Ridley: Chapter two is up, people!

Dragon: Because she has nothing better to do than write about 50+ year old bands, where half the members are dead.

Ridley: *gasps* Dragon, how dare you say that! They are one of the greatest bands to have ever lived! And no, I'm still not affiliated with them. That would besoo cool, though.

Dragon: Creep

John took the locket thing from my hand and examined it. He squinted at the green text declaring the year.

"Gear," he muttered. "Did you know there's a knob here?" He pointed to the top of the locket where, just as he had said, there was a small silver knob that you would normally find on watches. The other three boys crowded around us; John holding the device itself, Ringo playing with a bit of chain, Paul looking over the top of Ringo's shoulder with his hand on his shoulder, and George barely touching his shoulder to mine while I messed with the knob.

"This is probably how you get it to change times," I said, squinting at it, "but it seems like it's stuck." Paul jumped up and clapped his hands together.

"We'll take it to a jewelers later, then. Till that happens, you can stay with the our of us!" My eyes grew wide. It was every fangirls dream.

"Are you serious?" I said, completely floored by his offer. He grinned and waggled his brows.

"Hold on," Ring said, frowning slightly, "what about Eppy? I don't think he'd like having a bird sleeping in the same room as us." John rolled his eyes.

"And since when have we ever listened to what Eppy has to say?" He drawled before turning to me. "D'you have any recent pictures of us? I wanna see how old and saggy Macca and the lads look compared to me." I laughed before sudden realization hit me. I pursed my lips, but pulled out my phone, pulling up Instagram out of habit.

"Oh, right," I said, mostly to myself, "I won't have any service here." However, I was quite surprised (and pleased) when it came up with five bars and my battery was still at %100. "Okay then." I scrolled until I cam to a picture of Paul's Out There tour.

John took the phone from my hand and began laughing insanely loud. He showed it to Ringo, who chuckled. Paul frowned at his two friends and grabbed the phone from John. He raised his eyebrows at the picture of his seventy three year old self, but said nothing, George peeked at it over his shoulder before giggling lightly.

"You're an old fart!" John crowed. Paul calmly reached behind me to grab a pillow and smack John in the face with it. "You wound me, Macca!"

"Git." Paul said stone-faced. I snickered before finding the most recent Ringo photo on Instagram. Oh so hard to choose from, there were so many (literally four)! It was of he and his wife cutting the cake for his seventy fifth birthday. Handing it to Ringo, I tried not to laugh at his ridiculous expression.

"That's me?" I nodded. "I'm old!" he wailed. John leaned over and slung his arm around his friend.

"Well, you are the oldest, Ring. I can't wait to see little Georgie's photographs," he chuckled, waggling his eyebrows at the youngest Beatle. Paul and Ringo laughed, while George rolled his eyes at John's childish behavior. I retrieved my phone from Ringo before going to the internet, searching for George Harrison 2001. John yanked it out of my hands before anyone else could see it.

"Ooh, Georgie, you're looking fine as ever. Love the hair." He handed it to George, who furrowed his brow.

"Hang on a mo, why does it show the wrong date?" I quickly took the phone from him.

"What are you talking about, the date's not wrong, you're imagining things!" I said rapidly. Wrong thing to do. All four boys gave me hard looks."

"Gwen," George said slowly, and I'd be lying if I said that his voice didn't send shivers down my spine, "you said these were all the most recent pictures." I could hear that he was trying not to jump to conclusions and panic. I cleared my throat and didn't look at him.

"They, um, it is the most recent picture. Or, one of them." I said slowly.

"What," Ringo laughed, "did George suddenly develop a fear of cameras?"

"Something like that," I said quietly. George and Paul eyed me suspiciously, but said nothing else.

"Well, you've had a right laugh at us three," Ringo said, looking at John and motioning towards himself, Paul, and George, "and so now it's your turn, Lennon." I bit my lip, not wanting a repeat of the George incident that just happened, but John actually beat me to it.

"No! I refuse to let you see my withered old self!" He cried dramatically, throwing a pillow at Ringo, who ducked, causing it to hit poor George instead. Ringo jumped up and began repeatedly smacking John in the back of the head with one of the pillows that had fallen to the ground. I stood up and walked to the other side of the room, not quite in the mood to get hit by any of the feather filled cushy things.

I felt a hand on the side of my right arm. Turning, I found myself face to face with Paul McCartney. He wore a serious expression, and motioned to the bathroom with a tilt of his head. I hesitated, and he must have seen that I was worried he'd try to, um, well, y'know, so he rolled his eyes and pulled me in. He sat me down on the edge of the tub and shut the door before facing me once more. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, one of his quirks that I had noticed in interviews I'd watched on tv and online, and cleared his throat, acting like he was about to speak but didn't. He scrunched his eyebrows together and opened his mouth once more, but before he could say anything, I interrupted him.

"You want to know why there are no recent pictures of George, don't you?" I said softly, staring at my hands. I could feel my stomach writhing. He nodded slowly, and I sighed. His face was doing that adorable puppy-eyed look, and I just couldn't bring myself to lie to him, someone that I knew so many things about, but didn't truly know at all. "George smokes, you all do," I began, and he nodded again, "but in a little less than forty years, doctors find cancer in him. Smoking literally killed him." And the marajuana and LSD probably didn't help, but I wasn't going into that just yet. Paul closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, one hand gripping the edge of the sink. I felt a lump form in my throat just watching him. Ah dang it, why do I have to be such an honest person? I stared at my feet, blinking hard. Man, I felt awful.

"And John?" My head snapped up and I stared at him. His eyes were lightly tinged with red.

"How did you...?" I began, but shook my head. Paul had been watching me like a hawk, and I was never that good at hiding my emotions. He must have seen my near state of panic when Ringo requested to see pictures of 'old' John. "Nineteen eighty," I whispered, "I think in December." Paul turned away from me and took a shuddery breath.

"Right," he said, looking at me, "I'm going to go work on music." He opened the door, leaving me by myself. I shook my head. I knew that he coped with grief by working extra hard - I had seen the interviews after John's death - so I wasn't going to stop him. Slowly, I stood and brushed imaginary dust off of my pants, taking my sweet time, before heading back into the suite.

Paul was sitting in a corner, furiously playing on his guitar, while John was messing with the small black and white tv and George and Ringo were throwing things at one another. I bit my lip as I glanced at Paul, and then at the two men who would be dead in my timeline.

I really hoped that I hadn't completely screwed up history by telling him those things.

Ridley: Maybe she did, maybe she didn't, multiverse theory, y'know. I hope my OC isn't to Mary Sue... Also, no OC/Beatle romance, at all. Just silly fangirl crushes :)

Dragon: JUST REVIEW! (please...)