Jane held tight to her boyfriend's bandaged hand. Every inch oh him was scratched, brusied, or bandaged. His skin had taken a worrying gray tone and his hair was becoming greasy and matted. The respirator attatched to his mouth and the monitors connected to him were the only sounds in the room.
And to Jane, they sounded like death.
Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, waking her from her trance like state if only for a moment.
"We're going to go home for the night. We'll bring you a change of clothes in the morning." He said gently, and all Jane could do was nod.
John couldn't find Paul at the flat, in any of the bars or brothels (which he hurried from both as soon as this was discovered... he swears) and now he was again turned down as he checked the studio that morning. George and Ringo had arrived on time, only to be treated to a lecture of how Paul had pulled off a great disapearing act and forgotten to magic himself back!
"I'm going back to the Ashers, they must be back by now!" He roared, swiping his car keys back up.
"And if they're not?" George asked.
"I'll throw a rock through Paul's window!"
Knockknockknock! Bambambambam!
"Yes what is it?" Mr. Asher cried, throwing open their door which was being abused by John's fist.
"Oh finally!" John cried towards the cloudy sky before turning to look at Mr. Asher, "Where the bloody hell is Paul? It's been three days now with no word and-"
Mr. Asher paled, "Oh dear, I'm so sorry... with the sudden rush I guess we just forgot to call."
"What has he taken sick?" John asked, angry but a little unnerved by Mr. Asher's manor. He seemed to be between distraught and anxious.
"Paul... Paul was in a car crash three days ago. We only found out yesterday."
"What?" John suddenelly felt lightheaded... his body going numb and his ears buzzing with the impossible truth.
"According to what I've been told, Paul was hit by a speeding car. He... he slipped into a coma during the surgery." Mr. Asher's fingers were trembling against the wood of the door.
"N... No..." His own mother was killed by a car... and now his best friend...
"We were just leaving if you wanted to-"
But John was already gone.
He could sit up now. The pain was becoming a dull throb.
In fact he was much more comfortable where he was, sitting in his old house, at the kitchen table he'd sat at as a child.
Mary sat before him, grasping his cut and bruised hands. He was sure he still looked like an accident victim but hey, one a mother could love.
"What's going on?" He finally thought to ask.
"Well dear, it seems you're slipping farther into your coma."
"C-coma?!"
"It's allright it's allright, be calm James." Mary said, running her fingers over her son's hands, "It doesn't matter, you'll be allright."
"What if I die?" Paul whispered.
"Well you'll be allright then too." Mary smiled, "Sweetheart it's okay. Heaven is okay, as you can see I'm perfectly happy."
"But... but what if I don't make it to heaven?"
"James Paul Mccartney." Mary sighed, "Always the worrier."
Paul smiled sweetly, "I missed you mom."
"And I missed you too sweatheart."