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I'll Cry Instead

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Practice had ended long ago, but yet, Ringo was upset. They got into yet another heated argument at the studio, and after the argument was about to end, Ringo kept messing up making the others scream at the poor drummer. Days and weeks passed; the arguments and mess ups continued as the band began to balance on a sharp razor's edge, causing the drumming tecniques to become sloppy. One rehearsal, it seemed as if Paul had enough of Ringo's mistakes since they were leaving for a tour in about a week. During one beginner mistake, Paul exploded at Ringo, which Ringo wasn't used to since he tried to stay out of the band's confrontations.

"Ringo, what the hell do you think you are doing?" Paul exploded to the drummer, "your drumming as if you just learned to hold onto those damn sticks, much less play with them!"

"I-I'm sorry, Paul…it's just-…I-," Ringo stuttered as he knew he was stressed by the fights, but he knew everyone is, "I'm sorry…"

"Ringo, we know you're stressed," John butted in, "but we all are, lad, and we need a drummer who actually can play this."

"How about I take over drumming for this damn recording and Ringo could return to his corner with that tambourine," Paul growled through his clentched teeth, "because all of us already know I'm the best drummer here."

"Now, Paul," George jumped in, "lets just breath for a moment."

"Oh, and here's George…The spiritual one," Paul huffed, "we're letting you play lead guitar instead of me, so back off!"

"You're too full of yourself," George growled and went back to his spot where he had left his guitar.

"So, Ringo," Paul faced the drummer, "either get this right, or we'll send you out for the day, maybe the week!"

Ringo looked Paul in the eyes, and all the drummer saw was pure rage. He saw none of the kind, fun loving lad he knew as Paul McCartney, and deep down it scared him. Ringo silently nodded to Paul, then Paul huffed and walked back the the microphone he was sharing with John. Ringo knew he had to focus, or he may as well be a weak link in a chain that was about to break any second. They started to play again, the song entitled 'Help!' The drum part was crazy, pretty much banging on the drumset, playing as loud and hard as possible. The drum part was planned to sound strong in the background, but with Ringo making the mistakes due to stress, it always sounded wrong. They started the song, and it started pretty well. Ringo kept the beat until the inevitable happened. His aging drumstick snapped during the intense cymbal part. The half that broke hit Paul, of all people, in the back. Ringo quickly frowned when Paul stopped playing to look angrily at the drummer.

"It broke," was all the drummer could say as the bassist walked towards him.

"Out," Paul growled and pointed to the door.

Ringo looked at Paul in shock as tears threatened to fall, but the drummer ran out before the bassist could see any of them, or the pained look on his face. He quickly ran out, and as the door shut, he could hear John scolding Paul.

"Nice going Paul," John scolded, "now we lost our drummer."

"I could be a way better drummer," Paul said as he picked up that sticks, then looked around, "is there a stick that's in one piece around here?"

"I think those were Ringo's only sticks here," George said as he picked up the other half from the floor, "but, there's always tape."

"Tape does not fix everything," Paul growled lowly to George.

"Well, food does," George grinned towards Paul then looked at John, "wanna join? It looks like we're done here since there's only one good drumstick."

"Sure," John grinned and walked out with George, "some food sounds pretty good about now."

Paul frowned and began the cymbal part with one stick, resulting in the only good one to break, "shit…"

~

Ringo quickly ran to the bathroom in the studio and leaned against a sink to view his reflection in the mirror before him. In the mirror he discovered a teary eyed man who'd been broken for too long in the band. The band was beginning to fall apart, but due to his contract, he was forced to stay in the band for longer, as were the others. The fans would also be heartbroken if The Beatles were to break up. Ringo sat under a sink, his hands shaking more vigorously than his whole body. He thought for a second, for a way, any way to get out of the mess.

He lowered his head to cry in his knees, then an idea slipped in his head. He quickly moved to his bag and dug through the contents until he found his goal, his safety razor. He always had it in his drumstick bag in case he needed it if he stayed at the studio over night, which he had done many times. He began to fumble with the plastic, tearing it off and pulling out the small razor inside.

"The fans would miss them," Ringo stared at the sharp razor in his left hand, "but drummers are expendable…"

He pulled up the sleeve on his right arm, revealing the smooth skin on his arm. He slowly brought the razor to it, slicing a small mark in his wrist. He sucked in some air when he felt the sharp pain, then let the air slowly fall past his lips. He stared at the small cut on his arm as crimson began to seep out of it. Rather then cleaning off the blood, he let it travel down his arm. Watching it as it made it's destination to the palm of his hand. He quickly sliced the razor over his arm again, deeper than before. The blood came out a bit faster than before, and the pain almost felt relieving. Tears stained his eyes as he sliced eight more angry, deep cuts into his right arm, feeling the tendency to laugh at his pain. When he was about to make his eleventh enraged slice, he heard someone start to enter the room.

The drummer reacted quickly, yanking his sleeve down as he dropped the bloodied razor in his bag all whilst standing up before the person turned the corner. Soon, he was face to face with the very person who made him feel like death; Paul. Ringo grabbed his bag, quickly walking Past Paul and leaving the bathroom without a word. He got to his car and turned the key, then sat there for a little bit. One way to go was suffocation from sitting in a started car with the windows closed, but he quickly backed down from the idea.

"Not yet," he whispered to himself, "not just yet…"

Chapter Text

Ringo drove home on his own, sprinting inside in case any fans were around to throw themselves at the drummer. He threw his bag on his couch as he walked through his television room to his kitchen to make himself some tea. He filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove so it could begin to boil. As the water began to hear up, he walked into his bathroom, opening the mirror with a medicine cabinet behind it, in search of a wrap to put over his fresh cuts on his right arm. He found a vet wrap kind of thing and wrapped his arm up in the dark green wrap. He quickly left the bathroom, mid wrapping his arm, to check the water.

By the time he got there, the pot was beginning to steam. He grabbed it and poured it in a cup along with a mint tea bag for the flavoring of the tea. He hoped a nice cup of tea, and wrapping his wrists, would help avoid the thoughts of suicide floating around in his troubled mind. He sat on his couch, taking a sip of the hot beverage, and turned on his black and white telly. The news was on, and he liked to see the weather before he drifted of his sleep. Rather than the weather, it was talking of a suicide that worked in the city. Ringo stared at it, listening to how the person did it, actually quite interested.

"A twenty-three year old woman committed suicide earlier this morning," the weather man, Peter Riggs began the story, "the woman was found to have multiple cuts on her wrists and thighs, and was found after an overdose of sleeping medication and vodka…"

"Sleeping pills and vodka you say…" Ringo looked in his kitchen ignoring what else Peter had to say, "I may have the equivalent."

Ringo placed his cup of tea on the table when he walked into the kitchen then went to go through a few cabinets. He found some whiskey and brandy in one shelf along with some painkillers he found in the medicine cabinet. Not exactly vodka and sleeping pills, but it would work all the same for the drummer. He dumped out the contents of the medicine bottle into his hand, staring at about fifty-two white pills. Enough to overdose on without the alcohol, but it would make it more painful. He rummaged through his bag and found his razor he used earlier on his right wrist.

He had it all planned. He was going to take all the painkillers, wash it down with two whole bottles of whiskey and brandy, then cut until he could cut no longer. He lifted the fist full of pills to his mouth, only to stop as soon as something caught his eye. He lowered his hand as he looked at a little plushie in the corner of the room. It was a little octopus. The first time Paul blew up at Ringo, during their tavern days, Ringo had left in tears. The next day, they called him to go to John's house. When he had arrived, Paul apologized profusely to the drummer, and they all pooled what little money they had to get the orange octopus to cheer him up.

It may sound very childish, but it was enough for Ringo to slide the pills back into the bottle and throw them into a drawer with the brandy and whiskey. He picked up the razor, and began to wind up the throw, but he paused and clenched his fist, causing the sharp, metal object to dig into the skin of his palm. Ringo watched as the crimson began to fall, as if he was in a trance by the red liquid. He quickly ripped off his bandage and ripped into his skin. Tears blurting his vision as more pain and blood came from his skinny wrists. As quickly as he had began, he stopped, blood dripping on the white, tile floor slowly. His eyes widened once he saw what he had done… He was losing control… He quickly washed his cuts, and wrapped them in the green wrap again. He ripped his coat off the rack, then ran into the night, knowing exactly where he was going.

Soon enough, he was in front of the door that had someone who may be mature enough to help his problem. He bit his lower lip softly as he knocked on the chestnut door. He heard someone mumble inaudible words inside, then he heard the hinges squeak open. A man stood in the doorway, slouched posture, and probably very tired as well. He seemed a bit irritated to see the drummer at the door, and his words reciprocated his emotion.

"Ringo, what are you doing here? Don't I see enough of you and the others at the studio enough already," the man groaned as he tried to stay awake, "I'm your manager, not your personal mate."

"Brian, it's an emergency," Ringo whined softly as he tried to hold in the tears, "please…I need help…"

"Can't it wait for the morning, Ringo?" Brian irritably answered.

"No, it can't," Ringo whimpered, "I hurt myself…"

"Hurting yourself isn't an emergency a band-aid can't fix," Brian sighed as he was about to slam the door on Ringo's nose.

"No, Brian…I don't think you understand…" Ringo ripped off the green wrap and revealed his butchered arm, "I hurt myself!"

Brian's eyes widened as he saw the cuts as the door stopped closing, "Ringo…no…come inside…I'll make you some tea and we can talk…okay?"

Brian brought Ringo inside, softly closing the door as the other man entered. It was a small place, but it was ideal for one man to live on his own in. Brian sat Ringo on the sofa and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it in cold water, then walking to Ringo to tap some of the blood that spilled as the drummer ran on the streets. Brian whimpered calming gibberish to the other man as if he was a child, but in Ringo's current state, it truly helped him calm down. Brian tenderly wrapped the cuts in a better bandage than what Ringo had on it in the first place, then retrieved the tea that just finished. He set the fresh cup into the shaking hands of the drummer and looked him in the eyes.

Brian saw the red in Ringo's eyes, probably from crying, and he could feel his heart ache as he looked at the lad. It reminded him of a friend long ago, a special friend he had in his life. Brian knew a lad throughout the entirety of his school career, his name was Flynn, and many people said they must be dating they were so close. Brian, himself, was queer, and he knew Flynn was queer along with him. They were extremely close, until the one day Brian didnt know he'd ever see in his entire lifetime.

Their senior year, Flynn came to him with the same expression Ringo had in his cupped hands. Flynn cried to Brian, telling him of the problems his parents had with him being queer. Flynn's parents kicked him out, and Brian tried to insist Flynn to stay with him, but he said he'd live with his aunt. The very next day, Brian couldn't find Flynn anywhere, and worry began to rise in his chest for his crush. That evening on the news, Brian almost vomited from what he saw. The night Flynn left Brian, he went to a tree in the park and hung himself.

He looked at Ringo when his mental flashback ended, and he saw the face of fear his friend had so long ago still plastered on the drummers face. He knew he could be there for Ringo, as long as the stress didn't get to him during the tour and he may forget. He felt he couldn't risk it, but it would be the best for Ringo if they'd keep it hushed up for the time being.

"I'll be there for you, Ringo," Brian looked at the younger drummer.

Chapter Text

A/N: Hi! I'm so happy to come on every day and see new kudos, bookmarks, and comments! I'm awkward, and I try to reply to comments, but idk how to reply. I just wanted to put out a huge thank you to the 3 people who commented along with a new chapter as a thanks! Sorry if it may be lower standards then you thought. I will also try to update every Saturday or Sunday unless busy, so if your following the storyline, that's the planned schedule. I hope you enjoy this all new chapter!

It had been two weeks since Ringo came to Brian for help. The Beatles went on tour a week ago, and Ringo began to get more stressed as he basically lived with the boys, including Paul. Brian became overly stressed during the tour, and it made Ringo feel like he completely forgot about the situation at hand. Ringo chose not to bother him, he felt like he didn't need to throw his problems onto his manager and stress the man any further than he already was. They had practice everyday while Brian worked elsewhere, and some days the drummer felt it wasn't even worth it. One day they were going through a song, 'Ticket to Ride' when Ringo fell into his own world. He began to think over everything he'd done, cutting himself, planning his route to death, he even wrote a note once, but backed out last minute. While he was thinking, he didn't notice he messed up a bit on the tempo. The band stopped and Paul turned to Ringo.

"Ringo, would you like to join the band sometime?" Paul spoke coldly, "we really need a drummer today!"

Ringo only nodded, not feeling any worth in even speaking, nor simply looking Paul in the eyes to see how much rage lied within them. He, rather, chose to stare at the snare in his drum kit set up. Paul turned to his mic, tuning his bass again as he noticed some sharp notes when Ringo stood from his drum kit, dropping his sticks before him onto the drum. The others gave a confused look while John already took off his guitar and walked to Ringo's direction. Ringo fell off the platform his drums were set on, but John lucky made it in time to catch the smaller man.

"Ringo, are you okay?" John asked, and began to worry when he didn't answer, "Ritchie?"

The two men stood there for a few seconds before Ringo wrapped his arms around John and began to cry into the taller man's chest. John was a bit surprised by Ringo's actions, but embraced the crying drummer. Paul and George looked at each other, and Paul had began to soften upon seeing Ringo's sudden state. They all decided they had enough practice, and when Ringo calmed down, he chose to take a shower to try to forget that he acted so weak around the others, weak enough to hug John while he cried, but it felt nice to have a hug at the time.

When Ringo was in the warm, calming shower, he looked down at his wrists. They were both riddled in slices from any blade he could get his hands on, but they were just begining to scab over since he hadn't had the peace to slice into them. He frowned, then looked at the sink next to the shower where a saftey razor sat, unused. He quickly looked away, trying to shake the thought from his mind, but his eyes kept trailing back to the razor no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

After two minutes, he quickly grabbed for the saftey razor and quickly sliced a singular slice into his right wrist. The crimson vanished quicker as the water from the shower head pelted it away with water. He quickly dug more marks in his wrist, deeper and angerier the more he did. He could feel the adrenaline once again after each mark that the razor produced on his wrist. He shook as the adrenaline flew through his veins in the moment. He loved the feeling of the razor. As quickly as it began, he noticed his loss of control once again, and thrower the razor, covered in fresh blood, to the corner of the room. He told one person, and it turned up to be useless. He thought it over, then he began to think of the worst possible solution, maybe he was beyond help…

He quickly stepped out of the shower and put on his clothes before going out of the bathroom to walk into the kitchen. He looked around and noticed Paul plucking at his bass with George who was playing on the electric guitar with Paul. John was preoccupied with 'Alice in Wonderland,' his favorite book from his childhood. Ringo sighed inwardly and opened a small drawer in the kitchen counter. Inside, it contained spoons, forks, butter knives, and meat knives. He grabbed the sharpest meat knife in the drawer and walked to his room left unnoticed by his fellow bandmembers. The drummer scribbled something, hopefully enough to explain to the others, yet short. Tears began to stain his eyes as he wrote the letter to the other lads, but wasnt exactly sure what to write, but his hands made motions with the pencil that drew unconscious words on the notepad.

He wrote, give or take misspells: 'Hello, lads. I'm sorry that you ended up being stuck with me for this long. I know I must've been a useless struggle, and I'm sorry it took me this long. Paul, I'm sorry to have gotten you so stressed. John, sorry about acting weak around you, it wasn't my strongest moment. George, I wish I was there for you more often than I was, because you've always been a great friend.

Goodbye Forever,

Richard Starkey.'

Ringo whimpered as he dropped the short note that he wished would say more next to him, shaking as he extended his reach for the meat knife that was placed next to him. He positioned the knife on his chest, over where his heart quickly beat. He sucked in some air, prepared to feel pain, and then the nothingness of death, but he heard the door open and saw the silhouette of the rhythm guitarist.

"Damn-it," Ringo muttered quietly when he saw the look on John's face when he relized what the drummer was doing.

"Ringo, no!" John quickly ran over, ripping the knife out of Ringo's hand who was still frozen in shock of being caught.

Ringo felt a sort of relief, yet he knew John would never leave him alone after this. He began to feel the tears dripping from his eyes when John kneeled by the smaller drummer and pulled him into a warm embrace. Ringo felt comfort with John, but quickly noticed he was against a bare chest that was slightly warm and damp.

"Uh," Ringo looked up at John, "did you just finish a shower?"

"Yeah," John shrugged as if he didn't mind that he was only wearing a towel around his waist, "I can change, but I want to be here for you first. Make sure you know I'll always be here for you."

"Y-you do?" Ringo looked hopefully up into John's eyes to earn a gentle nod.

"I'm going to get dressed quick, then in the morning we should talk to the others," John looked softly at Ringo, "I know they'd want to help."

"B-but I'm stressful, and hopeless, and…" Ringo rambled until he was cut off.

"No, you're amazing, beautiful, a great drummer, and more," John smiled softly, "you're Ringo Starr, and the world better keep an eye on such a star."

John went to the closet and quickly got changed into something for the night while Ringo stayed on the ground, throwing his note in the trash can. When John was done he came and helped Ringo off the floor and into bed. He could still feel the drummer shaking. John quickly picked up the knife and walked out of the room with it putting it where it belonged, out of Ringo's reach. John returned to check Ringo before going to his own room to see a shaking figure clutching on the blankets. John walked over and sat on the side of Ringo's bed and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Will you be alright, Ringo?" John asked as he rubbed his shoulder a little.

"Just scared of what I almost did to myself," Ringo shivered, then looked at John, "I know this may sound childish…but…can you stay with me tonight?"

"Of course," John laid next to the shaking figure and put an arm over him, "whatever makes you feel safer, mate."

Ringo indeed felt safer, and felt his friends actually did care about his well being. He knew he had to tell the others in the morning about his suicidal thoughts, and he hoped they would be as caring as John was. With the secure feeling inside himself, Ringo began to close his eyes, happy about being alive. It had been a long time, and it actually felt great. He soon feel asleep in John's safe grasp, feeling a comfort he hadn't felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, John let his eyes open slowly, not really wanting to wake. The first thing he saw was the brown hair of his bandmate who was next to him. Ringo was breathing softly as he slept peacefully as a small smile was set upon his face. John slowly slipped out of bed, trying his best not to wake the smaller drummer so he could get himself some breakfast. He walked out of the room only to bump into Paul and George almost immediatly after making it out the door.

"What's going on?" John said as he looked between his bandmates.

"What were you doing in Ringo's room all night?" George was the first to ask.

"What are you, queer for Ringo?" Paul almost growled.

"First, I'm not queer for anybody," John quickly stated.

"Sure…" Paul rolled his eyes.

"And second, something very bad happened to Ringo, and I stayed to support him," John said as he glared at Paul.

"What happened to Ringo," George asked, concern immanent in his voice.

"That's for him to tell you, but don't let me catch you asking or I'll beat all of ya," John growled then looked at Paul, "especially you, Paulie."

"Me?" Paul looked at John's face, and saw he was completely serious for once.

"Yes, you. Now," John glared, then his expression changed quickly to a joyous one, " I want bacon."

"Ew," Paul frowned, forever the vegetarian.

"Bacon is a Godsend," John argued and skipped off to the kitchen, leaving Paul to think.

"But you don't even believe in God," Paul countered.

Just as the conversation quieted, Ringo shuffled out of his room wearing a sweater, a little too big for the smaller man, but at least it made him happy. Paul looked at Ringo, and was about to ask why John stayed with him the last night, but Paul thought against it after recalling how serious John's tone was before he skipped off to get bacon. Paul kept his tongue as he watched Ringo pass by him and walk into the kitchen where John was already munching on some bacon he had room service bring up. Paul looked at George who seemed to be having the same struggle as him. They couldn't avoid it for too long, but they really needed to know what was going on with Ringo.

"Good morning Ringo. How are you today?" Paul kindly asked getting a look of caution from John.

"I'm doing alright," Ringo spoke quietly as he finished making a slice of toast, "how about you? Anything new song wise?"

"Very well," Paul walked next to Ringo to make some tea on the stove while John's eyes followed his every move, "anybody else want some tea?"

"Yes," the others replied rather quickly, happy about their favorite drink.

"Could I have some honey in mine?" Ringo asked as he looked at Paul.

"Of course, I'll make it special for you," Paul smiled to the little drummer gaining a small smile from him, then Paul went right to work on the tea.

Soon, Paul finished making everyone's tea and served it to each of them, making sure to give the cup with honey to Ringo, gaining a look of pure joy from the drummer. As Paul saw the look of pure joy, he noticed he hadn't seen it in so long, maybe even too long. It made his heart melt ever so slightly as he didn't know how much he missed that little bit of joy until he saw it. Paul sat in his chair, wrapping his hands around his own warm cup of fresh tea. He didn't know why it made him so happy when he saw Ringo happy after so long, but for some reason, it felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He sighed as he began to think, remembering how hard he'd been on the drummer, and it's been so stressful for him, he'd snap at the drummer. He remembered the time after he yelled at Ringo, way too harshly, but he did. John had to run to him to make sure he was alright, and that's when Ringo cried while John held onto him. He looked so weak, fragile, and looking back at it, Paul regretted every second of making Ringo so miserable, and he wished he could take back all the scoldings, at least the worst of them. He lowered his head and began to think more. John stayed the night with Ringo after the whole crying incident, which meant something pretty bad happened that day for the need of support. Paul's head quickly shot up when realization punched him in the face. Was he the reason John had to support Ringo. That's why John was so mad, mainly at Paul.

Paul quickly shot out of his chair and abruptly and left the apartment, causing Ringo to lift his own head and see Paul exit the apartment. He didn't do anything, but when Paul hadn't returned in a few hours, Ringo peeked over to John and George and saw they were playing cards, too occupied to notice him. He quietly stood and jogged after Paul to see if he could still find the bassist. After searching the whole area, he found no sign of Paul, anywhere. He almost gave up, checking the roof as a last resort. He opened the door to see the bassist sitting on the edge of the building, taking a long smoke.

"Hey, Paul," Ringo spoke causing Paul to jump a little, "sorry, did I scare you?"

"No, but you shouldn't be apologizing, I should," Paul frowned slightly, "I've been an ass lately, and I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I honestly didn't notice how much I missed your smile, your true smile, until I saw it today. Then I noticed that I hadn't seen it since I became all cranky, and I noticed it was all my fault. From the bottom of my heart, I wanted to say, I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you…"

"It's alright, Paulie," Ringo sat next to Paul who looked at him teary eyed.

"But it's not alright," Paul looked at him, "I was horrible…the worst…"

Ringo didn't say anything to that, he looked at the bassist for awhile, then pulled him into a warm embrace. He felt Paul shaking in his arms, probably trying his best not to cry in front of the drummer, but not doing as well as he had originally hoped. Ringo only hugged him tighter, rocking the bassist slowly until he calmed down and pulled himself out of the embrace to look at Ringo.

"It's alright," Ringo assured the bassist, "I forgive you. I can't be mad at you because I love you too much. You're one of my bandmates, and I'm glad to be able to call you one of my closest friends."

Paul smiled softly, then noticed Ringo's sleeve came up, but that wasn't what made his heart sink into his chest, it's what was etched all over the arm that made his heart sink lower and lower. Ringo noticed Paul's change of expression, then followed his gaze to his right wrist, instinctively yanking his sleeve down when he noticed what Paul was staring at.

"D-did I cause you to do this?"" Paul looked into Ringo's eyes.

"N-no, no, it was the stress," Ringo tried to get the blame off Paul.

"No, it was my fault…" Paul quickly stood and tried to leave Ringo alone, "I'm a monster."

"No, you're not," Ringo followed him, trying to reason with the bassist, "you're not a monster, you're my bandmate, my brother."

"I hurt you more then words could ever repair," Paul's eyes began brimming with tears.

"But actions can repair," Ringo grabbed Paul's wrist and forced him to look at him, "and I forgive you."

"But I can't forgive myself," Paul looked at Ringo, "I can't believe I've done this to someone I loved…"

"We can both heal this together," Ringo looked at Paul who was calming down, "I promise…"

"Okay…" Paul nodded, "then, lets get started on the healing."

They both shared a smile, then Paul turned to grab his cigar pack, not thinking before he turned. His foot went off the edge, taking him down with it. Ringo's smile turned to a look of horror as he tried to react as quickly as he could and grab Paul's wrist, but it was too late. Paul fell off, landing on the hard ground below.

"Paul!" Ringo yelled, then ran to George and John, "John, George! Paul, fell, building, HELP!"

John and George followed the panicked Ringo. When they got to ground level, they found what they dreaded. Paul was laying on the ground, and he almost looked lifeless. John, George and Ringo quickly kneeled by him as they searched for any sign of life.

John looked at a girl by a pay phone, "hurry, call an ambulance before it's too late!"

 

A/N: sorry I haven't been updating. New job, school and an upcoming play. I promise to make the next chapter as soon as I can, and I refuse to abuse this fic until finished, so don't panic! Love y'all - Author!

Chapter Text

The girl quickly dialed the emergency number as the lads looked at Paul. George almost looked ready to lose his dinner, Ringo was in complete shock, and John was trying to stay calm, but in hysterics on the inside. Paul, one of his best and closest friends, could possibly be to far to save. He didn't want to lose Paul as he didn't want to lose Ringo from suicide earlier. He lost a friend before, Stuart Sutcliffe. It wasn't Stu's fault, it was an aneurism. John and Stu were close. After a certain concert in Hamburg, Stu stayed with his fiancé Astrid and chose to finish art college. One day, George, Paul and John made plans to visit him, but only a few hours before they made it in the city, Stuart passed away suddenly. Astrid had met them at the train station and told them the horrible news.

After about twenty minutes, an ambulance came even though the hospital was probably five minutes from where they were. Two men jumped out of the ambulance, one carrying some sort of a neck brace, the other carrying an AED in case they needed a quick start up of the heart. The one with the brace kneeled down by Paul checking for a pulse, then looked at the other.

"Get the stretcher," he told him, then brought his attention back to Paul.

"Will he be alright," John choked out, trying not to cry or seem completely broken.

"Only time will tell," was all the EMT said as he put the brace on Paul's neck, per proticall.

John wasn't all too satisfied with the answer as a whimper escaped his lips. He watched as the two men carefully moved Paul's body onto the stretcher, being careful as the put him in the back of the truck. Ringo and George sat on the side comforting each other while John tried to convince the EMT's to let him stay with Paul. Their answers, however were crisp and clear, no. John could physically feel his downward spiral as he watched the ambulance leave, hoping, praying to anybody, that Paul would be alright. Soon he felt a hand on his shoulder, as he turned around he saw soft, blue eyes looking at him. Eyes that even made the sky jealous they were so blue. He sighed as he felt arms wrap around him in comfort, returning the sight embrace the smaller man offered.

"I want him to be alright," John finally spilled, "I don't want another Sutcliffe incident."

"I know," Ringo sighed, though he never met Stuart Sutcliffe, he knew it caused a lot of pain for John.

They ended up taking a taxi to the hospital, though it was only five minutes away, they didn't want to miss a thing. During the ride, a stiff silence fell between the lads. Ringo was looking out the car window thinking of fond memories of Paul, George was silently praying to himself for Paul to be alright, and John was trying to hold in his emotions, though it was extremely hard for him to do. They ended up getting in a traffic jam, which made John finally give in a bit to his emotions. He opened the door to the taxi and leaped out, much to George and Ringo's surprise.

"Wait," George called after John who already had a running start towards the hospital.

"I've done enough waiting," John yelled over his shoulder, "pay the man for me, I just need to see Paulie."

George and Ringo looked at each other as they collectively payed the taxi driver and ran after John, who was so far ahead. They knew how much John was hurting, but they needed to make sure he didn't do anything completely stupid. Ahead, John passed though many cars at a full sprint, hoping to get there and the people would say everything is alright. He needed to hear the assuring words as quickly as possible.

He tried to avoid the negative thoughts in his head, but they shot up just as quickly as the positive ones. 'What if he doesn't make it?' 'He could possibly be dead by the time I get there.' 'Will I ever get the hear or see the life in my friend ever again.' As the thoughts came into his mind, he ended up collapsing in the middle of the road, tears falling in streams. He didn't want to lose Paul, he didn't want to lose anybody. As he was breaking in the middle of the road, George and Ringo finally caught up to him.

"Johnny," Ringo called as he quickly ran up to him, falling to his knees to give the weeping man a hug, then muttering pure, yet calming, nonsense.

George quickly looked as traffic around them started moving again, "guys, we have to get out of here, now."

Ringo nodded and stood up, helping John to his feet soon after. John walked with George and Ringo to the hospital at this point, trying not to break again, like he had just done. Within five minutes, the lads walked in though the front door of the hospital. There were a bunch of doctors, some may have been called in because of Paul, but they were each doing a job. A nurse noticed the boys come in and walked to them.

"Hello, I'm Nurse Hopkins," she said while keeping a face that told them she was no fan of the Beatles even though she could be no older than twenty five, "we stabilized Paul for now and we need to send him into surgery."

"Okay, what kind of surgery?" George asked calmly.

"He would die without it," she said while keeping her poker face, "but there's a fifty percent chance that he'll survive with the surgery."

"What are you waiting for then?" George asked as John and Ringo supported each other, obviously not in the mood to think of it, "send him in."

"Then we need you to sign this," Nurse Hopkins said as she passed a clipboard to George who quickly signed it.

"P-please…" John looked at Nurse Hopkins, "p-please save Paulie. If not for the band, please, do it for us as people…"

Nurse Hopkins's face softened a bit seeing what she never thought she'd see in the eyes of a Beatle, compassion, and she spoke in pure sincerity, "we'll do our best. We won't let you down."

Nurse Hopkins quickly ran to the desk with the signed papers that could possibly save Paul's life, or continue his path to death, but at least they tried. They quickly got the papers processed and about ten doctors ran into the room where Paul stayed to prep him for surgery and to get blood and other things ready for Paul that could save his life on the table if something happened. John, George, and Ringo watched as the doctors wheeled Paul past, and it was horrifying in the boys minds. There was a tube in Paul's throat to keep him breathing, needles in his arms to keep the fluids, and cuts and stitches where the concrete cut his skin. The lads must've looked mortified because Nurse Hopkins ran over and offered wheel chairs if they needed them.

"I have high hopes he'll live," Nurse Hopkins assured trying to comfort them, "lets get you into the waiting room, alright?"

She took them to the waiting room where they'd be closed off from any fans or reporters coming in and making them feel worse about the situation. To help the boys, Nurse Hopkins would get up every thirty minutes to see how Paul was in surgery, and she would talk to them, simply trying to keep their hopes up. After a few hours of surgery, and Nurse Hopkins shift far done, yet she stayed, she walked to the people at the desk and asked them about Paul, for what seemed like the hundredth time. She expected them to say that she had to wait, he was in surgery, like every other time. Instead, this time they explained to her Paul's medical state and what to tell the others about Paul.

She nodded and walked back to the lads. Ringo and George fell asleep on each others heads while John was staring at a blank wall, thinking of Paul who was still in an unknown medical state. Nurse Hopkins had Ringo and George woken and she looked at the lads in front of her, and it almost seemed like she was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I got the news on Paul's condition."

~

A/N: this is the point where the story could end happily or become absolute hell. I'd like to know what you'd think in the comments. If I get no feedback, I'm spinning a wheel 50/50 for happy or tragic. Thank you for reading this story! I hope I didn't disappoint!

Chapter Text

Nurse Hopkins looked at the lads who were staring at her with pleading eyes, silently begging for her to say Paul is perfectly fine and only needs time to heal. The nurse looked among the lads as she could tell each one of them was probably holding their breaths, waiting for the simple answer, life or death.

"Paul suffered many injuries from the fall," Nurse Hopkins began, "many broken bones, bleeding out, he even cracked his skull severely, but we all believed Paul would be strong. After much emergency surgeries and the pain, Paul will not survive…I'm sorry."

"H-he's going to die…," Ringo let a sob escape.

"C-can we see him?" John asked quietly, "we really want to say our goodbyes."

"Yes, you may all see him, but!" Nurse Hopkins looked at them, "only one at a time. We will give you one on one conversations to say goodbye your own way, and we don't want to overwhelm him and speed up the process before all could say goodbye…"

The boys all nodded solemnly, not wanting to risk it by all going in. They all looked at each other, and they talked out an order for who would go in first and see Paul, if he may hear it or not. They figured George first, Ringo next, and finally John. John didn't want to wait, but he knew it would be worth it when he saw his best friend and be there by his deathbed. He fell off a ten story building and made it to a hospital, but fell one story too many to survive. John wished it didn't have to be Paul. He had to be strong though, for Ringo's sake who had already curled on the floor trying not to cry. Nurse Hopkins took George first to see Paul as the others waiting in the waiting room for their own turn.

When George walked in, Paul had his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful, as if he was simply sleeping. The only evidence of the fall was cuts and bruises that littered his pale skin. The only stitches visible were some holding his upper lip together which split in half when skin met concrete. George sat by the silent body of his friend in a chair the nurse set out just for the boys. As he looked at Paul more, it made him look dead, which was a very unsettling sight for anybody. The nurse soon left to let George be alone with Paul, and explained if anything happens, he must tell at once without hesitation. Paul had a list of goodbyes waiting to say it.

"Hi, Paul," was the first words George could muster, but to his dismay, there was no reaction from the bassist, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm just going to act like you do. We miss you, and even though I don't really speak much, or get myself in the spotlight much…Anyways, that doesn't matter. It only matters that the author…er- fate…chose the wrong choice…a-and you're paying for it. I don't know what I'd do when you'll really be gone forever…I don't want to lose a brother, but, I have to… Goodbye, old friend."

"George Harrison," Nurse Hopkins walks in, "we need to go onto the next Beatle."

George nodded, and looked at his friend, sighing when he saw no reaction from Paul. Was he really going to just die? He couldn't, he couldn't die after fighting for so long. It would hurt a lot of people's mentality to do that, but fate had to be that bad to kill Paulie. The next one who was let in was Ringo. He silently walked in, looking at his poor friend. He saw him fall of the building, and heard the slam on the concrete. It was honestly one of the most terrifying moments in the man's life. Now seeing Paul, covered in wrap, bruises, cuts, stitches, and tubes in his arms and on his face. It made him feel completely awful. His visit was in complete silence as his mind boggled with questions about how the band would continue on without Paul, or if they would even try to keep the Beatles spark alive, and he thought about what would happen to them as people. After a few minutes, Ringo left the room, which made space for John.

"You're next, John," Ringo spoke softly and sat silently in a chair.

John raced ahead to the room before the nurse even could say anything after Ringo. He had waited this long, and he needed to see his friend, especially if he's going to die. John stopped right before the door of the room and walked in silently, ready to talk to Paul as if it was everyday banter, but he won't reply, and it would be John's last talk with the bassist. He looked at the poor bassist before him, and a loud twinge in his heart could be heard in his ears. One of his closest friends in the Beatles, and he is losing him. It's almost like fat chose to bring up Stu Sutcliffe's death, but with his other brother, Paul. John felt heat brimming in his eyes, but used his sleeve to get it off before they fell. He sat in the chair next to Paul and poked Paul's fingers to seek a reaction, but nothing happened.

"Paul," John squeaked as he looked at his friend, "it's me, Johnny. Y'know, your best mate within the Beatles! Anyways, I've been told you're going on a trip, and I'm not quite sure where. Like you told me, I don't believe in religion when I was talking about bacon. Many things have happened, and you're going to die…a-and I can't believe it…my brother…he's going to die…Paul…Paulie…please! This has to be a nightmare! Have to wake up! Please! Don't die!…I have to say goodbye…"

John broke down, crying as he held onto Paul's lifeless hand. He couldn't believe what was going on, and it can't be reality. He had to wake up from some awful dream and hug Paul and Ringo. Check Paul's mouth and see no split and see Ringo's wrists which would not have a single slice in them. As John cried, he heard movement, but ignored it as it was probably just some nurses outside who heard him begin to cry for Paul's life.

"A…and I s-say hello…"John heard a soft voice, and quickly lifted his head to see a slightly conscious Paul looking him in the eyes.

"Paulie…" John looked at his friend, "y-you're alive?!"

"Of course I am-," Paul started to say, but was cut off by a gentle hug from John, "what's this for?"

"I thought I was going to lose you," John felt tears forming again, "but you're alive. Nurse! George! Ringo! He's alive! He's awake!"

They all walked in and earned a smile from Paul. George and Ringo ran to him, next to where John was sitting to see their living friend. They were ecstatic, but then they looked at the nurse.

"So, does this mean he'll make it?" They all asked.

Nurse Hopkins took hours and did many vigorous tests on Paul, and after the many hours, she came to the others with an answer that they have been waiting so long for.

"Paul will survive!" Nurse Hopkins announced.

All of them cheered, including Paul who was still in the bed where he was fausly announced dead earlier along with John who wanted to make extra sure Paul was completely fine, but he would actually be able to live a life that he was destined to have. Fate was actually disguised as misfortune for a bit. After they finished cheering Paul looked over at Ringo who was standing next to him with a smile.

"Now," Paul reached his hand out to Ringo, "lets start our healing processes, together."

Ringo didn't take Paul's hand though, he pulled the bassist into a tender hug, "I thought you'd never ask…"