A/N: I would like to thank everyone who is reading and reviewing my story. Thank you all so much for the continued support and love. Without further ado, here is Chapter 4.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles, they own themselves. Okay? Okay.
George's POV:
It was early the next day when I woke up. I noticed that Ringo's cheeks were a bit pink, but then I saw that I was literally holding him.
Holding him. Smooth, Geo. Not wanting to wake him up, I slowly removed my arms from where I was holding him.
I went to the kitchen and started to make myself some tea, and then I went to the sitting room once again, and turned the telly on to a really low volume.
"Blah...blah...blah...news," I mutter to myself. I drain my cup of tea, and trudge back to the kitchen to stick my cup in the sink.
"I'll leave Paul to take care of that." I mumble, grinning. I hear Ringo turn and mumble in his sleep. Before I have time to get back to the sitting room, I hear him yell.
Paul and John rush to the room, mop tops a mess. "What-What happened?!" Paul stutters. "Ya think I know?" I ask.
By now, Ringo is screaming and thrashing around frantically, under the influence of a nightmare.
"Wake him up before he hurts himself, ya daft git!" John yells, grabbing a glass of water. Splashing the water right into his face, Ringo wakes up, gasping, his face contorted like he is on the verge of tears.
Ringo takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down. This doesn't work, and he launches himself onto Paul and John.
Paul, his mouth gaping, wraps his arms around Ringo and pulls him close. John mutters something in Ringo's ear, and rubs his back soothingly.
I join the group hug, enveloping them all.
This is The Beatles.
Yes, we make music, but at the end of the day, we are all brothers.