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(u cannot tell me they arent all fukin baked in this pic like omfg im cryig)
april 1859
"It's gonna be okay, Paul, really-"
"No! No, it's not!" The nearly-seventeen-year-old-boy was pacing fervently back and forth in the rickety, worn down McCartney barn, kicking up stray bundles of straw in frustration. Three quite exasperated boys watched on, trying their best to calm the distressed boy down. "I-I haven't even been able ta practice proper 'cause of me da' groundin' me an' other things comin' up, 'm gonna be shit! I'll never get the fuckin' job!"
"Hey, hey, Macca-" John immediately stood up and moved to stand in front of Paul and stop his pacing, concerned and trying to diffuse his boyfriend's anxiety. "It's okay, love. You'll be fine; ye play so good, honestly! Yer a fuckin' natural, if they can't see that it's their loss. There's plenty other bars an' places ye can play for." He wrapped an arm around his waist to bring him gently to sit on a stack of hay, the distant noises of the horses and livestock rustling and eating their dinner filling their ears.
It was the day of the audition and Paul was an absolute wreck as you could all tell; worried that he wasn't good enough and didn't practice enough and wouldn't get the job. All of them continued to assure him that he was great and would do fine, probably better than half the people who were auditioning etc, but it still didn't help. The only thing that would help is to go and get it over with before Paul popped all the veins in his neck.
"Y-yeah.. thanks, John. But, I dunno... I still haven't been able ta practice as much as I wanted to.. I'm not good enough yet." The sable-haired boy rested his elbows on his knees with a huff, rubbing harshly at his forehead as he tried to calm himself. The three boys watched on almost helplessly, George leaning against the rotting wall of the barn behind them, Ringo sitting next to him on the floor, getting distracted by Paul's horse, named Ginny, trotting to the edge of its pen and sniffing them curiously to see if they had any apples for him to munch on.
"You are good, love! Trust me, yer fuckin' great. You'll do fine. Please.... don't stress yerself too much abou' it. We're gonna be here th' entire time with ya." John's arm snaked to rest on his boyfriend's hip and he smiled warmly and pressed a kiss to the side of his cheek, Paul immediately leaning into it and resting his head on the older's shoulder with a sigh. George watched on with a small smile, feeling extremely accomplished. Him and Ringo had been told that day of Paul and John's consummated relationship and the two had freaked out for a while, revelling in their joy of their best friends finally getting together. It was great.
When Paul's breathing slowed after a few minutes of gentle coaxing and soft-spoken words from John, Ringo stood up and checked his watch, eyes bugging slightly at the time.
"We better leave now guys, or else we'll be late." They looked up in shock before the four scrambled to get their coats, running out into the afternoon night after Ringo saying a quick goodbye to Ginny and giving her a small piece of leftover blueberry pie before they dashed out of there. Paul broke off to go back inside, giving them one last wave and disappearing through the back door into his house.
He was going to hang out there for a few minutes longer, so as to not look suspicious to his father; Paul wasn't meant to be going out, still, after all. After that he would sneak away at the best moment possible and pretend to be feeling a bit sick before putting pillows and round-shaped nicknacks in his bed and covering them with a blanket to make it look like he was fast asleep in bed -
then make his great escape and meet the rest of the boys at the pub, just in time for his audition. That was their plan, at least. John just hoped to god it would work out.
"Y'think Paul will make it out ok?" George drawled as they made their way, relatively fast, down the street, Ringo leading the way as he knew the direction to the pub, leading them through many streets as it began to change from run-down, working-class houses to middle class areas, more and more people bustling about and shops looming above them.
"Hopefully. Surprised Jim didn't give 'im worse of a punishment, to be honest." Ringo replied with a shrug, apologising when he bumped into a lady that gave him a glare. They weaved through the growing crowd as best as they could; finally reaching the corner where Presley's pub was situated, they knocked on the door that had a sign that displayed "sorry, we're closed until 8pm - auditions in progress" on it. Faint piano ditty's were drifting from the building, and John strained his ears to listen to it. Alcoholics and drunkards next to the group of boys were banging on the windows and closed doors, stumbling on their unsteady feet with grumbles like; "fuck, why're they closin' this damn place early" and "fuckin' cunt Presley, I need a goddamn beer" followed by more incomprehensible mumbling.
A few seconds of no reply followed, standing there awkwardly while trying to avoid the drunkards swarming all around them, hands shoved in pockets nervously. John was wearing a disguise, having borrowed Paul's clothes (which were surprisingly fitting and comfortable, a lot more scratchy though; he couldn't stop breathing in the scent of Paul that enveloped the clothes) and slicked his hair back with a fake moustache, no glasses. It would make him legally blind and make it hard hard to get around without bumping into everything in sight, but he had his friends to guide him around.
Suddenly, a tall, handsome-looking man with jet-black, slicked back hair and pouty lips opened the door, looking vaguely disinterested before he spotted the three boys before him.
"Ah, hey, Ringo." His voice was deep and smooth, and had an American twang to it. "What's up, boys?"
"Aye Elvis. We're here fer the audition? Me friend's comin' in a few minutes." Ringo greeted his friend before they were let inside, Elvis giving a quick "fuck off would ya" to the protesting alcoholics swearing at the owner of the pub for him to reopen it before slamming the door.
"Right. Tell me when you guys are ready, grab a drink or somethin', I gotta attend to some other chumps first." He led them through the unusually empty pub to the bar, where the bartenders were getting set up to open once they finish the auditions; once he did so he moved to the other end of the pub, where the piano was situated, a few people lined up to audition, looking nervous.
Catching the attention of the bartenders, Ringo ordered their drinks while John decided to look over the people waiting to audition. There was a scruffy, middle aged man with a long greying beard standing fiddling with a rumpled piece of paper in his hands, looking as if he was ready to be out the room the moment someone even glances in his general direction - a young man, maybe seven or so years older than John looking nonchalant, smoking a pipe and leaning against the wall; and another older man, possibly late 30s sitting politely in one of the booths next to the piano, digging into a box which contained chicken and rice. So the competition looked tough-ish then; at least the young man that was leaning against the wall looked to have some potential at least. John had faith in Paul, though - he knew his boyfriend would blow all the competition out of the waters.
"What'd'ye think of 'em?" The prince gestured to the small group of waiting people, turning to look at George and Ringo who were whispering to each other about something. They broke away to look at their best friend before examining the people. George was always much better at reading people than anyone John knew; even if you had put up every wall possible and perfected faked expressions to a tee, he still managed to see right through most people. Maybe it was the piercing stare as if he was looking right at your soul.
"The old guy isn't gonna get the job, fer sure. He seems to be recitin' somethin' on a sheet an' really nervous. The guy in 'is 30s looks like 'e would be pretty good but jus' not good at being able ta play for a prolonged amount of time. The other guy, probably pretty good. Paul's gonna get it fer sure, though. 'e's the best out of all of 'em, I bet." George made his analysis before leaning his elbows on the bar and taking another sip of his beer with a content sigh.
"Yeah. 'e better be here soon, I hope nothin' too bad's happened." Ringo glanced towards the entrance as if Paul would come bursting through right then and there, but it unfortunately stayed closed.
"Jim's probably skinned 'im an' hung his bleedin' body on the clothesline outside the house by now." The youngest of the group chuckled at the thought before taking another sip and putting it down.
"Probably. Let's hope not, though, I would like 'im to still be alive. For, y'know.. reasons." John shrugged nonchalantly, feeling his friend's eyes on him and struggling not to smile.
"Hmph! Yer just usin' precious Paulie fer sex! How dare ye! Why I oughta fight ya righ' here right now-" The azure-eyed boy puffed out his chest in mock offence, the two older boys immediately falling into the gimmick and squaring up, John making pig noises and brushing his thumb against his nose.
"Roight, well let's fuckin' go then! C'mon, put up yer dukes!" John pulled the best scouser accent he could, both of them hopping back and forth on the spot and dodging each other's fake punches with suppressed giggles. Immediately, George began a sport's reporter voice;
"Here goes Lennon an' Starr head ta head!Lennon throws a punch to his head and BAM! He misses! Starr getting a throw into the stomach, though, and WOOSHHH he hits, Lennon falls back! Big ouchhh!! Starr goes again for another but Lennon's prepared! He dodges and gets a hit to the noooseeeee! Wowie zowie ladies and gents!" The three making exaggerated faces and dramatic reactions, Ringo pretended to fall to the floor and pass out when John threw a fake punch to his nose, the group dissolving into laughter. "Starr is out for the count! Lennon's got a strooooong grip! Will he stay down? C'mon, 3 secoonndss on the clock-"
"Aye! What's goin' on 'ere, lads?" A familiar voice cut into their playing and looking up, there Paul was, out of breath and hair slightly out of place. The boy grinned at them and they grinned back in excitement.
"Lennon an' Starr ultimate battle!" George waved him over, Paul immediately joining in the fun and pretending to act all shocked, coming to stand next to the youngest of the group while Ringo pretended to struggle to his feet, wiping pretend blood off of his top lip with a grimace. "Oh! Starr is back, he's comin' back! What do ye think, Mr Paul Macca?" George turned to his friend who cupped his hands around his mouth and whooped, pumping a fist in the air.
"World star!! Go Lennon! Beat that rotter ta pieces!"
John burst into laughter again and they continued to wrestle, the prince spitting out pretend blood and then falling to his knees and held his hands up to the ceiling with a cry; "Why must ye forsake me, God?" With a faint scream as Ringo pretended to bring a sword down upon his head, John making a gurgling noise and hanging his head.
"Nooo!! My love!" Paul knelt by John and pretended to cry and dab at his eyes with a hanker chief until they were interrupted by Elvis coming back over.
"Hey, y'all are up for the audition now." The older man gestured to the other side of the pub before walking off towards it. They quickly stood up and composed themselves, laughter dying out as they grew serious, Paul trying his best not to get too anxious over it.
"It's okay, Macca. Ye can do this." John rested a hand to his shoulder as they guided the stressed boy to the piano, flashing a warm smile as he moved away from them with a nod, sitting down at the seat with a huff. Yeah. I can do this. The boy continued to tell himself. It was only Elvis and the bartenders left in the pub besides George, John and Ringo now, the owner waiting patiently for Paul to start.
"Wooo! Go Paulie!" George whooped and cheered, the three clapping enthusiastically before quieting when Paul flashed them a glare. He turned back to the piano and held his hands to the keys with a shaky breath, sitting silent for a few seconds before suddenly breaking into song.
The fast-paced chords filled the silent room quickly, drifting throughout all the building, filling it with its flowing, rich notes. He was an absolute natural, of course, the tune coming extremely easy to Paul, nimble fingers flying across the keys flawlessly, losing himself in the music. The tune of Hello, My Baby, Hello My Honey filled the room and Paul began to sing along to it, his deep honeyed voice joining in the piano chords.
"Hello, my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime, summertime gal-"
John had never heard Paul sing before. His singing voice was surprisingly high, but he was good at doing the growls of Arthur Collin's voice as well. He was so wonderful to listen to and John couldn't help but stare in awe at his boyfriend. How the hell could be so talented at everything? It was so addicting, so inviting; it sent a shiver up his spine and his breath hitched while listening to it - it turned him on a little more than he would admit. Just a bit.
Once the song was over, a few seconds of silence followed, the entire group of people in the pub staring at the doe-eyed boy in amazement before Elvis strode over with a warm smile, reaching to shake Paul's hand, who stood up in shock at the notion.
"You've got the job, son. You were brilliant."
"R-really? Wow, thank ye, sir!" The boy chuckled breathlessly, shaking his hand with a big grin before Elvis leaned back against the piano. "It's an honour."
"We're 'bouta open up again for tonight. Do ya think you could start now? Til 11pm? We can organise a proper schedule later on. The pay is 7 shillings an hour." The American man asked as he walked away from the group, the boys trailing behind him, John sneaking an arm around his boyfriend's waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek with a soft; "congrats love" when no one was looking. Paul looked up at him with a joyful grin and pressed a kiss to his lips before breaking away, standing a few inches apart so as to not look suspicious.
"Uh- yeah, of course!" Paul eventually remembered that that question was directed at him. Seven shillings an hour? That's pretty good for a job like Paul's.
"Thank you- sorry to ask you that on such short notice. Every 45 minutes you get a break. an' just play anythin' upbeat, really. As for you guys.." Elvis turned to George, John and Ringo with a clap of his hands and a gesture to the bar. "Drinks are on me tonight. Have fun!" He then walked out the room and to the back, the bartenders lighting up the last of the oil lamps and waiters preparing the tables before taking off the sign and opening the doors.
"Wow! Okay, well boys, I better get to me first shift of me new job now!" Paul turned to his friends with a nervous grin. "Come visit me on me break! See ya." He waved them goodbye, Paul sending a wink to John before making his way to the piano, who blushed profusely and struggled not to smile, giving him one last once over before the three went to sit at the bar, sipping the last of their beers before George ordered some more.
Now that the doors were open, people began to trickle in, and the pub began to get crowded with people. Paul took up the piano playing again, causing the chatter filling the warm, brightly lit pub to be accompanied by jaunty tunes. It was now about 8pm, the sun hanging low in the sky and beginning to set, purples, oranges, reds and yellows all mixing together like a painting.
Once the three had got their second beers, they moved through the growing crowd into the smooth leather booth next to the piano, Paul belting out a fast ragtime tune; there was the same woman who usually sings or dances to the music to entertain guests dancing away with two other ladies on stage, their swift tap dancing movements (and the show off of their breasts, as it was compulsory to do that) causing ripples of whoops and whistles from the men sitting at the tables facing the stage. It was normal for a pub to have dancing women like that. One in particular, long ink-black hair and dark eyeliner, dancing next to the main woman, was eyeing up the three boys in the booth to her right, sending a friendly smile and a wink their way before continuing dancing.
Ringo stared at her for a few moments with a small smile, but turned back to look at George with a grin, taking a sip of his beer before discreetly lacing their fingers together under the table. Before he had gotten together with George he would have gone for that woman - but not anymore.
"So, how are ye enjoyin' yer night, boys?" The blue-eyed boy asked before sipping at his beer again. The three boys had become more loose and comfortable after their first beer, relaxing in the warmth that shot throughout their body, John unabashedly staring at Paul, who was having the time of his life performing, sweat running down the back of his neck, with a small smile and soft eyes. He was so goddamn beautiful. The prince's stomach exploded with butterflies every time he looked at Paul, and his heart soared at how much his boyfriend was having fun performing for the masses. The raven-haired boy's eyes were shining with joy and there was a gigantic, unsuppressed grin on his lips, sweat beading around his slightly tousled hair, running down his forehead and the back of his neck, fingers still flying across the keys in flawless cooperation, feet tapping along to the music in excitement. It was so goddamn amazing to see Paul in this state, and he would never pass up another opportunity to see it again.
"Oh, 's great." Is all John could muster, not able to take his eyes off of his boyfriend, head resting in his hand with a soft sigh.
"Wow, yer really fookin' whipped aye?" George giggled into his beer as the two watched the prince. He was being so damn obvious at that moment.
"Yeah.... uh- wait what?" The auburn-haired boy finally snapped out of his trance and stared at George and Ringo in utter confusion. They both burst out laughing at that and took one last sip of their beers before finishing.
"Yer a piece of work, John. My god." The oldest of the group shook his head with a chuckle as he put down his beer mug. At that point, Paul's song had ended, the dancing women striking a pose before there was a roar of approval from the crowd, applause rippling throughout the pub, all having been amazed by this new young pianist and his skill. But, there was a group of young men, maybe 5 or so years older than George, Ringo, Paul and John, standing near the back, the tallest one glaring right at the boy at the piano.
"Cheers! Thanks!" Paul called out breathlessly to the applauding crowd, thanking John with a small smile when the prince handed him a hanker chief to wipe the sweat off his brow.
"Oi! Who's this fookin' faggot now? Where's Chuck? This kid looks fuckin' twelve!" The seeming leader of the group called out in a scathing insult, the group dissolving into laughter, causing a few other people to laugh along as well. The boy in question glanced up at them in shock, eyes wide as he stood frozen next to the piano. These guys looked like trouble.
But those words caused John to immediately stand up off his seat, fury bubbling up in his chest to his throat at the asshole group. No one can talk about Macca like that and get away with it.
"Aye! Fuck off, ye bloody wankers!" He yelled out before he could stop himself, George and Ringo getting to their feat to come over to John.
"Shut the fuck up, John!" The youngest of the group hissed, eyes wide in fear at the intimidating group that strode over to them, looming tall over the group. Turns out they weren't much taller than John, though, and he stared eye to eye with the leader, eyes squinting at his lack of glasses, trying to see the man's face a bit better.
"Got a problem, mate?" He practically spat in the prince's face, who stoically didn't move, continuing to scowl back.
"Yeah, I do actually. Yer all fuckin' prats is my problem."
"John, stop!" Ringo practically begged, shoving his arm, not wanting to start a fight with blokes who looked ten years their senior. Paul jumped off the stage and ran to stand next to his boyfriend, glare prominent on his face and fists lifted up slightly, ready to punch. Glad Paul was going to be on his side, the group grew more and more furious.
"Say that again, cunt. I dare ya." The man's fist's clenched tightly into fists as the group began to descend on them, anger and tension high in the silent pub, everyone transfixed on the brawl that was about to start.
"'e said prats!" Paul yelled, suddenly wild with the idea of having a good barmy. And, they got what they wanted; the first punch thrown straight at the raven-haired boy's face, but he was prepared - dodging it, he threw one straight to the stomach of one of the members, who doubled over in pain.
"Fight!" George screamed before leaping on one of the men, throwing as many punches as he could to his face, Ringo and John joining in. The pub was suddenly alive with movement, and the surrounding crowd began to yell their approval; John fell to the floor with the leader on top of him, the man throwing a punch to his jaw and succeeding, the prince's vision exploding with stars for a moment as searing pain shot through his body. But, the need to hurt was stronger, skin alive with heat as he dodged another punch, the man then colliding his fist with the wooden floor below, letting out a yelp of pain as his knuckles came black bloody. Immediately, while he was distracted, John kneed him right in the junk before throwing a punch to his cheek, the man doubling over with a groan and clutching at his nether regions.
"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The entire crowd was chanting excitedly the entire time, the brawl proving to be much entertainment to them at this time.
Paul was then tussling with the burliest guy of all, pressed up against the wall; the man was standing on top of a table, the people sitting below staring in shock at them - the boy struggling to rid the large hand wrapped around his neck. But, one of the men below them pushed the guy's foot off the table, the man crashing to the ground below, smacking his head on one of the surrounding tables with a groan, blood beginning to spill from a cut in his head. Paul coughed violently as he took in a breath, but recovered quickly, leaping off the table and throwing a kick to the guy's side.
Ringo had another man pinned to a table, both clawing and punching at each other anywhere they could reach, the azure-eyed boy's nose now dripping with blood and slightly crooked.
"Hey, what the fuck is goin' on here? Get the hell out! All of you, out!" The bartenders and Elvis came over to the group, trying to break them apart and shove them towards the entrance. Thank god in that moment, as the tussling group was tossed out onto the pavement outside, Elvis nor the bartenders had not recognised Paul or the rest of the group, or else he would have lost his job. "Fuck off, don't come back!" Elvis rolled his eyes at them before slamming the door shut.
It was now very dark outside, but people were still walking about, passersby staring at the group in shock before hurrying past, not wanting to get involved.
George, Ringo, Paul and John all got to their feet, brushing themselves off before starting to walk off, checking each other's wounds. But, of course, that was ruined when there was a voice that sounded from behind them, footsteps approaching fast.
"Oi, brothers! Don't think ye can get away tha' easily, this ain't over quite yet." The leader called out with a devilish grin, the cut on his upper cheek sending drops of blood down his face. There was a flash of something bright glinting in the light, but John couldn't make out what it was, them being too far away for him to see.
"James, wha' the hell?" One of the group spotted the thing in the leader's hand and stared at him in shock. "They're jus' kids, mate! Ye don't need-"
"F-fuck, 'e has a knife, John-" Ringo stuttered slightly, and the four of them began to run away, as fast as they could. All that John could think of was protect Paul protect Paul protect Paul-
"C'mere cunts!" The leader's voice was surprisingly very close, the group being faster than the younger boys and catching up to them quickly. So, at the last second, John froze in his tracks and turned to throw a punch as hard as he could to one of the older's men's cheeks, hitting the one next to James's nose and breaking it instantly, a crack echoing throughout the alleyway and blood spurting from it profusely.
"Fuck! Me nose!" The man doubled over in pain, holding desperately onto it to try and stop the bleeding.
"Yer gonna get it now!" James hissed in fury, the man grabbing onto Paul quickly and holding him in a headlock, pressing the blade to his abdomen; the boy struggled desperately in his grasp, trying to free the arm around his neck but failing.
"Let me go, wankers!"
"Fuck- Paul!" The three boys stood stock still, John freezing in his spot with terror washing over him like a tidal wave. Fuck. They have Paul. I need to protect him- fuck shit fuck fuck-
"Let him go, ye bastards!" George screamed in anger, moving to punch, but doing that caused James to press the tip of the blade harder to Paul's side, blood spurting from the cut and staining his shirt. The boy let our a yelp of pain, eyes wide in fright, staring at his friends in alarm. Shit! John's heart raced a mile a minute, breath shallow and panic rising at seeing the wound. If he moved any further, they would sink the entire thing into Paul's side.
"Don't come any closer! One more step an' I'm puttin' the whole thing in!" The leader screamed in fury, eyes wild with fury that he almost looked insane.
"Stop it! They're jus' kids, James, let 'im go-" One of the members of the group, that was holding the other man with the broken nose in his arms, trying to diffuse the never-ending stream of blood, protested with a terrified look towards the leader.
"Shut the fuck up! Now, ye listen to me..." The leader screamed before smiling at the group, continuing to keep a struggling Paul in a strong hold.
What he didn't notice, though, was that someone was creeping up behind them, face hidden in the darkness, but John could vaguely make out they were wearing a dress.
"I want ye all ta fuck off an' never come back. This is our place. Chuck's our mate an' 'e was the pianist before that American cunt kicked 'im off, an' this uphill gardener 'ere took 'is place." While the man was ranting, John saw the woman's face come into view in the overhanging lamps above them, and he recognised her as one of the dancers from before, dark eyeliner and long black hair. She mimed a shushing motion and a grabbing one, mouthing 'I grab him, you get the boy'; he nodded quickly and looked to see George and Ringo getting ready to fight again.
"So's I want ya'sall to-"
"Oi! Ye naff tosser!" The woman bellowed out before grabbing onto the leader of the group and reaching to whack the knife from his hand.
But, she was a little too late - James managed to stab the entire thing into Paul's side, eliciting a scream of pain before he was released, falling straight into John's awaiting grasp; the terrified prince pulled the knife out as quickly as he could and threw it to the woman, who caught it swiftly and pinned James to the ground, holding it at his neck. George and Ringo leapt on the rest of the unsuspecting group, holding them down as they halfheartedly struggled to free themselves. Some passersby saw the commotion and came over, breaking apart the group and trying to diffuse the situation.
"Go! Now!" The coal-haired woman called out to the boys while holding the struggling leader to the concrete. "I got this!"
"W-wait, what's yer name?" Ringo asked as him and George broke away from the other members, running to help John get Paul to his feet.
"Maureen! Now leave, quickly!" She yelled.
The four didn't hesitate to listen, George helping lift Paul to lean properly on his and John's shoulder. The boy looked deadly pale, sweat dripping down his face which was contorted in pain, blood cascading from his stab wound and staining his shirt and trousers at an extremely rapid rate. Hanging his head, he was limp in his boyfriend and best friend's arms, trying his best to keep on his feet and not be basically dragged, chest heaving with the effort.
"Motherfuckin' bellends!" Ringo screamed after them as the four dashed away from the scene, throwing up the finger before dashing down the street as quickly as they could. They had to get away from there, somewhere safe enough where they won't be disturbed and they can treat Paul's wound.
"It's okay Paul, it's okay, we're nearly there, I've got you love-" John continued to whisper encouraging words to the bleeding boy - clutching onto the arm that had been thrown over his shoulder as tightly as he could, wrapping his other arm around Paul's waist to hoist him up a bit more, pressing tightly onto the wound to try and stop the immediate bleeding; doing this caused the younger to hiss out a breath through clenched teeth at the agony. Seeing his boyfriend this hurt the auburn-haired boy so badly, tears welling in his eyes as he picked up the pace, twisting through as many streets as they thought was decent before arriving at a dark, enclosed alleyway.
"Okay, we're here- sit down fer me, love.." Gently, John helped Paul slide to the ground, still pressing a hand to the wound, not caring that the blood was getting all over it. Paul was more important. "Quick, uh- Ringo, apply pressure to the wound, George, lie him down and put his legs up against the wall, he seems to be in shock." Paul was ghostly pale and sweating, lips turning blue and eyes hooded. His friends did as was told and John threw off his jacket, grabbing at his shirt and pulling it off, folding it to make a makeshift bandage.
Silence followed except for Paul's ragged breathing, the pressure being applied by Ringo causing the blood to slowly flow less and less, until after a few minutes, it stopped.
"Okay, take yer hand off fer a second.." John instructed, before they gently peeled away Paul's blood-soaked shirt, wincing at seeing the fresh wound, covered in drying blood, and turning away for a moment. "Oh god.."
"Holy fuckin'-" George immediately turned green and stumbled a few steps away to vomit onto the ground.
"Okay, cleanin' the wound- Ringo, use me shirt an' go to the nearest place ye can get clean water, quick!" The boy nodded before grabbing the shirt and dashing away and out of sight. Sighing, John turned back to Paul, gently tapping his face to try and keep him awake. "Macca? Macca stay awake fer me, yeah? Can ye hear me?"
The boy slowly turned his gaze to look at his boyfriend, face still contorted in pain, but he managed a tight smile through it. "Yeah.. yeah, 'm ok. John, it hurts..." His voice was hoarse and just above a whisper, tears beginning to fall down the sides of his face as he laid there, in too much pain to even move. This hurt John so much more than he thought it would, and he reached to interlace their bloodstained hands together tightly, smiling sadly through the tears.
"It's okay love. You're doing so, so well, baby. It'll all be over soon, trust me. Yer okay..." He pressed his forehead involuntarily to Paul's, voice wavering slightly as the possibilities of what could happen to his boyfriend flowed through his mind. What if Paul died right then and there? Please, god no. John shut up. He'll be okay. Help him through this.
"John! We got it.." The prince looked up to see Ringo running towards them, wet cloth in hand. But he was not alone. A young man, possibly in his thirties, with a woman of about the same age were hurrying over. "I asked these people if they could help, they're both doctors-"
"Yes, what's happened here? This boy said that one of you was stabbed?" The woman asked worriedly, the man coming up to stand beside her. John gazed at them for a second, feeling a little suspicious for a moment, but after looking at their genuine concern, he relaxed, moving aside to show Paul.
"Oh, poor boy- here, we have medical equipment back in our house. It's only up the street." The man gestured to the street next to them, the two people standing a few metres away. George and John stared at them for a few seconds before exchanging a look. We can trust them. George nodded his head in their direction, and John nodded back, both moving to help Paul up. The couple helped them by hoisting him up to be piggybacked by John; they then carried him away out of the alleyway and down the street to the couple's house led by them, Paul burying his head in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, who smiled warmly in return, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. Once they got to the house, the man opened the door, leading them inside with a comforting smile;
It was a modest, but well-lit house. A front hallway that had two closed doors on either side, before opening up to the neat, spotless kitchen, which had an archway leading to the lounge room. They were led through both before they opened a door to the right, which led to the washroom. John gently set Paul down on the bench, the couple moving to stand beside him, George and Ringo trailing behind nervously.
"Is it alright if we inspect the wound?" The woman gently inquired to Paul, who nodded slowly, letting out a huff as he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off to reveal his stab wound. John stepped back, knowing that it would be better to not get involved, jumping up to sit on the edge of the sink and watched the couple get to work. First, they inspected the wound to see if there was anything stuck in it; then they got a wet washcloth and cleaned off all the excess blood and dirt, giving it to John after so he could clean him and Ringo's hands; thirdly, they properly cleaned it with disinfectant and other materials, then they got out a needle and stitches to stitch it all up, as it was quite deep (this caused Paul to writhe in pain and he had to clutch onto his boyfriend's hand as tightly as possible to stabilise himself). Once they were done, they wrapped padding onto it and secured it with copious amounts of bandage.
"Right, well.. there's that. He needs to rest for the next few days, can't be doing anything too strenuous. Change the bandaging every day, check for signs of infection. After probably three days, come back and we will take the stitches out; after about ten days, if you keep to that routine, his wound will have almost completely healed; but it will leave a scar, is all." The brunette-haired woman explained to the four boys, colour now finally coming back to Paul's face, muscles relaxed slightly as the pain had subsided to a dull aching throb.
"Thank ye so much, really. Uhm, how much-" John grinned at them gratefully, reaching into his jacket pocket to fish for money.
"It's nothing, really. Don't fuss yourselves over that." The man patted the prince's shoulder with a small smile. "Just take him home to rest. Come back in three days to take the stitching out so it doesn't get infected, here's our address-" The man went to grab a piece of paper and pen, writing it down and passing it to John, who took it with a small smile and a nod.
"Thank ye so much fer helpin' us. We probably woulda gotten it all wrong." Ringo piped up with a chuckle.
"It's alright, dears. Now hurry on home, your parents much be worried!" The woman then helped Paul get down, the raven-haired boy throwing an arm across John's shoulder, leaning on him for support.
"Thank you." Paul sent them a small smile before they trudged out the house, into the mid-temperature night.
"Uhm, where do we go now?" George finally spoke up after being silent for most of the ordeal, looking less terrified now but worried as he gazed at his best friend. "If Paul goes home an' Jim sees tha'...."
"I'd never be able ta go out again." Paul finished, resting his head on John's shoulder with a huff, voice quiet and hoarse.
"What should we do?" Ringo inquired.
"Paul could come to mine? I'll drop 'im off early in the mornin'. He could maybe say he's a bit sick or somethin' to find an excuse to not move around so much. Definitely won't be choppin' wood fer the next week." John spoke up, turning to look at his boyfriend. "Is that okay?"
"Yeah.. yeah, that's a good idea. We'll see ye guys tomorrow, yeah? Come ta mine." Paul gazed at his two best friends with a small smile. They smiled back, moving to hug Paul (avoiding his left side, though), the boy grinning as they group hugged.
"Yer a fuckin' beast, Paulie. Ye survived a stabbin'!" George grinned at him in amazement. "I'd probably die from terror immediately."
"Nah, yer strong, Geo. Ye'd get through it just as much as me." Paul rolled his eyes. "See ye guys."
"See ya!"
The couple then made their way to John's manor, sneaking over the fence. Paul piggybacked John again to make sure not to hurt himself, and they stayed like that until they got to the prince's room, the boy dropping his boyfriend as gently as he could onto the sheets before moving to collect some sleepwear for them. There was so much care and thoughtfulness in his movements and expression as he helped Paul change before getting into bed next to him, it caused the younger's heart to race and his stomach to flutter at the attention being paid to him. Snuggling into his boyfriend's warm, almost hairless chest, he smiled softly, breathing in his scent as John wrapped his arms around him, careful to avoid his bandaged wound.
"Today's gone from amazing to a fuckin' shit-storm, hasn't it?" The older chuckled quietly.
"Yeah... it really has. But.. at least you were there with me." He gazed up at his boyfriend with a small smile. John had washed some of the grease out from his styled hair, and it was back to its curly, messy self, fake moustache gone, a dazed smile on his thin lips, eyes half lidded and gazing at Paul with affection shining in them.
"I'll never let any more harm come to ye, love. Goodnight."
✧✧✧✧✧
author's note.
__________________
AAAA SO SORRY THIS IS SO
LATE OMG FKJDVK have had
absolutely no motivation and
have also been kinda sick again
and like really sad lately so
JFJFJFJ anyways AAAA enjoy
this longass chapter !! dont
have much to say except poor
macca :(( oH DJKVFDJ wait
aND THIS IS ALMOST AT 5k
WTF !! why is this blowing up
so much JKKJDdhv :') ok
fR shutting up i keep ranting
sorry :( ILY ALL SO MUCH BYE<3