Chapter Text
In a black abyss, John Lennon awoke, and realized he had forgotten where he was for a moment. The confused Beatle found himself staring dumbfounded into the void of no light, which encompassed his much smaller figure.
All the man from the 1960s understood was he was aroused by a pain he felt in his stomach, causing him to wake from a deep slumber. Upon lifting the lids of his sight, the musician discovered everything was dark.
John quickly learned that it didn’t matter if his eyes were opened or closed, nothing was visible to him.
In vain the Beatle tried to arise from the cushion which nestled the baby warmly, but the man trapped in an infant's body soon realized he didn’t have the muscle strength to do that.
Naturally, John attempted to speak, but only chaotic sounds escaped his toothless mouth. The articulate words developing in the man’s mind spewed from the baby’s lips in the form of wails and cries.
Desperate, the lead singer tried to find his limbs and move them, but he couldn’t get either of his arms or legs to work correctly.
“Awwww… Stephen.” Said the woman’s voice in the blackness of the night.
That’s when John realized his new mother was laying beside him on a bed the musician couldn’t see. The devoted maternal figure kept her babe close to her bosom and cupped the infant’s head while bringing it towards her chest.
Soon a warm nipple entered Lennon’s mouth. Or the babies mouth? At the moment it didn’t matter, as John noticed the pain went away almost instantly as he swallowed what shot down his throat.
“Will you take that thing out of here!” A man’s voice suddenly snapped in the darkness behind John’s new mother.
John felt an immediate dislike and fear when hearing the unknown person in the room.
Although the grown man from the 1960s was unfamiliar with the man in the room, the baby's body he inhabited knew it! It knew that voice very well, as the small body trembled with the grown man’s disgruntled complaint!
“Yes dear.” The mother replied to the masculine voice, belonging to her husband.
There was a little bit of moonlight visible in the room to John, as his devoted caregiver arose from the squeaky metal frame bed, all while still nursing her baby.
It was without a sound, except for the door creaking, the woman and child left the small bedroom, to the only other room of the apartment.
Once the woman lit the oil lamp, John could see the small kitchen with a simple two person eating area, combined with a parlor, all within the small space.
The open area with a large window lit up the section because of a streetlamp just outside the flat.
With a strain to his infant eyes, John could see the tiny kitchen. The simple room had the old water pump sink, from decades past. There was also an old wood burning stove, and John’s new mother lit a fire, which warmed the whole section. Including the parlor, which existed as one room with the kitchen.
While still feeding her baby, the Edwardian woman pumped some water in a kettle, and moved the iron pot to the stove.
A sigh of exhaustion escaped the tired mother’s lips, but that was her only complaint. In utter muteness she performed her task, with a compliant manner of the fate of her existence.
The man’s spirit residing in this unnamed woman’s son’s body, figured she was making tea.
After setting up the water, the lady carried John a few feet, and sat in the rocking chair, which the musician carelessly parked his arse in the coming decades of the 1960s.
Swinging back and forth, John’s new mother began singing sweet lullabies as she rocked her baby in her arms.
The grown man trapped in the infant's body found himself cuddling in her bosom, as she devotedly nourished him from her tit.
Soon the delicate feminine fingers played with the curling lock over the baby's brow. Warmly the mother smiled at her child, while doting over him so sweetly.
John couldn't help but find this woman to be a most loving and adoring mother he had ever seen.
With great difficulty, the modern man struggled to see the round silhouette of her face in the dim light. Everything was so fuzzy, the man longed for his glasses.
Yet, while straining himself to examine this woman, Lennon found he was able to observe the same features this lady possessed, just as before. He managed to see some semblance of her brown hair, tied in a braid.
Then there were her eyes, which drew both the man and child to fixate upon. The Beatle still couldn’t make out if they were blue or green, but her orbs of sight were wide, and the pair were intensely staring at him.
While studying this woman feeding him from her breast, John lamented about where he was.
What the hell happened? The Beatle thought to himself as he consumed the constant flowing of warm milk.
Could he have suddenly died in the smelly old antique store and somehow was reincarnated in the past? John wondered to himself, as another chorus of “Hush-Little-Baby” began from the mother’s lips.
This made no sense to the Beatle. He could still very clearly remember his old life but was fast learning about this new one.
He was John Lennon, leader of the Beatles. A household name, known around the world over.
Yet how could he be in the past, when the new life was supposed to be in the future? The Beatle wondered in silence, unable to articulate a single word.
Yet despite the musician’s limited communication, he felt strongly that he should be living on the moon with his futuristic family in the twenty-first century, not in some dark apartment from the turn of the dismal century where he was born.
As much as Lennon tried to think on what he used to know, the famous rock and roll star found himself drawn to the voice of his new mother, as she sang him those classical lullabies everyone knew.
The woman’s voice was obviously not trained, and clearly not show worthy, but in that moment it was the most beautiful music he had ever heard.
In this body that was true. She was this baby’s only link to the art.
Suddenly a tear escaped the baby's eye, but it was not from Stephen himself, but John. Here he had the opportunity to finally have a mother’s love. Isn’t that what he always wanted, but painfully could never fully have….
Until now?
Obviously, this woman wasn’t Julia, John’s real mother, who died when he was only seventeen.
However, this new mother of his was both sweet and loving. Clearly John has himself a very loving new maternal figure, devotedly giving him her attention, and doted upon him as if he were the center of her world.
But could he love her? Did he love her already? John wondered without a word, while being held in this woman’s arms.
Then suddenly the woman bent down her head and kissed the baby's brow. Her lips were like gentle feathers, but warm, and soothing.
This simple action caused a whirlwind within the Beatle’s soul.
Inside the baby, the man felt the intensity of her soft caressing lips. The infant’s entire body tingled with the kiss. At the moment, John’s soul filled with the feelings of safety and trust, which radiated from the very skin of this lady.
Good feelings came with this woman and that’s when John realized, he already did love this new caring nurturer, fate has somehow brought to him.
After the baby ate, the mother straddled John on her shoulder, as the woman paced in circles around the small room.
Then as she circled her way to the kitchen, the woman removed the kettle from the heat before it boiled. Right afterwards the mother carried her baby to a section of pictures on the wall.
With the light of the oil lamp, John’s tiny body was lifted up close to the wall, so he could see the photographs. The little black and white images were difficult for the newborn eyes to make out, but being so close to the wall, gave the baby, as well as John, a better view.
Staring at the first little photograph in the little silver frames, John could make out what appeared to be a baby. Then the next picture was of an even younger baby.
The third picture was of a box with something in it, but it was hard for the infant's eyes to make out right away.
As John struggled with his sight, he found himself able to focus just enough to make out the closest picture. To the man’s horror he saw it was an open coffin with a dead infant.
The image was grim, and terrifying to behold.
“This is your oldest brother” The feminine voice suddenly spoke.
“Robert Daniel Arnold Smith.” The mother added, while pointing at the picture of the deceased baby, surrounded by flowers in the frozen still image.
“He was born already in heaven.” She explained in a broken voice. As if the tragedy were recent. Then the mother brought John over to the second picture.
“That’s your second older brother, Benjamin Allen Michael Smith.” Her finger tapped the glass of the picture twice. “I had him for two months before the fever took him.” The lady’s voice uttered in a heartbreaking whisper.
Afterwards she brought her son to the third and final picture, in which John had the infant’s view.
“This is your elder sister,” The lady said, as her teary eyed became level with the frame. “Mary Catherine Louise Smith.” Was the name the woman spoke, of the gray tone daughter, standing on her own in the grim little picture.
“I had her just over a year, but pneumonia took her away to Heaven.” She followed, trying to hold back the streams of water pooling in her eyes.
There was a melancholy ring in her tone, which matched the shadows in the room, and the gray in the black and white photographs along the wall.
Soon John felt a hand cuff his tiny infant head. It was his mother in this strange mix up in time, grasping her child like mothers often do. Gently she cradled Lennon’s head, as she drew the baby near.
“Oh God!” The mother suddenly cried. “Please let me keep my Stephen James Owen!” She begged with her head angled at the ceiling, while she pleated with God.
John couldn’t see the woman’s face but could tell she was crying. Her entire life seemed so tragic; it was impossible not to feel her pain.
In an effort to comfort the mourning mother, John tried to kiss her. It wasn’t as easy of a task as the grown man was accustomed.
His little face became lost in her lose strains of brown hair, and the man discovered, the infant's mouth instinctively opened, like a reflex. So instead of a light kiss, the baby ended up just nibbling her ear. This caused his mother to lightly laugh. Possibly because he could be tickling her.
The woman pulled him off her shoulder, and held him at her chest, to gaze upon her sweet affectionate child. In a face drenched in tears, the mother smiled. Her wet round face leaned above John’s view, and then kissed him a few times.
“You are too good for this place.” She told her baby, cuddling him close.
Then John found himself carefully being laid down on the table. He was not expecting this, but he could do nothing but stare at the ceiling. Soon the woman’s fingers were carefully opening his nappy.
That’s when both the man and the infants body understood what was going on. John could hear the water, which was just heated up, being poured into a basin next to him. Taking a cloth, the tired woman proceeded to clean the infant in her care.
The warmed water she heated up, was tenderly cleaning the man inside a baby’s bottom.
There was never a cup of tea!
In the shadow of night, the mother patiently performed the unpleasant chore before the modern hot running water, the man trapped as a baby could recall having of his past life.
With a tired smile on her face, the Edwardian woman dressed her baby in the fresh cloth nappy, with all her attention upon the child.
Then she turned off the oil lamp, and carried her son in her arms, to the only other room in the apartment. John was already fast asleep before she made it back to the bedroom.