Chapter Text
“Agh– I know Georgie,“ he grunts as George crushes his ribs a little tighter. “I’ll write to you as soon as I arrive, promise-!”
George lets go for the third time. His sobbing had finally calmed down and he nods frantically. “You better,” he threatens, wiping the mixture of snot and tears on his sleeve. Paul hasn’t seen him cry this badly since he’d taken that fall off his bike years ago. He looks about as small as he did then. Red faced and puffy eyes, he doesn’t even shake off the hand Paul ruffles through his hair.
He turns to John. Standing a foot away with his arms crossed, looking towards the car with hard eyes and a frustrated pout. Paul smiles sadly and takes a step closer.
“John?” he asks hesitantly, “aren’t you going to say goodbye?”
John doesn’t respond, but Paul can see his lips tremble before he turns his head away again. He gently squeezes one of the arms John’s keeping protectively around his chest. He moves his hand to John’s shoulder and his fingers straighten the wrinkled collar. It seems John wore one of his nicer button ups to see him off.
The tears Paul held back earlier threaten to spill. He rests his hand on the nape of John’s neck. “I’m really gonna miss you Johnny,” he whispers.
John’s head snaps back at that, his eyes meeting Paul’s straight on for the first time today. Almost immediately, he looks at his feet and takes a shaky inhale. His arms fall limp at his side. The dam finally bursts and the tears flow freely down his face.
“Paul,” John choked out. “I can’t–“ he shakes his head, incoherent pleas come out in between hiccups. Paul quickly pulls him into a tight embrace, whispering apologies in John’s ear.
John keeps his head buried in Paul’s shoulder. His hands clutch desperately at the back of his shirt until Jim loads the last box into the car.
★
John’s looking out the window of his sterile hospital room. He can just barely hear Mimi and the doctor behind the curtain.
“You have to understand Mrs. Smith, it’s too early to know for sure,” he sighs for the 100th time.
“I know that, it’s just,” she retorts just as frustrated. “He’s been awake a week. We need something–“
He can hear another sigh and the rustling of the doctor’s coat. John imagines his fingers are pressing into his temple the same way his teachers did whenever they’d catch him passing the lewd comics he’d draw in class to his mates.
“What he needs,” he interrupts her, “is some rest. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”
The door creaks open and shuts. He hears Mimi let out another exasperated sigh and her heels click closer.
She falls back at his side with a sigh and her lips are twisted into frown. She reaches up, brushes his bangs back and takes his hand. He raises a suspicious eyebrow, John had no idea she was capable of such softness.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she clicks her teeth, her grip tightening, “you worry me sometimes John.”
John’s smirk falls because well, he can’t really argue with that. One year into finally having his license and he blew it. They stay like that until a soft knock breaks the silence.
The nurse he’s become pretty well acquainted to these last few days comes in with George, Richie, and Cynthia trailing behind her. “You have some visitors Mr. Lennon,” she says with a polite smile.
The three stand awkwardly at the end of the bed, flowers and ‘get well soon’ cards in hand. Their eyes widen at the display. Loud, sharp-tongued Lennon lying small in a hospital room. He’s covered in bruises and hooked to machines. And the worst of it all, the neck brace.
Mimi spares them the pleasantries. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she takes one last look before leaving them to bask in the silence again.
Finally, George whistles, “quite the setup you’ve got here—ow, Cyn!”
Richie chuckles unsympathetically and takes a seat at the foot of the bed while George rubs at his side with a pained expression. She gives him a pointed look before settling down on the spot Mimi left vacant.
“Oh John,” she coos. “Mimi told us everything. We’ve been so worried. How are you feeling?”
She looks at him expectantly for a moment before her eyes widen. “Shit, right–“ she digs through her purse and pulls out a small notebook and a pen. “Here.”
He takes the pen and scribbles.
“I’m going fucking crazy, cooped up in here. I’m off work for God knows how long. So if the crash didn’t kill me, surely hunger will,” he pauses and writes more carefully. “Mimi won’t tell it to me straight, but I’ve heard the doctors. That tone they use. Trying to let you down softly but you know you’re fucked.”
“I’ve tried since I woke up. They don’t know if I’ll ever talk again. ‘Too much trauma to tell’ they said,” he drops the pen and coughs. Seems like he can’t even write without his throat closing up.
They take turns reading the note. The consistent beeping of the heart rate monitor stifling the room.
“Well, no wonder you’re going crazy in here,” Richie gets up and walks to the head of the bed. “You’ve been listening to nothing but dusty old men in lab coats and Mimi.”
He turns on the small radio sitting on the side table.
“God this thing’s a piece of shit,” he mumbles. His attempt to lighten the mood souring the longer it takes to get any station to work.
George perks his head up at the static. He recognizes the tune that’s trying to escape. He jumps to his feet. “Wait, Rich–“
He’s too late. Richie adjusts the tuning knob and the voice finally comes through clearly. He snaps back to John with wild eyes.
John sends him back a questioning look until he hears it. He straightens up, the steady beeping of the monitor he’s hooked up to turn frantic. He knows that voice– fuck a pig! That’s Paul!
He gargles, the sudden pain in his arm feels like someone’s taking a blade to his wrist. He lifts his arm and watches in horror as those words start to etch its way through his skin.
And I’ll send all my loving to you.