I definitely don't own the Beatles… But I love them so much here's a really bad Fanfiction because George is my favourite Beatle
Morning broke over America, signalling the start of a new day and the beginning of the Beatles' much-anticipated Tv appearance. As George Harrison stirred from a restless night, the persistent headache that had plagued him lingered like an uninvited guest, clouding his thoughts.
George inwardly groaned, and curled more into his bed covers, as he realised that this wasn't just a bad dream, that one had before their death. He turns over and glances at the others in their beds. Paul and Ringo slept soundly, with John muttering obscenities in his slumber. George smirked feeling slightly saddened at seeing this alive and healthy John.
Suddenly there was a knock on their hotel door, and quickly in stepped Brian, a young and alive Brian. "Morning, lads," Brian greeted them with a warm smile, his eyes scanning the room before landing on George, who was still tightly curled in his covers, groaning at the sudden light.
George straightened and sat up on his bed, attempting to appear unaffected by the persistent headache. The others also woke up and yawned "Morning, Brian," they all replied groggily.
Brian's keen gaze lingered on George for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he shifted his attention to the rest of the band. "Ready for the show, boys? It's going to be a whirlwind of excitement," he announced, attempting to steer the conversation away from George's apparent unease.
The other Beatles nodded enthusiastically, their energy palpable despite the underlying tension in the room, as well as them all collectively being morning people. Plans were discussed, schedules reviewed, and Brian's meticulous attention to detail ensured that everything was in place for their first American show.
As the time to depart drew near, Brian pulled George aside, his expression a blend of concern and curiosity. "Is everything alright, George? You seem a bit off today," Brian inquired, his tone filled with genuine concern.
George hesitated, unsure of how to explain the inexplicable without raising alarm. "Just a bit under the weather, Brian. Nothing to worry about," he replied, offering a reassuring smile despite the throbbing ache in his head. In his head he remembered that he had seemingly already changed fate. As back then he had been suffering with strep throat, yet he felt fine. Well apart from the constant head ache and slight nausea. He gasps slightly, panicking, but calms down when he remembers Brian was still in front of him, analysing him.
Brian studied him for a moment, his perceptive gaze searching George's eyes for any hint of the truth. Sensing his reluctance to elaborate, Brian nodded, his concern evident. "Alright, but if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to let me know," he offered before rejoining the rest of the group.
As they rushed past the screaming fans, and crowded into the car, George couldn't shake the feeling that he has ruined something far beyond his understanding. Oddly George had decided to sit next to John, which had surprised the others, as he usually sat next to Paul or Ringo. He didn't even seem to notice and just kept looking out the car window, where he found himself grappling not only with the persistent headache but also with a nagging sense of illness that lingered at the edge of his consciousness, likely due to the stress of his current situation. Just how was he meant to deal with this for almost 37 years. Just how could he keep the band together, and make sure John lives.
While the car drives down different streets, the screams, the adoration, and the energy of the crowd enveloped them. George inwardly groaned as the noise grated at his senses. Despite his physical unease, George poured his heart and soul into the performances, losing himself in the music, finding solace in the familiar melodies that resonated through the air.
However, as the days passed, the toll of the mysterious illness weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his experience. During this time, George found himself standing closer to John Lennon, his longtime friend and bandmate. There was an unspoken connection between them, a silent understanding that seemed to transcend words. Perhaps it had to do with their mutual nature of being dead, or at least eventual early death.
John, perceptive as ever, noticed George's subtle change in demeanour, especially now that the young lad was leaning against him. "You alright, mate?" he asked, as other cars drove past them.
George nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips despite the weariness etched on his face. "Just a bit under the weather, I reckon. Nothing to worry about," he replied, trying to downplay the severity of his condition. John studied him for a moment, his gaze piercing through George's attempt to mask his discomfort. "You've been standing closer than usual. Feeling a bit off, aren't you?" John remarked, his voice filled with concern.
John placed a hand on George's shoulder, a silent gesture of solidarity. "Take it easy, I really don't want play All my Lovin' without ya…" he joked.
Finally after a long traffic filled journey they had made it to their much-anticipated appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show arrived—a pivotal moment that would mark a significant milestone in the Beatles' journey through fame and music. George observed the location, and it was just as his hazy mind could remember, all entrances were seemingly blocked by screaming fans.
As the Beatles arrived at the Ed Sullivan show, a sense of anticipation hung thick in the air. The buzz of excitement was palpable, both among the band members and the crowd that had gathered in fervent anticipation of witnessing the iconic quartet perform live on television.
George felt a mix of emotions swirling within him—anxiety, excitement, and a lingering sense of unease. The significance of this moment weighed heavily on his mind, knowing that their performance on the Ed Sullivan Show would be etched in the annals of music history. George knew he could not mess this up, the memory of all the songs he had once played, flowed into his mind.
Stepping into the theatre, George was greeted by the hustle and bustle of preparations. Technicians scurried to ensure everything was set for the live broadcast, while the audience's chatter added to the charged atmosphere. Brian Epstein, always meticulous in his management, ensured that the Beatles were primed and ready for their moment on stage. He approached George, as he noticed George's slight discomfort.
"George, how are you feeling? Are you up for the performance?" Brian asked, his tone a mix of worry and determination.
George offered a reassuring nod, despite the ache that throbbed persistently, the current adrenaline he was experiencing was acting as a great pain killer. "I'll manage, Brian. Can't let a little headache get in the way of this, can I?" he replied with a faint smile, trying to mask the extent of his nervousness.
As the time for their performance drew near, the Beatles gathered backstage, a blend of nerves and excitement coursing through each of them. The stage awaited, a platform that would propel them into the hearts and homes of millions across the nation.
With a cue from the show's producers, the Beatles took to the stage, greeted by a thunderous applause that reverberated through the theatre. The moment was electric, the anticipation reaching its peak as the quartet prepared to unleash their musical magic. As the familiar chords reverberated through the venue and the harmonies filled the air, George lost himself in the music. The inexplicable connection between the band members amplified their performance, transcending the confines of time and space.
