Chapter Text
The boys boarded in the early hours of the morning. Finally finished with Rome they headed to Denmark for the next two weeks. It's not really a change that bothered the rest, as they are accustomed to new places all the time, but as you would imagine the flight away from the past behind him, was relieving for Paul. He stared through the window, watching the city fall beneath him. He felt like he could finally escape the physicalities of it all, but there was always a cloud hanging over him. Fear ridden, Paul couldn't truly believe it wasn't going to follow him, no matter how far he could get.
John sat opposite Paul, on the other side of the aisle. To Paul, it still seemed like John was mad, he still had no clue why. To John it appeared Paul didn’t want anything to do with him. So they sat, separated by arrogance and ignorance, keeping to themselves the entire flight.
There was a strong miscommunication growing between them. Neither sure about how or exactly when it came between them, but each day was feeling longer, the more they kept to themselves.
John had been mad since the silent treatment Paul had been giving him for days. He felt shut off. For someone who could figure everything out by a subtle facial expression, it was driving John mad. Paul's weird behaviour, as well as the disappearing and slightly rude attitude towards everyone else, was pissing John off even more. Paul acted the part of a prince sometimes, but John didn't appreciate it whenever it went too far to his head. It was strange at first when Paul wasn't answering questions, and mopping around like a beaten dog. Then next when they were rehearsing. He kept looking at Paul, and something wasn't right at all. He was still very pale, he seemed unfocused, and whatever spirit he always seemed to carry with him, wasn’t there. No tap in his foot, no grin too wide to bear, or even the sway in his hips and shoulders was gone. By the time they reached the stage John couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable Paul really was. To add to the chaos, Paul disappeared right after the show, all by himself, and came back like he couldn’t have done anything wrong. They had waited on him, and all he could come up with was ‘the bathroom’. John had done an act like this before, but at least he thought he was sorry about it.
The pieces of the puzzle really weren't adding up. There was a lingering presence of an issue that clung to Paul, but it was if someone held a gun to his head every second, preventing him from saying a word.
John sat there, watching the world fall beneath him, begging fate to change when they landed. A new place, to freshen up, hopefully convincing enough that Paul would reach out.
However, John kept thinking, tying him up in a thread of other complicated thoughts. If Paul wasn't telling John anything, no matter how hard he tried to assure him he could, then he simply didn’t want to let his guard down any further; just for Paul to hurt him back. The potentiality of John having caused a mistrust in Paul, stung hard, and every day that the topic wasn't discussed, was creating more uncertainty
John was riddled with anger and curiosity that seemed to lead further down the path of John's misery. He had felt so disconnected from Paul, that he began to believe it was best to really leave him alone. That he had really screwed everything between them. Paul hated him and that was it. So John grew mad. Mad that he had been rejected by someone he thought he could trust and love with his life. But also punished by silent treatment, for something he was actually ready to talk through.
There were other elements to it too.
He couldn't stop thinking from that night before. That mark. The placement, the reason for it. He liked no part of it. Paul could've ended up with a bird, John knew it was fair play, but could a bird do that?
Picking at his thumb, calculating all the… possibilities of how it got there or why Paul would even …go there. The mark seemed so insignificant at the time, but John's stomach dropped with dread.
Someone of such a kind, may know how a mark like that gets on one's shoulder. There was a shift within John's realization. Had Paul gone with another bloke? Had Paul really taken it that extra step further and cheated! With another man!?
How could he really have done that, after all the fuss. If that was the case then maybe Paul wasn't against the idea, maybe he was just repulsed by his being. Was he too unlovable? The more self pity John internalized, the quicker the rage grew.
When he looked over at Paul, he didn't know what to make of him. What he saw was a recluse, and not the usual McCartney he knew. Perhaps Paul had cheated and then he felt bad. That must be it. It would at least explain the guilty behaviour. So maybe if he had, then he deserved to feel guilty, he would give Paul the silent treatment back.
Without giving reason, he did not give Paul the time or place for the entire flight; and the next few days.
`
Paul stayed away from asking any questions. It was pretty obvious to see that John was unnerved by something, and whenever he experienced this mood, everyone around him knew to give him the space. It's not that they didn't care, but that it was the smarter option not to poke a stick at an infuriated bear.
Afterall, he definitely felt at fault for most of it anyway. He had pushed John away twice, why would he try again if he had pushed him too far. What was worse is that Paul knew how quickly John could close up too. He just couldn't tell him… at least not yet. How could he ever tell him, maybe things would just smooth out once they finished the tour, if John would ease up.
At first it was his tone at the show, but now John was not even sitting with him, or acknowledging him.
The grief grew in Paul. He wanted to confide in him, but now his best friend seemed to hate him, it's like he had done everything completely wrong.
Paul felt like he was going insane, and sank lower into his self pity.
They land at the airport a little while later. Filter through crowds, fly through vehicles, till their destination. Fill into their suite and continue matters per usual.
*
It had been a few days of the usual routine until one night Paul got a phone call.
Until then, Paul had been getting used to the occasional panic attack, brain fog, and cold shoulder from not only John, but he felt everyone was acting weird towards him too.
Whenever he entered a room it went quite, he often caught people glancing at him, always with a concerned expression. It felt like people were walking on thin ice around him, he didn’t want them too. He wanted them to treat him like normal, that way he'd have a sense of normality. The babying had finally stopped though which was both delightful and saddening. He didn't like the fact he was treated incompetent, but now there was a lack of care. He reclused to himself even more, figured that it was the safest place he could be if there was no one else to turn too. The days were getting longer and night time was still hard. The nightmares were less consistent but sleeping didn't get any better.
It was late one night when Mal, Neil and Brian decided to have a few drinks with the boys, catching up on their progress and how successful they’d already been whilst in Europe.
The phone rang suddenly. Heads turned around. The only calls the hotel would accept for their room were managers, consultants, or relatives and or close friends/ partners. Occasionally an estranged fan would somehow convince the operators they were of importance and the minute someone would pick up the phone they'd be deafened by screaming on the other end. It was now Mal who answered calls first, he got up from the sofa, “Hey Paul it’s your brother Mike calling, says it's important”. Paul was quick to his feet, hoping to god the call wasn’t what he dreaded to be.
“Hey, Paul-” Mike's voice was tense and tired. “Hey Mikey? Everything going okay?” Paul hushed with urgency, aware that he didn’t want to cause a scene with worry to anyone eavesdropping. “Listen, it’s nothing to worry yourself about alright..”.
“What's going on Michael, is it Da? Do I need to be there?”. Paul shifted uncomfortably, like he wanted to run out the door to his father as soon as he could.
“Paul, are you well? I hope the tour’s going alright”. “Yea yea I’m well Mikey, tours going and all, what's up!? Is everything alright?!”.
“Da’s got pneumonia, Paul. Went for blood tests last week after the doctor called him back. Turns out it may be a bigger issue than we thought. But… he's being treated, he’ll be okay, he’s being looked after..”.
“Looked after? Like he's seen the doctor or is in the hospital?! ”, Paul sighed loudly enough that Mike felt it through the phone. “I knew something was wrong, he should’ve seen someone sooner”. Paul's tone got more serious and earned a sudden head turn from John.
“Paul, we tried, he's done it now, don’t stress ya self with all the ‘ifs’ or ‘should'ves’”.
Pauls lowered his voice again “How serious is it Mike?”, he started getting familiar knots in his stomach. “Well he's in hospital, ICU. I can’t lie Paul, he's not well, but that's only now, after a few days of nurses pampering him he’ll be right as rain. Nothing to worry yourself about. I'm here, and the cousins are going to stop by on their way down to London”. Mike was met with silence. “Hes going to be okay Paul-”. Paul held the receiver close, pressing his brows, “How do you know that-”. Both boys remained quiet for a moment, both trying to deny the sincerity of the possible outcome. “How’d…How’d it even get that bad…?” Paul began questioning, feeling a growing tightness in his chest. “They say that a large part of it was the smoking. They also questioned that there were damages left in his lungs from when Da had that fireman's job, saying the smoke and fumes had lead to tears and what not. Once the damage is done to the lungs he said that infections can take place quite easily, and because of the vulnerability of the muscle, it's much harder to fight viruses off, especially at his age”.
“-Jesus christ..”
“But Paul, he said they’ve dealt with cases before, and they're going to try whatever they can”.
“Well, how long do you think he'll be there for? Maybe if I've got the weekend off I could-”
“Im sure he’ll be home in no time Paul. Just a few days of antibiotics. I’ll let you know if anything changes yea. Youv’e got a job to do remember rockstar! I've got it covered here”.
“I know Mikey but sometimes there are things far more important than singing Y’know”.
“I know”.
There was another silence.
“Promise, you'll call if anything changes right Mike”.
“I will, Paul. Take care.”
“Thanks Mike, take care”.
With that he put the phone down and quickly left for his room. Covered by the chitchat in the room already he was able to flee the room, but it wasn't any match for the way John's gaze followed him like a hawk.
Paul shut the door behind him, failing back towards the wall palming his eyes.
Of course he contracted a deadly infection. Well not deadly if treated, but also if you were healthy enough beforehand. The risks of his fathers health were going to make things harder, of course they were. The McCartneys never did things by halves, goddamn it.
He felt an overwhelming surge of stress take over him, the same emotions he'd been fighting back for days. His knees gave out and he fell to the floor, sobbing into his arms, trying to muffle the sound from reaching the others. Why couldn’t things just not go wrong, was it too much to ask? What kind of black magic had he fucked with to be cursed like this. No dignity, no parents, no best friend or lover. Just the chore of being a stage monkey. He felt he didn't have much left for him, like everything he loved was being taken away.
He knew he couldn't keep pretending. At least keep pretending like it was all fine, sober. Denial was common with grief. Some people shut down completely and go insane, isolating themselves from everyone else. Or, others find ways to deal with it. They go through denial differently, creating a different world where they can exist, amongst others. But in their world they perceive things the way they want to. But to get to that world, either meant you me mentality broke, which Paul knew he was already too emotionally strong for, or you opened your senses. You find a bridge to get to that world. A relief. A temporary fix, to suppress the harmful realities that won't go away.
They were names for this, and Paul knew exactly which one to call.
Contacts. On the side of fame that was both a sin and blessing. It was so easy to fall into the wrong hands of anyone and anything. But it was also fucking helpful. Whatever you needed, whenever you needed, just call and they'd be there in a record amount of time.
*
It had only been two weeks but the drug had almost taken him completely. His skin clung to his bones. The colour of his face was long gone. His temper was almost compatible with Johns , if not worse. But he was happy, or at least he thought he was.
*
Paul, Started thinking of acquaintances he'd met over the years. Ryan, from Germany, the cargo driver . He was always a loyal lad, who would sometimes hook the boys up with the occasional pill or bit of weed, no questions asked. He was worth a shot. Luckily there was a phone on the bedside table. Dialing back the numbers Paul grew nervous, it was what he wanted, for sure, but absolutely no one could find out.
“Hello?”
“Ryan?”
“Yes, Hey Paul, how's it going!”
“Yeh its alright. Listen. Do me a favor yea, don’t go making a fuss about this or whatever, but a friend of mine was wondering if you’ve got any access to er”
“To…?”
"A little Golden Brown.”
“A friend of yours huh”
“Yes. Well..you got any?”
“....Sure Paul”
“Is there a way I can meet you soon?, er you know, they’ve just been asking me the last few days thats all, been forgetting about it”, he gave a light chuckle, trying to cover his ass.
“Yeah sure, where are ya? It might take a day or two to get there”.
“Ah yea, we’re in Denmark. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for your flight and-”.
“No no, with something like that, it’s better if I drive it. I’ll take the truck, they won’t fuss over it too much at the border, I can meet you tomorrow night yea?”.
“Okay thanks, call me where you want to meet once you get here”.
“Will do.”
“Er thanks Ryan”.
“No problem Paul”.
He arrived in Denmark in the late evening, leaving after noon that day. Finding a phone box he arranged to meet with Paul at a nearby park.
*
Paul laid in bed for a few hours until he fell into a deep slumber.
Moody and restless he moved through the next day fast, waiting for each hour to roll over. Until finally the boys had gone to bed. Paul waited for silence, slipped his coat and shoes on. Making his way out of the hotel door, he spotted the security guard at the other end of the hall, facing away from him. He had to be quiet. There was a fire exit just before him, if he could just get there without too much noise it'd be fine.
He closed the hotel door softly, taking careful steps, if he got caught now he’d be told to go back inside. He touched the door, pausing to notice the quiet snores coming from the guard, he was disturbed by this. The lack of actual protection these days was horrendous, no point having someone there if they're just going to sleep on the job. If was going to make it easy he thought, until the squeak of the door jolted him awake.
“Eh! Where d'ya think yer goin?”.
“Just goin for a ciggie, will be back in jif”.
“Hey!”.
Paul managed to slip out fast, bolting down the stairs, hoping for no chase.
When he got to the final exit he had to be sure no one was waiting outside.
Holding the door a jar, there was no sign of reporters or fans, far too late at night for that. Quick on his feet he got to Ryan within minutes.
“Hi”
“Hey. Here's the stuff. Listen Paul. I have to say-”
“I know, but remember it ain’t for me, don’t worry”
“Well sure, but still. This ain’t nothing like weed. I mean hell, it's far better. But it’s far more dangerous, please make sure however consumes this, ain’t gonna get lost in it.”
“I’m glad you care Ryan, it’s funny but nice-”.
Ryan gave an offended puzzled look.
“Well I just mean with you being a dealer and all, just sort of, ironic or hypocritical in a sense”.
“Listen, I just dont want anyone to fuck themselves up. I'm all for a good time and all, but take it carefully.”
“Sure thing, I’ll pass on the message”.
He grabbed the package, and went to turn away.
“Hey er. My friend was wondering also, how.. do you use it?”
Ryan scoffed
“Well, Usually you heat the stuff up and inject it. But this is pure, my stuff always is. You can just snort it. Just not like cocaine alright; little bits yea”.
“Alight. Hey-. Thanks”.
Ryan gave a nod and walked away.
Paul held the package in his hand, was a small bag, but must’ve been a decent amount, he knew Ryan wouldn't rip him off.
He made his way quickly up the stairs, package in his coat. Passing by the guard.
“See, I didn't take long!”
“Just get back inside would ya. Anything goes wrong, I’m responsible for you kids”.
Paul ignored the scolding. He was inside, mission accomplished.
It was late in the morning. But he was far too curious now to sleep. He sat on the floor, staring at the open bag. An instinct was holding him back, but his adrenaline was excited.
He took a little on his finger, slowly bringing it to his face, heart beating fast. He sniffed it up, tilting his head back waiting for a moment then WOA.
The rush was amazing. He felt his boy relax fully, slumping back against the floor.
He had no clue how long he was lying there for, but eventually the sun started shining through the curtain.
He didn't feel tired though he didn’t sleep. The drug had started wearing off, so that his thoughts could come back. He searched for the time, Mal would be here in an hour. He decided he could get ready now, no point getting into bed.
As the water hit his face he started feeling the brain fog crash down on him, feeling tired and uncomfortable again. Surely he would need another hit soon, if it wasn't going to last, and another throughout the day.
But he couldn’t be incompetent, he’d have to take smaller doses to still function, just more often.
So he got dressed, and stuffed the bag into his coat after taking another little bit out. It immediately felt better. He couldn’t move for a minute, accepting the rush of pleasure file through him.
He walked out the room, just as Mal was making his way to each room.
“Oh ‘ello Paul, good to see you up early”
“Morning Mal!”
Oddly cheery, Mal watched him walk off to the kitchen, it was nice to see McCartney return to his early bird self, so he shrugged it off.
The next few hours were quite nice, until he began getting restless. After an interview he noticed that the noise of a busy filled room was starting to give him a headache. He was crashing again, but how could he escape?
The constant staring was normal still, maybe even more so from the switch up in his mood, but he was already used to it. However, he needed to get to the bathroom quickly, praying it was empty.
*
He pulled out his bag, taking a small bit out. A process that he would repeat several times a day, for the next few weeks.
Paul couldn't get enough of the stuff. When he knew he didn't have to go anywhere, such as late at night, he'd maybe take more, riding the high out fully.
He hadn't thought about Mark for an entire week, or John, or his dad. One night he managed to get some clarity and wondered how things were going. Disillusioned by the drug, everything didn’t seem too bad. Since Mike hadn’t called, he believed it meant that his father was fine. It was a pleasant mentality. He was getting away with it, people thought he was getting back to his normal self, and all the issues from before just felt insignificant.
Days were far less longer, people seemed far easier to deal with. It was all like before. Bliss, as long as he was high. Whenever it was wearing off every part of him could feel it. If he got caught in a meeting, interview, or party, where the drug decided it had been long enough, his mood would switch easily. This was another issue for everyone around him. They had been getting used to walking on ice around Paul, who'd been spending the last month reserved.
But lately he had gone back to his usual self and was enjoying the routine. People finally felt relaxed, until he would act out again. It was a more confusing cycle than before. They couldn't predict when Paul would lash out or suddenly become irritated. One moment he was happy and laughing along, the next he would tell you you're an idiot and walk off.
However, Paul didn't notice the mood fluctuations, if he was getting irritated again, he would go take a hit, and he'd feel fine again, moving on with matters as before. Completely unaware that he was causing major concerns within the group.
“He’s going mad!”.
“It's honestly disturbing. I could deal with constant pity before, but now this is out of hand. It’s like we’ve got two Lennons now”.
“Yea, except Lennon 2.0 is the far more bipolar product”.
Both George and Ringo turned to John, expecting input, but he too was an enigma lately, growing cold, reserved”.
“What’d you think, John? Shall we go talk to him? We've left it too long, think there's seriously something wrong with him-”
“It’s not all about him you know! If hes got a fucking issue he should talk to us, we shouldn’t have to be some dopey twats that curl over to him whenever he’s had a bad day. We all have bad days, we just get over it”.
Clearly annoyed, he crossed his arms, looking down towards the table.
Patiently, Ringo decided to ask
“John. Is there something going on with you too? It’s pretty easy to see your upset. And if you believe that a person should speak up, now's your chance”.
Tongue caught, John continued.
“I just think Paul’s being too fussed over is all. He’s an adult, he makes his own decisions, and if he’s punishing himself for his mistakes then that's his problem. He seems fine anyway”.
George cut in “The guys not fine, John. By any means. Unless you’ve had your head in the sand, we’ve all noticed he’s got more unpredictable behaviour than you. It's unusual and we think it needs to be discussed. Even Brian has mentioned it. We can’t risk the split of this band because we're all too stuck up to help each other out”.
“The band's not gonna split! We’ve come too far for anything to happen. Besides it's my bloody band, and I'm not going anywhere, so anyone that leaves we’ll just get somebody else”.
“Wow John”, George scoffed.
Ringo said disappointed. “You know part of being in a band is getting along with each other. Considering you said we were brothers to you, this is low”. Ringo looked over at John sympathetically, “If you’re having a bad day, it’s not fair for you to take it out on us either, especially since you’re an adult and all”.
John knew he was in the wrong but didn't reply.
It was getting easier over the years to deal with a Lennon meltdown, most of it was just a personnel reflection, without any direct infliction to piss anyone off. Though, it was still important to remind John. He sat silently, confliction written on his face.
“What I’m saying, John, is that as a family, we help each other out. We work through problems together. Now I don’t go as far back with you as George or Paul, but I know you enough to understand some things about you. I know you’re troubled, And I’m not saying you’re less important, we care for you too John, and we want you to talk to us at any point, that's what we're here for. But as of late, Paul’s also the one who's been acting off, to the point we're genuinely concerned. You can’t say that you haven’t noticed”.
Ringo could see John agree with him, though he wasn't likely to admit it.
John, gave in to his stubbornness, “Well what are you gonna do about it then? You know he ain’t gonna talk”.
George suggested. “We need to talk to Brian”.