The clock struck 3, and John, George and Ringo slept in different areas of the main room of the small suite. They slept peacefully through their long night's rest...if only the same could be said for Paul.
In Paul's bed, he tossed and turned: moaning and groaning subconsiously in his sleep. The covers were scrambled on the floor, and Paul, who was now soaked in his own nervous sweat, just layed there and trembled in his sleep-for Paul McCartney was entering a nightmare.
*********************
Paul had appeared outside of an odd-looking studio, and looked around him not to find, unfortunately, the security of his friends. He walked through the two big doors, and found a large crowd of girls charging.
"Typical nightmare," he thought, "Jus' a buncha screamin' girls."
That's what he thought-until he realized that it was not him who the girls were charging after. They ran right past him, and Paul turned around suprisedly to see what they were running to. They ran down a corridor, and Paul thought of nothing better to do but to follow them. He ran with the girls down the hall and out to the studio's lobby. Paul stopped as he watched the horror.
The girls had somebody held down to the ground and began to beat him. They shouted in his face and screamed like banshees. Paul ran up to the girls angrily and tried to push through the crowd of them to see who the person was.
"OIY! Oiy!" He yelled still shoving, "Tha's no way t' treat anybo-"
Paul stopped mid-sentence to find The Beatles' manager, Brian Epstein lying on the ground, bruised and battered by the girls, in a great deal of pain.
"EP?!" Paul cried with shock, helping him to his feet, "What did they do t' you?!"
"Well," Brian replied taking Paul off to the side away from the girls, "When Ah told 'em th' concert wos cancelled, they got angry an' stahted beatin' me!"
"Oh, lord," Paul said quietly, staring at the banged-up Brian, "Look wot they've done teh ya! Y' poor man. 'Ere, lemme help ye-" Paul went to brush some dirt off of Brian's shirt, when Brian smacked Paul's hand angrily.
"Take yeh hands off me," He snarled, "Ah needn't any assistance from YOU! 'S your fault Ah'm in this mess, anyhow! If you 'adn't caught ill, we'd still have a show! An' now- yeh've made a poonchin' bag outta me! You disgust me, McCartney-DISGUST ME!"
Paul looked at him in upsetedly. He didn't know how to respond, so he just shook his head in disbelief. Then, Brian let out a loud whistle, and all of the girls approached him. He pointed to Paul and cried, "AFTAH HIM!!!!!!!"
The girls shrieked with anger as they ran towards Paul. Paul stared at them wide-eyed with fright, gasped, and then hit the ground running.
"Y' can't run forever, Mack," Brian cried nastilly, "YOU'LL GET YOURS!"
And, as Paul ran, though the threats were coming from far off, they felt like they were being screamed right into his ear-making his head spin and his breathing more heavy. He sprinted up a flight of steps, the girls not far behind, and found a nearby door. This was his chance to escape! He ran through the two doors, slamming it behind him. He leaned against the door panting heavily. The girls were trying to barge in as they thumped at the door, jolting McCartney to-and-frow.
In the dark room, Paul saw three figures standing in the shadows. He squinted at them when the light flashed on, then smiled realizing that they were his friends.
"JOHN!," He screamed, "GEO! RINGO!"
The boys turned around and noticed their friend standing there looking at him distastefully.
"Lads! Aw, thank God," Paul panted, "It's...it's these girls! Brian sent them aftah me-h-he's gone MAD, Ah swear! Wouldja mind helping me with this door?"
The boys stared at him, and then at eachother with disgust.
"Whoy the bloody 'ell would we 'elp YOU?" Ringo asked coldly.
Paul's smile faded in to a deeply concerned frown.
"W-wot?"
"You 'eard 'im," John replied, "Whoy should we be 'elping yeh? YOU'RE the reason whoy our concert's cancelled. If it wasn't fah you gettin' sick-we'd be on-stage t'noight, bein' happy as larks. But now, Mack-yeh gonna bake yah cake an' eat it, too."
"Wo-whaddya tolkin' about?!"
"This," George cried, throwing Paul to the ground as he opened the doors-allowing the mob to flood in. They jumped on top of Paul, Paul shrieking in the horror of it all. He tried to break free of the hundreds of girls that were toppled over him-abusing him violently, screaming things like, "WHOY'D YA HAVE TA CANCEL TH' SHOW?!" " 'SICK', IS 'AT ROIGH'?! RUBBISH!" "YEH'VE LET US DOWN, MCCARTNEY!!"
Paul stilled tried to wriggle free of their grasp, when one of them held a knife to his neck, as they all chanted, "LET US DOWN! LET US DOWN! LET US DOWN!"
"NO! NO, PLEASE," Paul cried, "I-NO-I'M BEGGIN' YEH! PLEASE-LEMME LIVE! LEMME LIVE!! NO!!!"
George snored quietly, when he was awoken by an irritating sound. He sat up on the couch that he was sleeping on, threw a pillow on Ringo's head and whispered, "Quit snorin'."
Ringo grumbled angrily, as he rubbed his eyes and looked up from the floor where he slept, and whispered back angrily, "Wasn't me, an' AH DON'T SNORE!"
"Hate t' tell ya this," John yawned, "But, yoh a real window-rattler, son."
"Shh!"
"But Geo-"
" 'SHH', Ah said," George perked up his ear and listened. There was a sound of mumbling and groaning- not made by any of them either.
"Well, whaddya s'pose that rackit could be?"
"Sounds loi' screamin' t' me," Ringo said with a yawn.
"An' croyin', no doubt," John added, putting on his glasses.
"NO-NO! PLEASE! LEMME GO! PLEASE-" The boys heard it again, and John jumped up.
"Ah know tha' voice," George remarked quietly, " 'S Paul's, tha' i'tis."
"Let's go." John and George began walking, when Ringo shrugged.
"T' where, 'sactly?"
"Oh, an all-noight mixer, o' course," John replied cheekily, then added angrily, " T' check on Paul, ya daft git, where else?!"
They all barged into Paul's room where they found him twitching and shaking in his bed, as if he were trying to escape to clutches of an evil-villain. The boys stared at Paul in confusion and fear, watching him as he groaned and mumbled angrily in his sleep.
"Wot's gotten into 'im?" Ringo asked in a panic.
"A feveh, tha's wot," John replied, sitting down on the bed facing Paul. He took a hold of Paul's shoulders and tried to shake him out of his nightmare.
"Paul!"
"NO!"
"PAUL!"
"NO, PLEASE!"
"WAKE UP, McCARTNEY, WAKE UP!"
"PLEASE," he whispered, as tears formed in his sleepy eyes, "DON'T KILL ME-DON'T KILL ME!!!"
"FAH CHROIST'S SAKE, PAUL, SNAP OUT OF IT!" John cried with a final shake of Paul's frail, sick body.
Paul's screaming faded slowly, as he began to wake up.
"PLEASE...Please, don't...don'...."
"Get a hold a' yehself, Paul," George said quietly, "Everything's alroigh'."
Paul looked at his friends trembling. His entire body was drenched in sweat and his eyes seemed to glow with fever. He gasped a few times, trying to catch his breath, and then covered his face with his hand as he began to quietly sob. John embraced him- like a father would his son-and held him there for a few minutes, looking up worriedly to the others.
"Shh...shh..." John tried to comfort Paul by rubbing his soaking wet back, " 'S alroi'-you're okay. Jus' relax."
Paul sniffled a little, and then wiped some sweat off his forehead. John placed the back of his hand on Paul's forehead, and muttered quietly, "Yoikes. Tha' feveh's a really scorcher, eh?"
George handed John the damp sock that layed at the end of the bed, and he began to soak it in the water bowl again. Paul sat up in a daze shivering uncontrollably.
Never in Paul's life had he felt so undeniabley cold. He had hardly any idea what was going on around him-he barely knew he was awake. Terribley confused, he tried desperately to hold back tears.
" 'Ere, lad," George said, handing Paul a change of clothes and a robe, "T' get outta them wet clothes: yah soaked t' the bone!"
After Paul had changed, the four of them sat in John, George and Ringo's sleeping quarters (otherwise known as the living room) and waited for the tea kettle to whistle. Paul still shivered, but was much more awake and no longer as frightened as he was before.
"Jus' a crazy feveh dream, it wos," John said, "Ev'rybody gets 'em."
"Tha' wos no feveh dream," Paul replied with a sniffle, "Tha' wos a feveh 'noightmare'!"
George came back with the tea tray, and placed it on the coffee table as he sat down next to Ringo on the couch.
"So," Ringo added taking a sip of his tea, "Wodja dream about, anyway, tha' gotcha so shaken up?"
"Maybe 'e don' wanna tolk abou' it...RICHARD!" John hissed.
"I-it's alroight," Paul replied with a cough, "Actually, Ah think it's best you all should know, anyways. But befoh Ah do....Ah need you guys to be hones' an' true with me abou' somethin'."
"Wot is it, son," John remarked, sipping some of his tea.
"What's on yeh mind?" George added.
"Well," Paul started hoarsely, clearing his throat, "Ah know Ah've asked you already...bu' jus' ta be sure....ah yeh POSITIVE yeh ain' mad abou' the concert an'-"
"Oh, hell," John stood up, "Is 'at wot you was dreamin' about?! Us gettin' a li'l upset with yah?!"
"I-it wos moh than a li'l upset, Len," Paul replied, "An' it wosn't jus' you fellas: it wos Brian, an' the fans, an'....You's all wanted me, well....dead."
George and Ringo, who were both drinking tea when Paul began his explanation, spit out their tea as soon as the word 'dead' slipped into their ears. They turned and looked at Paul who was red in the face-even more so than he was before, and his eyes became even droopier.
"Ah think the feveh's gone to yeh head, son," Ringo cried, feeling Paul's forehead.
"Ah jus'," Paul replied with a cough, "Ah jus' don' wanna lose me bes' mates. 'Cos tha'd be a noightmare come true."
"Paul," John said sternly, sitting down next to Paul wrapping an arm around him, "Lad, yeh neveh gonna make our bad-list. We're a TEAM! We don't KILL our team membahs, lad-we ain't cannibals! An' Brian may get a li'l steamed at us sometoimes, but tha' don't mean he's gonna end us! Y' need ta know tha' th' four of us ah togetheh-no matta wot! Through thick an' thin: friends 'til th' end. Despite a cancelled concert or a sick dream, we're still all eachotheh's got. An' we ain't goin' anywhere. Loike it a' not, McCartney, yoh stuck with us!"
The others smiled. They looked at eachother, and then back to Paul. His tired eyes were filling up with tears. He smiled, too, despite how terrible he felt. His smile faded into a yawn, and his eyes drifted to close more and more.
"Y' know wot Oi think," Ringo began, staring at Paul, "Ah think you knew tha' oll along, Paul- tha' we're neveh leavin' yah a' nothin'. And ol; this toime it wos on account a' tha' dream. Mustah scared yeh shiteless, an' so yeh stahted second-guessin' yehself. Not t' mention tha' aweful feveh."
"Poor fellah," George looked, "Mus' be dreadfully confused."
"Ah'm sorry feh puttin' yeh oll through this," Paul groaned, "Guess it would've been betteh if Oi went 'ome t' bed a ways back an' jus' let you lads go on without me-"
"Oy!" John cried, "We ain't 'The Beatles' unless it's ALL of us out there doin' wot we do best."
Paul went to reply, "Tha's....tha's tr--tR-AH-HIISHOOOO!" But was interrupted by a sneeze.
"Gesunheidt," the other three replied.
"Ugh..*sniff* 'true'," Paul pulled out a handerchief, blew his nose and then shivered.
"Poor thing," George whispered, "Mus' be exhausted."
"Yeh ready t' head on back t' bed?" John asked gentley.
"A-ah think so," Paul mumbled feverishly, "But quoite frankly-Ah don't quite feel like movin'."
John thought for a moment, then had an idea. He stood up and whispered it to George and Ringo. They both smiled and nodded. All of a sudden, Paul felt John stood up along with Ringo and George, and they lifted his legs and swung his feet onto the couch so that he was turned sideways.
"Lie down," John ordered.
"W-wot?" Paul replied confusedly.
"You heard me."
Paul, too tired and sick to reply, just did what the doctor prescribed and lied down.
George noticed Paul shivering more and more, and improvised his jacket for a blanket, when Ringo went into Paul's room and brought one over to the couch. He laid it over him and tucked it under his chin. He took his own jacket, wrapped it in a ball, and laid it underneath Paul's head for a pillow. John laid the cool, damp compress on his forehead once again, and backed away.
"Ah feel jus' aweful 'bout you lads havin' t' take care a' me loi' this," Paul muttered tiredly, "Ah feel so 'elpless, an'-"
"James Paul McCartney," John scolded, "Yeh neveh gonna get any rest with oll this jibber-jabber! Now-bight yeh tongue an' get to sleep!"
Paul looked over at John as he winked, and the others stared happily at him. Paul sighed contentedly to himself and yawned, "Yes, Mum."
John stood there smiling as he watched his best friend quickly drift off into a sleep. It wasn't long before the sound of light snoring came out of Paul. John looked over at George and smiled, when they heard one loud, obnoxious snort. They looked over at Paul, realizing it wasn't him, shrugged, and looked down on the floor to find sure enough that Ringo had fallen asleep too, and began snoring. John covered his ears, looked at George and suggested, "Bathtub?"
"Bathtub," George replied.
And so, the four Beatles dreamed sweet dreams- as John and George slept on either ends of the bathtub, Ringo on the floor of the suite's living room, and Paul on the couch, feeling very much better- knowing that as long as he was a Beatle, and whenever he needed it: he'd ALWAYS have a little help from his friends.
~FIN~
Day By Day-Part 4 by ~thebeatlegeek94
The clock struck 3, and John, George and Ringo slept in different areas of the main room of the small suite. They slept peacefully through their long night's rest...if only the same could be said for Paul.
In Paul's bed, he tossed and turned: moaning and groaning subconsiously in his sleep. The covers were scrambled on the floor, and Paul, who was now soaked in his own nervous sweat, just layed there and trembled in his sleep-for Paul McCartney was entering a nightmare.
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