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It was cold. Thankfully, it had stopped snowing some time ago and they could finally go outside after being cramped up in the tiny hut for two days now. Still, it wasn’t what Bob had planned on doing when he had come to visit George. Instead, Bob had constantly found himself being dragged along with George’s band the last couple of days.
Got caught up in some kind of conspiracy or something that had to do with a group of people wanting to cut off Ringo’s finger at all cost. All that chaos because of a damn ring.
And now he was somewhere in the Austrian Alps.
They seemed to have got rid of their pursuers for the moment, which Paul had immediately seen as good enough a reason to stay where they were for a while (“A vacation can’t hurt any of us!”) and rent that damn hut. At least they had a stove and a big enough stash of hot chocolate to last them for at least a week.
When they had rented the hut from the owners of a bigger hotel nearby, it had at first seemed as though they’d have to sleep in the snow that night, only having British pound notes (and a couple of American dollars Bob had on himself) at hand. Thankfully some businessman in the lounge area of the hotel had been happy to exchange some money with them. Bob couldn’t believe the luck these lads had sometimes.
And now? He found himself with George and Ringo on either of his sides, hands up in the air as the lineup of the Beatles and himself let itself fall into the snow. Or rather, he let them let themselves fall and just. Let himself be dragged down with them. He really wasn’t sure how it had come to all this.
It was only a few minutes later, the other four were just a few meters away goofing around again, when it happened. Actually, it wasn’t a lot that happened- in fact, barely anything at all happened. He just took a step forward, considering asking George if they could go back inside again, when the ground beneath his feet suddenly disappeared and he sank down almost two meters. He had moved his arms up in surprise at the sudden drop, but hadn’t managed to utter a sound before his head was already covered by snow.
On the snow’s surface, the Beatles didn’t immediately notice the sudden disappearance of their friend. It was George who, after a few minutes, began to walk around in circles, eyebrows furrowed in worry, and started shouting. “Bob? Bob, where are ye?!” When no reply came, the other three, too, turned their attention to their missing group member.
In the meanwhile, Bob remained where he was. Not because he had extensive training in how to deal with avalanches and similar situations, nor because it was his only real option at the moment anyway. No. Bob Dylan simply had had his fill of this week and all of its happenings, and he really couldn’t care about doing anything about his current situation anymore. Leave it up to the lucky Beatles to find him. For all he cared, he could stay here for hours.
George was the one who spotted the dark top hat first. “Guys, it’s ‘is hat!” He waved it at the others. As they came closer, Ringo commented: “But it’s the same as yours, are ye sure it isn’t yours?” “Rings, he is wearing his hat right now, this has to be Bob’s.” Paul gave John a look. “Could be somebody else’s hat too, though. Doesn’t have to be Bob’s.”
George interrupted them by pointing wildly at ground, where, between a lot of snow, brown curls could be seen sticking out of the surface. “Oh my god, he got sucked under the snow!” They all immediately crouched down and started shoveling snow away with their hands. At some point Ringo moved forward a bit to dig more on Bob’s (assumed) left side and got a “For fuck’s sake!” in response. He hadn’t seen Bob’s fingertips poking out of the snow, too.
Bob really wondered what the hell the guys were doing above him and at some point, it felt as though someone patted his head as if to comfort him. In his view, he could still stay down here for a good long time in peace, but alas. Now they were talking and chattering above him, pulling on his arms at times as though that would do any good. Bob decided that the next time he’d visit George, he’d make sure to grab the man and go on vacation with him before things could escalate as they had done this week. Leave it to the other three Beatles to fix their weird fan problems.
On the surface, John got wondering. Bob wasn’t moving an inch as they kept removing the snow around him and occasionally testing if they could pull him out already. The man resembled more a stick than a person. John leaned over the already uncovered brown locks and whispered loudly to George: “Yer sure it’s ‘im?” He really wasn’t so sure what is was they were digging out there.
George gave him a scolding glance and kept digging Bob’s face out, freeing his nose so he could breathe properly again. “It’s ‘im, ye dumbass.” He looked at Bob apologetically, but Bob only continued staring at the wall of snow in front of him. George’s worried frown intensified again and he put a hand on Bob’s cheek. “Only a few more minutes, Bob, I promise we’ll have ya out by then.”
It took them nearly half an hour in the end till they had finally managed to pull a snow-covered Bob Dylan out of the meters deep snow, but at least he seemed to be alive and well and grumpy as always, which, for some reason none of them could quite fathom, sent them right into a fit of giggles. George was the only one of the Beatles not to end up rolling around in the snow, laughing at the absurdity of the situation, still embarrassed that he had managed to lose Bob in the first place.
He smiled sheepishly at the shorter man, who still hadn’t moved since he had put his hands down once he stood on top of the snow’s surface again. “Ye wanna get a hot chocolate now?” Bob glanced his way, facial expression unreadable, and wordlessly grabbed George’s collar and started pulling him along behind him toward the hut. Behind them, the others started laughing even louder as John jokingly commented Bob’s move with an “ooh-oh” and a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.
Then, a snowball flew and, while nobody knew who started it, all hell started to break loose behind Bob and George, while the former kept dragging the latter behind him with a tight grip on his coat, an unreadable expression on his face and a surprisingly steady pace for someone who only minutes ago had been stuck meters deep in snow.