A/N- This is just a random oneshot that popped into my head one day when my younger sister was trying to persuade me that Paul is, in fact, dead. Kinda self explanatory what the story in about, then? Maybe, maybe not. Without further ado, I'll stop talking and get to the story.

Disclaimer- I don't own The Beatles!

"Look, John," Paul's earnest voice explained, "All's I'm saying is that the song would sound a lot better if the drums went-" Paul beat out a pattern on Ringo's drums. George blearily opened one eye and saw exactly what he didn't want to see. John was in full-out attack pose by the recording equipment, Paul sitting on the rolling piano chair with his arms crossed, Ringo with a scowl on his face sitting next to the door, and no authority to be seen. George groaned and swore under his breath. Things like this never ended well and it had only happened once before.

"Paul, goddamnit, I wrote the fuckin' song and the drumming will go the way I bloody well want it to go!" John shouted. He stepped closer to Paul and growled, "There's nothing you or anyone else can do about it."

Ringo looked dead ticked off at that. "You write the songs for me, you sing songs for me, and you even compose the drum parts for me! You don't do that to the others do you?" He pointed a finger accusingly at John then at Paul. "The least you could do is let me try doing my own drumlines!"

Paul glared at Ringo. "You're lucky that you're even in the band in the first place so don't get shirty with me, Starkey!"

John grinned, one of his sarcastic Lennon trademark ones. "How about we let George choose which drumline is best!"

"Yeah, George is an outside force in all this," Paul agreed.

Ringo nodded his asset. George groaned again and begun thinking frantically about what he should do in a situation like this where he was forced to pick between his bandmates and friends. "Well?" John asked impatiently, "Whose line is better?"

George began panicking. Suddenly, a burst of inspiration hit him and he inquired, "Will you play them again? I need some time to choose."

John obediently wrenched the drumsticks from Paul's hand and played his version of the drumline but George wasn't really paying attention. He was busy thinking about how to not make the fight any worse. Apparently, he was frowning because in the middle of John's line Paul blurted triumphantly, "George doesn't like it, see? He's frowning!"

Things broke down considerably from there. Soon Paul, John, and Ringo were all shouting at the top of their voices and George was very seriously considering ditching the recording session. However, he realized he had one more trick up his sleeve. Taking a deep breath, he shrieked, "All right, everybody SHUTUP!" He then made a large scene of leaving the room leaving a stunned silence behind him.

Well, he thought to himself, at least the silence part worked. Now all I have to do is see how they do without me at a session for a couple days. He left the building into the black, rainy November night, thankful for the cover of darkness. He hurriedly got into his car and drove off in a random direction. Even though he had not really been involved in the fight he still felt like he needed to be the one to end it and shut everyone up, like the designated peacemaker in the group what with Paul's perfectionism, John's sarcasm, and Ringo's not caring Krishna knows they'll start needing one more frequently. He randomly turned left and continued making random turns until he reached a stoplight and stopped.

In his rearview mirror, he saw another car come up behind him moving too fast to stop in time. George squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the impact.

The force of the collision caused George to fly out of the car. Through the front window, into the pouring rain. He landed on the road but he hardly noticed. He was finding the strength to say a few things.

None other than John, Paul, and Ringo launched themselves out of the car that had crashed into George's. They ran at top speed at George, but they didn't realize who they crashed into until they were right by him.

"George?" Paul asked incredulously.

"George!" Ringo exclaimed.

"What have we done?" John asked thin air. The three relatively uninjured bandmates knelt down beside George and started weeping. "What have we done?"

Paul's eyes were wide. "C'mon G-g-g-george, don't f-fail us. You've always b-b-b-been there f-for us, so d-d-don't l-let me d-d-d-down!" he whispered. Ringo was blubbering some unintelligible apology and John was sobbing too hard to speak. For Krishna's sakes he had lost his mother, Stu, and it looked like he would loose his bandmate George because of his own confrontational nature. He looked like he felt an immense feeling of guilt all of a sudden. George could see it written on John's face. Then, he decided that he had to say those few things before he was unable.

"Guys," he began weakly, "tell Pattie and my family and my friends I love them and care about them. I do love and care about you and I don't blame you for what happened to me. Please record my song "Within You Without You" with help from Ravi and put it on the next album for me as I won't be able to. You know where to find the plans for it." He sucked in a shallow breath. "May Krishna bless you all," he said, breathing out and not breathing in again. The funny thing was he could see what was going on, as if he was alive still.

"George?" John murmured, poking him in the side. When he didn't respond, Ringo felt for a pulse.

"Oh my God! Ringo exclaimed. "He has no pulse!" He immediately began blubbering as he had before.

Paul froze. "This is all my fault."

John looked up from the form of his dead bandmate. "This is equally the fault of all of us, Paul."

George looked down at his fingers. He found he not only could see them but was standing by his destroyed car. He ran joyously towards his bandmates, shouting, "Paul! John! Ringo! I'm alive, don't be sad!" But nobody heard him. He walked up to Ringo and tentatively poked him. His finger went straight through him. He also noticed the rain went right through him. George turned his ghostly face to the sky and in a pained, lonely voice he shouted, "Nooooooooooooooooo!"

Then the world went dark.

George found himself staring at the front page of the London Times, the most important, highly read newspaper in Britain. The headline read, "Famous Musician George Harrison Killed in Car Crash." There was an accompanying story but George could not bring himself to read it.

The world went dark again.

This time George opened his eyes to see an album entitled, "George." The cover picture was himself, laughing with Paul, John, and Ringo and hugging Pattie with one arm. Brian, Mal, Neil, Big George, and other friends were in the background. He felt a twisted sort of pain course through his body. Krishna, he missed them! He missed Paul's annoying perfectionism, John's sarcasm, Ringo's 'I-don't-care' attitude, Brian's bossiness, Pattie's love, everything!

This time expecting it, the world went dark.

He found himself at some kind of memorial service. His family, Pattie, his mates, his friends, and what looked like a billion fans were standing around a single urn placed on a star. With a shock, he realized it was a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, for him. The mass was singing a song, one that John was tinkering with, called 'All You Need is Love.' It must have been released on the 'George' album, he thought. A vast majority, perhaps even all of the people, were sobbing but still they managed to sing beautifully.

The world was all black yet again.

"George?"

"Bloody hell, George!"

"Cor mother fuckin' bloody hell, George, wake up!" George opened his eyes to find his bandmates in a semi-circle around him, looking worried.

"Guys? You can see me?" George asked incredulously. He reached up and felt his face. To his amazement, he found his cheeks were wet.

"Of course we can see you!" Ringo assured him.

"Why wouldn't we be able to?" Paul inquired, looking more worried, if that was humanly possibly.

John, although worried, took a more brusque approach for his question. "What the bloody fucking hell were you dreaming about, George? You were twisting and sobbing and goddamn screaming in your sleep, for fuck's sakes. What is wrong? We've been trying to wake you up for the past five minutes!"

George felt himself go beet red. "You mean to tell me that all that was a dream!" He was embarrassed now, rather than amazed, that he had broke down like that in his sleep, in front of John, no less. "I'm sorry! For a moment, I thought all that business actually happened!"

"Do not be embarrassed, George," John commanded. "Remember the night Paul and I cried? Now tell us about it and that'll make it better." John, Paul, and Ringo pulled chairs up and sat in the close semi-circle they had been in before.

The story spilled out like water out of an upturned jug. George told them everything about the dream he could remember. The fight had them staring at each other with embarrassed expressions, remembering the bad fight they had been in and how George solved it. The crash scene made everyone, especially John, highly emotional, seeing as that was how his mother died. George's 'last words' brought tears to everyone's (including George's) eyes. The headline, everyone agreed, was highly logical, as was the album title.

"You got a mother fuckin' star of your own on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? Lucky bastard, even though you were dead," John burst out after hearing about the memorial scene. "Good for my song, though, being the one of choice." He then snorted. "Who am I kidding? I'd rather kill myself than deal with the guilt of being in that crash," he announced, dead serious.

"The guilt would kill me within two days," Paul agreed.

"I'd be a goner within hours," Ringo established.

"Yeah, I suppose so," George decided.

"Boys, isn't it a bit late for you to be in the studio?" their manager, Brian Epstein, asked. "Shouldn't you be driving home?"

Seeing George's horrified expression, Ringo told Brian, "We're crashing here tonight, Brian. George isn't up for going home via wheels. We'll be fine, remember that one time we brought in all that stuff for sleeping? We'll call home and tell, perhaps Pattie or Mo or Cyn will stay here. We'll be fine."

So, while John and Paul got the sleeping supplies (John didn't care too much about Cyn and Jane wasn't in town,) George and Ringo called home. The phone rang once, twice, then it was picked up. "Hello?" Pattie's voice asked.

George smiled. "Hey, luv," he said smoothly, "I wanted to let you know the lads and I are crashing at the studio tonight, and you can come, if you like."

"Sure," she said happily, "I'll be right over!", the phone clunking as it hit the receiver. George hung up and headed into the main studio room (number one,) kicked off his shoes, and fell instantly to sleep as soon as his head hit the mass of blankets and pillows, knowing, in fact, everything was going to be alright.

A/N- There you are! Not quite the original Beatle-death story, is it? Sorry if the ending is a little lame, I'm better at starting things than ending them.