Hey everyone, this is my very first fan fiction on this site :) ! It takes place in the Germany days of the Beatles and is a bit of a Stu/George slash which I'm almost sure is rarely ever done , but anyways I hope you enjoy it and please review, I love reviews more than the average person, so review, even if you hate this, I've got tough skin and always want to improve. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! Oh and btw, I do not own the Beatles, obviously, they own themselves.

Pitter patter plop,

A young scruffy teenage lad sat on a cardboard box in a ally way in a more forgotten part of Hamburg Germany. He was a foreigner to the country, and homesick to say the least. He was pondering, long and hard about many things, things he couldn't, and wouldn't share with his fellow band mates who were stuck in this wasteland as well.

His name, George Harrison, but at an age and in a time where it meant close to nothing. He had little to nothing to his name, he was 17, played for a small time band with some fellas he knew, John, Pete, Stu and Paul. But George was sick of all of them. John was too demanding, who was he kidding, half the time John was too drunk to remember his name, the other times he was a total ass. Paul had promised he'd warm up to John, certain that the two would bond better, like they had back in Liverpool and begged John to go easy on him, but so far to no avail. And George was sick and tried of Paul babying him. He didn't need to be treated like a child all the time, sure he was the youngest, but he was perfectly capable of looking after himself. Pete was always nagging him, telling him to do this and that to make up for Stu's dead wait. Stu was hardly around, though John refused to fire him, and George got along okay with him. In fact, Stu was the only one out of the bunch who he felt he could really talk to. Stu was a great listener after all.

But as for the others, George was fed up and tried of them, well fed up and tried of them. And he was seriously considering, running away, back home. Home, his heart seemed to burst at the very thought, and tears weld up in his brown eyes and fell down his dirty teared leather jacket he took such pride in back home. Maybe he really was a baby, no true rocker would be caught dead crying.

And he knew very well deep down that home wasn't an option. John would never let it go, never and he'd be a well known coward. The rest of the band would also throw him out as a traitor. He'd be stuck with a life of being a working class nobody since he'd hesitantly abandoned school. He'd never be able to live it down. Never.

It was now pouring and the young musician considered going inside to that grotty little room at the back of a cinema, that he couldn't bear to call home as it was anything but. When they first arrived, even John complained. It didn't do much. George had shared his opinion and had been told to suck it up. That seemed to be the others answer to everything. Just suck it up, but George wasn't sure how much more sucking up he could do. He was scared. As much as he hated to say it, it was true. If that was such a crime he was certainly guilty of it.

And besides, a small little argument was what led him out here in the first place. John and Pete had been sleeping, and he and Paul had gotten back from an outing, laughing and joking about as usual, which woke up John who was extremely pissed at the situation. He and Paul had gotten into another one of there typical scruffs, and George was doing his best to stay out of it, when John cornered him.

"Eh Harrison, what yah say to that!?" John had sputtered angry.

"Say to what!" He'd answered coldly, not in the mood for a row with John. He of course hadn't been listening to a single word the other young man had been saying, and now he was certain he'd pay for it.

"To you and the other bloody wanker of a lad, getting the fuck out of here and back home!"

"You know what I think Lennon, you really want to know?" George had challenged with equal rage.

"Sure do Harrison, in fact I'm just dying to here what's going on in that little head of yours!"John retorted in his snappy sarcastic voice of his with a roll of his eyes.

"I think I might as well go home John! It'd be better than staying with you bloody assholes wouldn't it! It'd be better than living in this cruddy little shit hole of a room. It'd be better than playing as the background music for whores, sluts, creeps and queers wouldn't it! And it sure as hell would be better than putting up with you!" George had shouted, ranting all his feelings he'd kept bottled up as Paul stood in shock and a smirk came to John's face, he wasn't offended or surprised, just a bit pleased.

"Then you know what Harrison, why don't you fuckin leave, why stay? We sure as hell don't need you. Go back home to mummy and dada and complain about mean old Johnny to someone who cares. Good luck to you George! And you best get the bloody fuck out of 'ere!" John had hollered.

And George had bolted out back here, and considered his options. He had his beloved guitar with him, a amp, and a switch in his back pocket in case anyone decided to give him any trouble. He had a bit of money too, though he didn't reckon he had enough to make it home. It wasn't much and he was rain soaked and cold anyways. He coughed, but that was usual, he was always coughing. Suddenly he heard someone behind him. Shaking and praying it wasn't a rough German gang or a rival gang he looking up into the bright eyes of Stu, the bands bass player. He put a hand on George's solder.

"What's the matter Georgie?" He asked softly.

"Oi, sod off will you, it's none of your bloody business!" George snapped, he really wasn't in the mood for explaining.

"It's John isn't it?" Stu said gently. George relaxed a bit, as he usually did when around Stu.

"I said it was none of your business." He tried a bit less harshly. But Stu stuck around.

"You know George you're a very brave bloke one of the bravest I know. And no matter what John said I still like ya, your a hip guy, and like a little brother, so cheer up eh? What a ciggie?" Stu held out a pack, and George noticed he too was soaking.

"Thanks, you're a good guy Stu, you know that." George took a cigarette. Stu simply smiled and nodded.

"Thanks Georgie."

"So how was Astrid?"

"She was good as usual, yesterday, I didn't see her today." Stu answered, messing with his leather jacket.

"Really?" Wondered George surprised. "What were you doing then?"

"Off looking for a b string for that guitar of yours, it snapped remember. Thought I'd help you out, seeing as I've been needing a d string too for my bass for the longest time." Stu said fumbling through the pockets of his coat before handing over a package containing the string.

"Gee thanks man." George said, surprised once again. Stu was acting as if they were best friends and George was surprised by his kindness.

"No big deal George, so we just gonna stay out in the rain getting soaked or are we going to go back inside? You must be cold."

"Well I doubt I'm allowed in, John's real upset, and he told me to go-"

"No not back in there George, I mean we could go out to one of Astrid's friends flats. It's around here somewhere and she said I or really we meaning all of us could use it when we want." Stu said with a laugh.

"Really why didn't you say something before? So that's were you've been you snake!" George laughed a bit and shook his head.

"Nah, not always, hardly ever really, just when I want to be alone." Stu told him.

"Well let's go then! I could use some of that right now." George said with a smile standing up and falling forward, when it happened. He accidentally brushed lips with Stu!

"Oh goodness sorry! I didn't-" George blushed, humiliated, he wasn't a queer, he liked girls he reminded himself.

"Gee George going queer on me eh?" Laughed Stu putting an arm around the boy. "It was just an accident, I know." He added with a smile. George let out a sigh but his mind was still racing. Because George wasn't exactly sure it was an accident, and he couldn't get the split feeling of a few moments ago out of his head. He'd felt it, it was like a spark, a strange feeling he'd never felt before. What the hell had happened to him?