. What he found, when he was on his feet however, was that someone was sitting in his chair.
"George," John exhaled, relieved, and he dropped into the chair that Barney had been using. "You're all right, oh, thank God!"
"God had nothing to do with it," George laughed, "it was just me and my amazing skill."
"Of course it was," John returned the laugh. "Why did they have you doing?"
"Ah, right," George sighed. "Well, now the F.H.O. is onto us, and the Shadows are pissed. They started attacking people who've worked with you."
"Who?" John frowned.
"An attempt was made on Billy Joel's life," George said. "We think he's going to be okay, though. But David Bowie..."
"What? What happened to Bowie?"
George sighed again. "John, he's dead. They killed him."
"No," John breathed, trying to allow George's words to sink in, but his mind kept rejecting them each time. He regretted ever hating the man, now. Of course, John never really hated Bowie; he hated himself, he hated how vulnerable and how fragile he could sometimes feel; he hated the idea that Paul might leave him one day, and it felt a little too much like reality sometimes. He'd taken that out on David Bowie, and for what? Now the man was dead. "How did they —?"
"He was shot," George said, unable to meet John's eye.
"Who — ?" John began, but George shook his head and John fell silent.
"We don't know," George said. "John Deacon was shot, too, but he's doing okay. Much better than Joel, anyway."
"They're both in hospital, then?" John said.
"Erm," George said. "Billy Joel is. Deacon is... well, he's here."
"Wha—"
"Remember I said him and Roger Taylor are both from the future, too?" George said. "The same way Paul and Yoko are?"
"Right," John said. "So he's... here."
"All of Queen is," George said, nodding.
"Are they all from the future?" John asked.
"No, the Unknowables have just determined that they're all in danger," George said. "They think the F.H.O. might try to snatch them up. They were planning to contact them December ninth of this year, anyway."
"The day after I was supposed to... to..." John couldn't say it.
"Yes," George said.
"I thought they wanted me to live," John said.
"We did, too," George said. "We still do... I think. I don't know. It's all so confusing, and I still have trouble keeping up with what they're all talking about sometimes. You know, before you came along the other day, I was the only one who isn't from the future who'd ever stepped foot in there. It's a lot to keep up with. Sometimes they go a little too fast for me to properly comprehend, but I've always been too embarrassed to ask them to go over anything again."
"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone," John said, frowning.
"Oh, no!" George said. "Not alone! No, Paul was always very good at making things make sense when he could tell I was confused. He would explain things afterward, but it's still a lot of information to keep track of, and he didn't always hit every bullet point."
"I see," John said. They were quiet for a moment, and then he asked, "So if all of Queen is in danger just because they worked closely with us, wouldn't Ringo also be in danger?"
"We determined he wasn't at as high a risk because the F.H.O. has been telling Paul for years that they want all of the Beatles to stay alive," George said. "But, we're suspicious of their true motives. We weren't willing to take chances. We knew he was at risk, but Queen was in more immediate danger. We went to them first," he said, then stopped. He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. "It was hard for me to go to them first, before I knew that my friend was safe... But I did what had to be done. He's here now. That's all that matters."
"That's why you were sent on this assignment," John said as it dawned him.
"Well, I asked to go," George said.
"But you're the only one who'd be able to get Ringo to come along willingly," John said. "Other than me or Paul, maybe, but —"
"You were both indisposed, yes," George said. "And I couldn't bare to think of these people breaking into Ringo's house and taking him and his family away. I wanted to make this as easy on him as possible. I'm sorry I couldn't do the same for you."
John shook his head. "Not your fault," he said. Then, "You brought his family, too?"
"His family, and mine, are in a separate facility being kept safe," George said. "If they do find us — and we will be the ones that the F.H.O. is looking for, if not the Shadows, too — then we want to be sure that our families are safe... Regardless of what happens to any of us, they are safe, and they are being well looked after."
"And, Ringo?" John said.
"What about Ringo?" George asked.
"Is he going to get the full explanation of what's going on here?" John asked.
"We are... unsure," George said. "He is sedated for the time being. He was under immense stress —"
"I can relate," John sighed.
" — and we thought it best that he rest for a while," George said. "We determined it to be essential that we tell you most everything. We were going to wait to tell you, but you wanted to know, and Barney made the call to tell you. We're not so sure that Ringo needs to know."
"He deserves to know," John said firmly.
"Does he?" George said. "Does he deserve this burden? As soon as he knows, he is a part of this."
"He's here, George," John huffed out. "He's already a part of it."
"But there is something to be said about protecting him from —"
"But not me, right? You couldn't protect me, George?"
"I already said that we determined it to be essential to —"
"Stop with the "we", George!" John all but shouted. He thought of all these people — these Unknowables, or whatever they called themselves — as a cursed "them", but George was speaking of he was one of them. He is one of them, a little voice in his head reminded him, and so is Paul. "I don't know if you remember this, but before I was a mission to you two," he began, pointing once to George, and then once to Paul with his good hand, "I was your friend."
"You are still my friend!" George said.
"Am I?" John laughed humorlessly. "Funny way of showing it."
"Don't you dare!" George yelled, tears springing to his eyes. "Don't you fucking dare, John Lennon! You are my friend — one of my best friends in the whole wide world! And that is why I have taken all of this on! That is why Paul has harbored this secret for such a long, long time! That's why we have done the things we've done, suffered the things we've suffered! So don't you dare tell me I'm not your friend, or insinuate that I do not love and care for you as much as I would a brother!" His voice cracked, and he shook his head. He swiped the tears staining his cheeks away, but they were only replaced by more tears. Then, quiet as he could, he breathed out a broken, "Just... fuck you."
Well, I've certainly made an ass of myself now, haven't I, John thought to himself mournfully. "George, I —" he began to apologize, but for whatever reason, that was the moment when Paul woke up with a great gasp.
"George!" he gasped.
"Holy shit." George jumped in surprise, but he quickly recovered. He sat back down, taking hold of Paul's hands and hold them tightly. "I'm here, Paul. I'm here."
"George!" Paul insisted. His voice came out sounding breathless. "Get me George! I need — to tell him —"
"Hey, Paul, it's okay," George said soothingly. "I'm right here, okay? It's me. It's George. I am George."
"George?" Paul said, sounding uncertain.
"Can you open your eyes, Paul?" George asked. "Open your eyes and look at me, okay? Could you do that for me, please?"
Paul scrunched up his face for a moment, but then he nodded and his eyes flew open. He kept rolling them up into the back of his head, though. "I can't — I can't see you —"
"You've gotta relax," George said calmly. "You need to look right straight in front of you and you'll see me. Stop looking upward."
It was quickly evident that Paul could not help where his eyes travelled, so George rubbed soothing circles into Paul's shoulder and told him to close his eyes. "I need — I need to tell something..."
"All right," George said. "You've got me here now. I'm all ears."
"I — I got to John just in time," Paul said.
John froze where he stood.
"Yeah, I know you did," George said. "You did good, Paul. You did really, really good."
"And John's safe now?" Paul said.
"Yes, he is," George said.
"And it's all over now, right?" Paul said. "I did what I came here to do, and it's over, and I — I can rest now, right?"
George didn't answer that right away. It was beginning to sink in for John that this was nowhere near over.
"George?" Paul said in a small voice, and God, how was George supposed to break his spirit when he already sounded so broken?
"Yeah, Paul, it's all over," George sighed.
Paul released a breath that he'd been holding for a long time — he'd been holding his breath for the past twenty years. "Good," he said. "Now, I need something from you."
"Anything," George answered.
"If I die —"
John almost broke his silence with a balk, and George cut him off right away. "Hey, hey," George said. "You are not going to die."
"But if I do," Paul said. "Just listen to me, George, please..." he paused, waiting for another interruption. When no such thing came, he went on. "I need you to protect John. From all of this."
"No one is going to hurt him," George said. "I'll look after him. But you're not dying, hear me?"
"Thank you," Paul said, and both of his bandmates could hear it in his voice that he was on the verge of wakefulness and sleep. "Don't... whatever you do, please... don't let him... find out... about all of this..."
George looked like he was going to cry as he croaked out a barely there, "Okay."
And then Paul was asleep once more.
"I — I shouldn't have lied to him," George said, voice shaking.
"You did what needed to be done," John said. "You made sure he'd be able to keep resting."
George nodded, wiping his nose.
"I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you," John said. "Of course you're my friend, and I am yours."
"Thank you," George said weakly. He took a moment to compose himself. "Right. Barney tells me you haven't eaten in two days. Come along, let's get some food."
"Sounds like a plan," John said, and they left the room together.
Dinner was pleasant enough. The dining hall that was set up in this place was mostly empty when George and John entered with their food, but Barney entered soon after with his family in tow.
Barney's wife approached John and George before Barney did. She was bouncing a sleeping baby in her arms. "Do you mind if we sit with you two?" she asked. She smiled at John. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lennon, my name is Lilly. I would shake your hand but —" she looked at the baby.
John smiled. "Yeah, we don't mind," he said, albeit reluctantly.
"Oh, thank you so much," Lilly said.
"I can take him if you want your hands free to get food," George offered.
"Oh, that would be lovely," Lilly said, handing the baby over to him. "Kylie, come sit down here and Daddy's gonna bring you your food, okay?"
Kylie nodded and plopped herself down beside George. "Hello," she said cheerily.
"Hello, there," George said, grinning.
"We met two days ago and your name is George," Kylie said, holding up two fingers.
"Yes, I remember," George said. "Your name is Kylie."'
Kylie nodded, looking impressed that he remembered. She turned to attention to John. "We've never met before," she informed him.
John couldn't suppress a chuckle. "You're absolutely right, we have not," he said. "My name is John," he told her.
"Aah," she said, and she took a moment to commit this new piece of information to memory before reaching across the table to shake his hand.
"Hello, hello," Barney said, sliding into a seat with his food, and setting Kylie's in front of her. "How're you both doing? How's Paul?"
"I'm good, yeah," George said.
"I'm... fine," John said. "Paul woke up for a little bit."
"Any sign of coherency?" Barney asked.
"We're getting there," John said. "It was... better than last time."
"Well, that's wonderful news!" Barney said.
"What's wonderful news?" Lilly asked, sitting down next to John.
"Paul is on his way to recovery," Barney told her.
"Oh, well that is very good news," Lilly said, smiling. "I miss him. I do hope I will get to catch up with him when he's woken up for good."
John hummed.
Though he was uncomfortable at the start of the night, as the meal progressed John found himself more at ease. Lilly was easy to get along with, Kylie was a fun kid, and the baby, Daniel, was very cute. Interacting with Barney in this new setting shed a light on the man for John; he began to think that, perhaps, he'd judged the man too harshly too quickly.
After dinner, George and John walked back to Paul's room together.
"Holy shit!" John stopped, and George wheeled around to look at him, puzzled. "Bleeding hell, I am the worst friend in the whole world."
"What're you talking about?" George questioned.
"Stu!" John exclaimed. "Where is he? Oh, I was so wrapped up with Paul, and I —"
"Is that all?" George said. "Oh, don't worry. Stuart is fine. He's not taking the time travel stuff all too well. They're keeping an eye on him, trying to bring him back to his senses. They think he'll be well in no time."
"They think?" John said.
"They're pretty damn sure of it," George said. "Look, John, I get you're concerned for him but there's nothing you can do for him right now, okay? You need to stay here where you can help Paul —"
"I can't do anything for Paul," John huffed, sounding defeated.
"Yes, you can," George insisted. "You've been doing it for the past two days. Come on, now."
"You'll tell me the minute I can go see Stu, right?" John said. "As soon as I can go make sure that he's okay?"
"Absolutely," George said. "Now, come along."
John was ready to sleep again, but when he opened the door and entered the room, he looked at Paul, and Paul looked back at him.
Paul had forced himself into a sitting position and leaned his back against the wall so that he was facing the door. If his labored breathing was anything to go by, it may have not been the best idea. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and there were tears in his eyes, but his face lit up like the sun when he saw who was behind the door. "John," he breathed.
"Oh, God, Paul," John said, heading toward the bed, ready to wrap his arms around his husband, forget everything that had happened for the past couple days, and just hold him for a little while. But as he was approaching the bed, he noticed Paul's face fall as quickly as it had brightened up and he stopped dead in his tracks. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Y-your arm," Paul said, frowning. "You're hurt."
"It's fine, Paul."
"What happened?"
"That doesn't matter."
"What — happened?"
"I... I was shot."
Paul drew a trembling breath, held it for a almost a concerning amount of time, and then released it on a sob.
"Paul, no, what's the matter?" John reached for him, but Paul was hysterical. He pushed John's hand away.
"I — I tried, John —" Paul's words could barely be made out through the sobs wracking his body. "God, John, I tried so hard — I thought I saved you — I thought —"
"Hey, Paul, you did save me," John said, not sure how he was supposed to comfort Paul from a distance. He'd never had to do this before. Paul had always wanted John to hold him when he was sick or upset. "Paul, you did. It's just my arm. You almost died."
"You could've died," Paul sobbed. "You could've died. You almost died."
"I'm going to get someone to help," George breathed.
Paul cried on and on, tears falling into his open mouth, snot pouring out of his nose. He balled his fists in his hair. John did all he could to calm him down, but Paul rambled on and started saying things that made no sense to John. He'd done this before, of course, and John had always thought that it was nonsense, and that it was just the fever talking, or the trauma in some cases. But now he wasn't so sure.
Paul kept saying, "You could've died, you almost died. She died. She died and I couldn't save her, John, I couldn't save her the first time, and I couldn't save her again the second time. I could never, ever save her. I failed her. And now I've failed you, too."
"You haven't failed me," John said it over and over again, like a mantra. "You did not fail, you saved me. Paul, you saved me. I love you so much. You didn't fail."
Barney burst into the room along with a couple of medics. "John, get out," he demanded.
"Wha—" Paul stopped crying long enough to look confused.
"No!" John protested.
"Yes, out now," Barney said. He looked to the man standing in the doorway. "George?"
"Come with me, John," George said.
"No! Absolutely not! I will not leave, I —"
"Do you want to do what's best for Paul, or don't you?" George growled.
"I — of course, but —" John stammered.
George wrapped a hand around John's good wrist and dragged him away from the scene. "You're gonna come with me, then."
Reluctantly, John let himself get dragged out into the hallway. He whirled around once they were beyond the confines of the room to catch one last glimpse of Paul, but all he turned around in time to see was one of the medics slamming the door shut in his face.