Hello People! I bring update :D sorry it took so long but getting this chapter done has been absolute hell. I re wrote it like 3 times, then got a beta, bluetruth, who is awesome. She actually wrote a whole new version of this chapter for me, and edited my old one, so I mixed them both up and got this :D so this is a collaborated chapter, in a way :D

Enjoy :D

John fell hard, his upper body taking the brunt of the fall. Glass shattered under him, sending spikes of pain throughout him. He literally felt himself bounce before the table tipped, sending him crashing onto the hard tile floor. The only thing John was aware of, was the pain. It was white hot and consumed his whole body. His entire upper body felt like it was on fire, but his lower body didn't feel much better. His shoulder felt oddly disconnected, but still felt like it was being stabbed with a poison-tipped blade.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he curled onto his right, the side which didn't feel like it was being torn apart, screwed his eyes shut, and buried his face in the floor. After a few torturous moments, the initial pain wore off slightly. It was like all his other senses suddenly came rushing back. He was abruptly aware of the sweat on his face, Mal yelling for a medic in the background and Ringo's frantic voice calling him.

"Open your eyes John!" Ringo said forcefully, whom John just realized was right in front of him.

He flinched at the loudness of his voice, and cracked his eyes open to mere slits. Everything was blurry and tinted red in his left eye. Something sticky and thick was blocking his vision. After a few blinks, the red stuff, which he then realized was blood, cleared and everything came into focus. Ringo's face was the first thing he saw.

"Oh thank God," Ringo muttered, then spoke up.

"Where's it hurt, Johnny?"

John glared at him. When he spoke, he was faintly surprised that he could, but his voice was still cracked and dry.

"Everywhere."

Ringo nodded, then after a brief moment, said, "This is gon' hurt."

"What are you-?" He cried out in pain as Ringo proceeded to turn him over. What might've been gentle to the drummer still felt worse than hell to John. His vision clouded with large black spots and the pain flared in his shoulder, ribs, head, and now, his knee. He wanted to roll back to his more comfortable position (Though not by much), but the pain was too much. He moaned, and Mal appeared on
his side.

A string of somewhat angry, but mostly surprised and half- hearted curses left his mouth. Ringo apologized, but didn 't do anything to move him again. Mal was talking to someone John couldn 't see. He did see, however, Ringo's eyes stray to his arm and gasp.

"Mm?" John asked, in too much pain to really say anything else. He forced his stiff neck to look at his arm, dreading what he would see. He gasped as well. Even through his suit, he could see his mangled shoulder was dislocated, which probably explained the semi-numb feeling.

Tiny pinpricks of pain were spread throughout his shoulder, but the pain wasn't terrible anymore. He was slowly losing feeling. He flexed his fingers, and was horrified to see they barely moved, even though it felt like he was clenching them.

"Oh, god," He whispered.

"Bloody hell," Ringo breathed.

Mal's eyes flicked between John and his hand. "Where's that medic?" He shouted, which made John jump. The pain flared again, and he let out a
strangled whimper.

"Mal, calm down! You're only making it worse!" Ringo scolded harshly.

"Should we move him off the floor?" A worried voice asked, sounding confused. Ringo shook his head.

"No. We have to know his injuries first. If we move him, we could make him worse. "

When everybody gave him a strange look, he shrugged. "I picked up a thing or two when I was in the hospital when I was a kid. "

Just then, the elevator dinged, and Paul and George, both looking anxious and terrified, stepped out, followed by a woman in white who John assumed was the medic.

"What the hell happened?" Paul demanded, kneeling by his injured friend 's side. His hands hovered over him hesitantly, unsure whether to pat him or to just let him be. He settled on crossing them. George knelt next to Paul looking with wide eyes between John and Ringo.

"He fell." Ringo supplied, pointing to the railing that had
given way.

George and Paul looked to where he was pointing, and both of them inhaled sharply. A small table was tipped onto its side, glasses and plates smashed on the floor, some of them dripping with blood. Around fifteen feet above was the railing which had broken. They both tried not to look as terrified as they both felt. They couldn't believe he'd fallen so far, but they knew they had to stay
calm.

"Are you okay, man?" George asked, his eyes wide, knowing full well that it was an irrelevant question given the situation and John's appearance, but not sure what else to say. "You're not
going to die on us are you?"

"Just dandy. When do we get to see the room?" he replied mock excitedly, ignoring George's second question.

Paul rolled his eyes. Typical John, he thought, though deep, deep, down, he was relieved. If he can joke, that 's a good thing, right?

The medic had opened his coat, and was now undoing his shirt buttons to check him over. Everybody inhaled sharply at the angry redness on his left side and chest. John hissed as she felt them over, even though she was doing so gently.

"Sorry," The nurse muttered under her breath absently, not sounding at all apologetic. She pressed the cool metal of a stethoscope to his chest, which felt good until she pressed harder. She lifted his hand, (Which had been resting uselessly on his stomach) and he cried out. When she askedhim what had hurt, he
muttered, "Me wrist."

When she felt around the bone, he screwed up his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek so hard it bled, as to keep from crying out. The nurse nodded thoughtfully, the other three Beatles glancing worriedly from John 's pain-filled face to the nurse's actions.

John hissed at random points when the pain got to be too much to hold in. When she made it to his left arm, he yelled out a loud "Ow!" then proceeded to swear. Again.

Ignoring the foul, yet undeniably creative language, she whipped out a tiny flashlight from a belt hidden beneath her white coat. She gently shone it into his right eye, looking worried when he grunted and flinched away, eyes squeezed shut. The nurse's eyes widened, and she began frantically asking him questions.

"What's today's date?" She asked, flipping the flashlight off.

"Look me in the eye, now. Don't worry, the flashlight's off." He cracked his eyes open and looked at her tiredly.

"March sixth, 1965."

"What city are you in?"

"New York."

"When is your birthday?"

"October ninth."

"What year-"

"You're pretty!" John cut in with

a false grin and chirpy voice. The nurse was unamused.

"Aside from the cut, does your head hurt?"

His goofy expression disappeared and he sighed. "It's been hurting me all day."

Paul could have kicked himself.

"He had a fever! He's been having trouble sleeping and was kinda out of it all day. And
before coming in, Rings found out he was burning up." He recounted quickly.

The nurse glared at him. "And you didn't feel it would be important to say this earlier?"

Paul looked sheepish. "I forgot," Glancing at the nurse's nametag, he said, "Sorry, Brenda."

Brenda wordlessly looked up at Ringo, who nodded, looking ashamed at himself for forgetting. Paul and George mirrored his guilt, while John just looked amused, grinning like a total loon. Frowning,
she placed a hand at his forehead, and then turned to Mal, telling him to get an ambulance and call down the senior medic.

Paul was just about to ask her for the whole explanation when Brian came out of the elevator, running towards them.

"What happened? Are you okay?" He asked, sounding terrified. John struggled to sit up but stopped at a death glare by the nurse.

"I'm fine, Brian," He insisted. "No matter what the bird says." His headache was back with a vengeance, and now exhaustion was joining the pain. That blackness was so inviting, he just wanted to curl up and sink into it...

"John!" Brian shouted, which caused him to snap his eyes open and jolt back to reality.

"What? What? I'm here! What?"

Brenda glared at him. "You can't sleep, not yet, anyways. Anyway, as I was saying, you have a dislocated shoulder that we must set very soon. You have a broken left wrist and a broken knee. Your ribs are also severely bruised, but as far as I can tell without equipment is that none are broken, which is good. It's the shoulder I'm most worried about, though. Can you move your hand?"

He tried to clench it, and was terrified to see it obeyed him less then before. Brenda looked worried. "Oh no. Okay, once the senior medic gets here we're setting it. We can't afford to waste time getting to the hospital. "

John and Paul paled considerably at this, and John felt the dread building up inside him. He gulped.

"What happens if you don't set it on time?" Brian asked, trying, and failing, to hide his trembling
voice.

Brenda was grim as she replied. "Well, depending on the seriousness of the dislocation, he could lose control of his arm. He would probably need it amputated. "

Everybody's eyes widened as they digested this new piece of information.

"Fuck," John breathed, then desperately tried to wriggle is fingers again. They hardly twitched.

"Set it now!" Paul and George demanded at the same time. They gave each other a look.

Brenda looked unsure. "If I don't set it right, he could have more of a chance of losing the arm then if we wait. "

"He could still lose it anyway!" Ringo cut in with a glare. "Set it now!"

John paled, but felt a bit better that his mates were so worried. Usually, they all put on their manly-man-beast persona, but every once in a while, they slipped away. Take now, for instance.

"I'm not even completely sure I know how," Brenda said, looking worried. "I've never done it before, and I'd rather not be held responsible if I do it wrong. "

"God damn it, woman! Just set his fucking shoulder before he has to get it cut off !"

Brenda ignored the foul language and sighed. "Fine. But I don't want to get sued-"

"Just. Set. The. Arm." Paul said, slowly and deliberately. "We can't afford him losing his arm."

John felt weak as he tried to imagined life without his arm, and almost passed out when he realized he couldn't. He couldn't live without his rock 'n roll.

George, Ringo and Brian moved away, presumably to discuss what had happened, and to give John some apparently much- needed space. As the medic reached for her kit, Paul went and sat down
cross-legged on John's right. The senior medic still wasn't there, and Paul supposed he was probably busy with the mob outside. He started running his fingers through John's hair, gently massaging his scalp. Normally, a thousand homophobic jokes would have been made at this, but no one seemed to find anything funny at the moment. Except John, maybe. His face relaxed somewhat, and he cracked an eye open to look at him.

"You fucking fairy." He said quietly, giving him a half- hearted smile, but still looking grateful.

Paul snorted, surprised yet slightly relieved that John still had the strength to joke around.

"Do I look like Brian to you?" Paul whispered back, too low for Brenda to hear, still grinning.

"Could be brothers," John replied.

The nurse finished making the sling and reached up and grabbed his shoulder.

"This is going to hurt," She told him. "Are you ready?"

John looked at Paul, who nodded. They were both thinking the same thing, about the time Paul had tripped off stage and dislocated his knee. One of the first real injuries Paul had ever gotten, it was terrifying and excruciatingly painful.

FLASHBACK:

Paul doubled over laughing, backing up slowly. All of them were laughing, and they didn't know why. It was like one of them cracked a smile, one of the giggled, then the next thing you know they all were cracking up hysterically.

Paul, thinking there was a wall there, started to lean back. Only too late, and after seeing John's eyes go wide, did he realize he had miscalculated. He just managed to spin around in midair before he landed on his leg. Hard.

The pain was the worst thing. His leg was bent at a funny angel; not broken, but by the slightly numb feeling kind of dulling the pain, he knew it was bad. Didn't your body only block out pain when something was seriously wrong?

He tried to bite back tears, but it was hard. They were already forming on the edge of his eyes, threatening to spill over. By the time to medic had gotten there, John, George, and Ringo were all surrounding him, as well as Mal and Brian.

"This is going to hurt," The medic had said, putting each on on both sections of the mangled leg. "Quite a lot."

Paul nodded and, really without thinking, grabbed John's hand and clutched it tight. John, kind of stunned, didn't pull away, just positioned himself so he was on Paul's other side. The bassist burrowed his face into John's shoulder and cried, trying to make his sobs of pain silent. He hated pain.

With a sudden and very, very painful 'pop!' his knee was back in place. The feeling rushed back into it, causing it to get pins and needles, but really, he didn't care. The pain was much less now, and only then did he realize the gentle patting on his shoulder. He pulled out of John's shoulder and gave a him a weak half smile, only nodding. He didn't talk; he didn't need to.

John didn't seem to notice the wet stain on his shirt, or maybe he did and he just ignored it. Paul could only hope that the others would do the same

END OF FLASHBACK.

Glancing at Paul, John took in a short breath and nodded. "Yeah."

Brenda gave them a tight nod. "Very well. On three."

Without another word, she popped his shoulder back into place; not bothering with the count. For a moment the pain was blinding, and he roared, clenching his fists so hard he drew blood. Paul was looking at him concerntedly, as were the other two Beatles.

'What the fuck happened to one two three?' John vried weakly, glaring at the nurse, who ignored him.

"Are you okay?" He murmured, and John forced a nod.

"Better," He lied so only the bassist could hear.

Paul seemed to know of his fib as he gave John's back a reassuring pat as they helped him lay down. He rolled up his jacket and gave it to him as a pillow, which he took thankfully. The pain was so, so bad. As if someone were hammering his shoulder with a spike-covered hammer. He let out a small hiss, so low he thought nobody could hear it. But Paul did.

"Can't you give him something for the pain?" Paul pleaded, knowing only a fraction of how much pain John was in.

"I'm sorry, but he's gonna have to wait till we get him to the hospital."

The crew and the medics started making plans for moving John onto the stretcher. John exhaled nervously. This was gonna suck