Chapter Text
One cool night in August of 1966, George Harrison said goodnight to his bandmates.
In the morning, two of them were gone.
At first, he was irritated, assuming they had merely wandered off but would return soon.
After a few hours, he became worried, but still believed that would eventually turn up in time for their show.
By the end of the day, their concert was canceled and Lennon and McCartney were officially declared missing.
Weeks had passed and they still hadn’t turned up. Eventually, George went back to England with Ringo. There he would find himself in a new hell.
For months, George worried until his heart nearly gave out. He spent countless nights awake, pondering what could have possibly happened. He wondered if John and Paul were dead, if they were alive, but suffering, or if they had simply run off and didn’t want to be found.
When he did sleep, he often had nightmares of his beloved bandmates being mutilated, slaughtered, and rotting in an unmarked grave thousands of miles from home.
After a year had passed, George thought of his mates as dead. He would never admit it to anyone, but he had given up hope of them being found alive. George continued to grieve, but resumed his own life.
Then he received the call.
Now George stood anxiously outside Jim McCartney’s home. He didn’t knock on the door. He never thought that his dreams of being reunited with his missing bandmates would become a reality. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to gently tap on the wood. His throat tightened and his hands began to shake as the doorknob rattled.
In the doorway stood Paul’s elderly father. He stared at the younger man for a few moments before uttering a simple “Hello.”
George politely greeted Mr. McCartney, but also noticed something odd about him. He looked rather uncomfortable and distressed for a man that had just been reunited with his son.
Jim stepped aside, letting George into the house.
In all of his fantasies about seeing his friends again, George had a meaningful speech prepared. Words that conveyed just how much he loved and missed them.
Now that John stood across from him, he was speechless.
His friend had changed of course. John was thinner, his auburn hair was choppy and uneven, his skin was sickly pale, and a pair of small circle glasses sat on the bridge of his hooked nose.
He also looked older. Older than a 26 year old should. Whatever John had gone through in the past year had significantly aged him.
Still, George smiled. Despite everything, he was still John Lennon, a remarkable man who had miraculously returned to the world.
“George…”
George’s throat tightened. He had nearly forgotten the sound of John’s voice.
“Hi…John.”
George never thought he would say those words again. He took a few steps forward until he was in front of John. Then, he pulled him into an embrace.
The younger man squeezed gently, fearing he would unintentionally harm his fragile friend.
After another minute, John pulled away, sniffling, but still grinning.
“I’ll get Paul.”
George nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as John climbed the stairs.
In his absence, George turned to Mr. McCartney. At the same time, he noticed John’s Aunt Mimi’s presence. She stood beside Paul’s father, and although she retained a polite smile, George could tell something was bothering her.
George bit his tongue, unsure he should inquire about the unspoken matter.
His dilemma was interrupted when he heard the sound of creaking stairs.
“George!”
George held his breath again. He turned around and there was Paul.
Paul McCartney in the flesh.
Like with John, it was slightly jarring how much Paul had changed. His hair had nearly grown to his shoulders, his face was dominated by a dark, thick beard. Although he was nowhere near as thin as John, his skin was the same shade of sickly pale.
Paul rushed into George’s arms, breathing in the warm, spicy scent on his clothes.
George flashed his prominent canines as a joyful and relieved smile spread across his face.
“I missed you, George… Missed you so fuckin’ much!”
Paul said, his tears staining George’s denim jacket.
“I missed you too. Never stopped. Me and Ritchie, we never stopped thinking about you two.”
Paul pulled away, smiling as he gazed at his old friend.
“You grew your hair long…you have a mustache now too.”
Paul commented.
“Yeah. Figured I would try something new.”
“You don’t look like my baby brother anymore.”
Although he was still grinning, there was a tone of sorrow in Paul’s voice. It made George’s smile falter slightly.
Suddenly, Paul started to walk towards the stairs..
“Be right back!”
He said before rushing upstairs again.
George stood there, confused. He turned back to Jim and Mimi, desperate for an explanation.
Mimi opened her mouth, presumably about to give an answer. However, she stayed quiet, glancing at Jim.
“It’s better you hear it from them.”
What does that mean?
George thought while also nodding in response.
After a few minutes, Paul came downstairs, John walking in front of him.
“There’s someone we want you to meet.”
George could see that Paul was cradling something. At first he couldn't tell what it was, but then his jaw fell open.
“His name is Joseph.”
A baby.
Paul was holding a baby, a newborn to be exact. He couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old.
“Isn’t he amazing?”
Paul asked excitedly. George swallowed, nervously. He couldn’t help it.
Paul had a baby.
George was one of the few people aware of Paul’s true anatomy. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened to his dear friend that resulted in him having a child.
“Yes, he’s beautiful.”
George replied after a few moments of awkward silence
“Look Joseph, it's your uncle George.”
John cooed over Paul’s shoulder.
George looked at the baby, then to John and back to the baby.
At his age, Joseph only had a few tuffs of hair on his head. However, the few strands he did have matched John’s, albeit a slightly lighter color.
“Hi, Joseph.”
George whispered, stepping closer.
“He’s such a good baby, George. He eats so well and hardly cries at night.”
Paul said proudly, rhythmically swaying.
“That’s wonderful.”
Although he wasn’t looking at him, George could tell that Jim had stepped outside from the sound of footsteps and a slamming door.
John motioned towards the couch.
“Lets sit, George. We have a lot to catch up on. Me and Paul have been dying to hear what you’ve been up to.
***
The sun began to set and George bid goodbye before stepping out into the cool evening air. He walked to his car, his eyes cast down.
As he steered the vehicle onto the road, he turned the radio up as high as it could go. Beside the noise and the beautiful sunset in front of him, George couldn’t help but weep the whole drive home.