Okay, this one was requested by Sam-a-lama-ding-dong and I really appreciate it. I hope this will suit your fancy! And the reason it says '1' out beside the title is because I've decided to make a series out of Paul being sick since you all tend to like those kind of stories. Anyway, enough of me talking! Enjoy!
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"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Magical Mystery Tour, I hope you're all having a lovely time. It is our duty to make sure you all enjoy yourselves quite thoroughly and I do hope we're succeeding," Wendy Winters exclaimed cheerfully through the intercom to which the passengers cheered and clapped in response.
"I sure am having a lovely time!" John giggled wildly.
"Me too!" Ringo's voice sounded from beside his relatively large aunt.
"Yeah, I'm with you all," George agreed, somewhat half-heartedly, as the other two laughed at Ringo, for the poor drummer was basically scrunched up in his seat due to you know who.
"Mmhm, and what about Paulie?" John asked in his 'Betty accent' once he had recovered from his laughter.
"Meh," Paul responded plainly, never removing his gaze from the window as he tried to ignore the throbbing in his head.
"Meh?" John questioned concernedly. "How could you only feel 'meh' when you're on a Magical Mystery Tour? It was your idea anyway!"
"I don't know, I just do. Isn't that okay, John?" the bassist asked, irritated, as he played with the threads of his multi-colored sweater vest.
"Yeah, but that's not like you. Are you feeling okay, Macca?" John inquired as he reached a hand out to feel Paul's forehead.
Paul tried to jerk away, but he was too late, John had already felt it.
"Hmm, you're warm, Paulie. I think you've got something."
"What's that?" George spoke up as he lifted his head out of his book.
"Paul's sick," John replied as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Is he now?" George sighed as he stole a glance at Paul, whose cheeks were turning redder by the minute, due to fever and embarrassment.
"No, I'm fine," Paul stated, but, as soon as he had, he began to cough violently, causing his sickly dull, hazel eyes to tear up.
"Right..." John and George responded incredulously in unison.
"Umm, is anyone on this bus a doctor?" John suddenly called out, Paul now thinking he was going to die from the embarrassment.
At first, no one said anything. They just sat in a thick, awkward silence, which only made Paul want to crawl into his shell even more. Eventually, though, a man's voice spoke up from the back of the bus.
"I am. I'm the one you hired, anyway," he added simply.
"Ahh, good! Could you take a look at Paul here? We think he's gone and gotten ill," the rhythm guitarist said in an almost comical tone, but maybe it was just to hide his true emotion of worry.
"Yes, I suppose I could do that," the doctor replied as he made his way to the middle of the bus where John, Paul, and George were sitting.
"Oh, dear gosh," Paul mumbled as he pressed on his temples as an attempt to relieve the terrible sinus headache.
"Okay, Paul," the doctor started, everyone's eyes now on him and Paul, "what seems to be the problem?"
"Nothing's the matter. I'm perfectly fine, thank you!" Paul rebelled.
"Now, Paulie, we all know that's not true," John chided.
"How would you all possibly know? You're not me, are you?" Paul snapped as he abruptly got out of his seat and brushed past the doctor. It was a poorly thought out decision, though, because, due to the swiftness of his movement, his dizzy head just couldn't keep up.
Black dots began to blot Paul's vision and he was beginning to feel very faint. "Oh no..." was the last thing he thought before the tiny black dots became one big one and he collapsed to the floor, the cast members gasping in alarm.
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He could hear voices, very faint voices and, were they calling his name? He thought they were, so, as to be polite, he figured he should open his eyes. But, as he tried, he realized how terribly heavy they were. No matter! He was going to get them opened!
"Ugh," he moaned as he inched his eyelids apart, instantly feeling the terrible sinus headache that apparently hadn't gone, if anything, it had gotten worse.
"That's it, Macca. That's it," he heard John's voice encourage, as Paul opened his eyes all of the way. Once he had, he was greeted with the sight of John, George, Ringo, and the doctor hovering above him. Welp, that was uncomfortable for him, to say the least.
"What happened?" the confused Beatle croaked, his throat now extremely sore.
"You passed out, Paul. The doctor says you got up too fast. You haven't been asleep for too long, though, so it's nothing serious, but we carried you over here and stretched you across the back-roll seats anyway," Ringo explained.
"Well, that's a relief," Paul replied sarcastically. "Oh my head," he then sighed.
"I think you might have the flu, Paul, but I won't be sure until I examine you properly," the doctor then spoke up, his black bag making itself visible to the sick Beatle. "Say, 'ahh,'" he directed, which Paul obeyed.
"Ahh," his congested and itchy throat rasped.
"Mmhmm," the doctor sighed before placing a hand to Paul's sweat-lined forehead. "You're very warm, lad. Let me take your temperature."
And, just as he spoke of, he lifted a shiny, glass, mercury-filled thermometer out of his bag and stuck it underneath Paul's dry tongue. Once the mercury had stopped rising, the doctor took it back and examined where the line had stopped.
"Oh, gosh, Paul," the doctor moaned. "Your temperature is 103 degrees. That's not good at all, especially for an adult. We need to get that temperature down now. Does anyone have any ice?" he called out.
"We have a cooler up here," Wendy Winters suggested as she carried it over to the crowd surrounding poor Paul. "Oh my, Paulie, you don't look too good," she gasped once she had caught sight of the ill bassist, whose face was deathly pale, yet flushed in some places. "Maybe this ice will help you."
"Ta, Wendy," he almost whispered as he tried to ignore his aching muscles.
"It's no problem. You just get the feeling better," she smiled as she gently pushed his damp bangs out of his feverish eyes. With that, she turned on her heel and walked back to the front of the bus, leaving John, George, and Ringo to gag over her sweetness towards their charming friend.
"Alright, I've got a cloth here, so all we've got to do is grab some ice," he explained as he opened the cooler, "and fill the cloth with it. Bingo!" he then declared as he showed off his homemade compress. "Here we are, Paul," he said as he set the cool compress on Paul's hot forehead.
"Ahh," Paul moaned in delight, for his fever was being temporarily pushed away. "Thanks."
"No problem, Paul. Now tell me, does anything else hurt before I leave you to rest?" the doctor smiled.
"Well, my throat hurts and I'm a bit achy, but that's about all," the Beatle winced.
"Ahh, I see. I do believe you have the flu, lad. I'll give you some medicine and then I'll let you rest. Sound good?"
"Sure thing," Paul smiled weakly.
"Okay then," the doctor said as he pulled out a dark brown bottle of yummy (sarcasm intended) medicine. He then poured the thick liquid into a medicine cup and gave it to Paul, who drank it somewhat unwillingly. He then laid back down, for his head was becoming terribly heavy and his body was beginning to break out in chills.
"Ugh, I-I'm so cold!" he shivered.
"I think your fever is spiking, lad. Does anyone have a blanket?" the doctor asked as John, George, and Ringo grew more and more worried.
Thankfully, a cast member happened to have a thick, fluffy blanket on hand and she gave it to the doctor sweetly. He thanked her and then made his way back over to his patient.
"Here you are, Paul," he said as he draped it over Paul's small, feverish frame.
"T-ta," he shivered once more, his eyes beginning to droop.
"Alright, I think I've done everything I can for you. What you need now is sleep," the doctor explained as he gathered together his things and got up to sit back down at his own seat.
"Thank you, doc," John told him. "We appreciate it."
"It's no problem at all. That's why I'm here."
And with that, he went back to his seat, the three Beatles now turning their attention fully on Paul, who was looking extremely drowsy.
"Okay, Macca, get some sleep now," John smiled as he patted Paul's stomach.
Paul just winked in response, for his throat was far too sore to use.
"We'll be over here, then," George said as they took a seat in a roll just in front of Paul.
Finding there was no way he was going to stay awake any longer, Paul allowed his long, dark lashes to fall against the dark circles under his eyes. Minutes later, he was fast asleep, sprawled out across the back seats, and unaware of the aches and pains of being sick.
Okay, Sam-a-lama-ding-dong, I'm so sorry I didn't add "the kids." I just couldn't think of a proper way to add them. I'm so sorry! I hope you enjoyed anyway, though, and that goes for everyone. Thank you all so much for reading! I appreciate it!