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Paul was too polite to really make a fuss about it, but if given the chance and the right motivation, he’d like to tell whoever was in charge of organising this entire operation where to shove it.
“Oh, lovely, skipping class again, Johnny,” Paul sighed as he saw John light up a smoke and head in the opposite direction of the Liverpool College. For someone as smart as John, he sure had a knack for avoiding his education, but Paul figured John would learn one way or another what was best for him; if he wanted to be a bum, all the more power to him.
At that thought, Paul rolled his eyes at himself—who was he, Mimi?—and followed behind, keeping an eye on whatever objects came John’s way. Nothing was likely to happen so early in the day, speaking from experience, but he still made sure John got all the way back home untouched. As John opened his front door, taking advantage of the fact Mimi wouldn’t come back before he was due back, Paul passed through the brick wall and watched John make himself comfortable, and soon they made their way to John’s room.
John had gained a reputation around Heaven’s circles, after the third angel in John’s lifespan had quit and begged for a different ward, as one of the “tough cases” nobody really wanted to deal with. Paul, based on the chain of command, had ended up the prime candidate. However, he couldn’t help but feel John’s flaws had been greatly exaggerated.
John could be an utter prick of a ward sometimes. He was largely unaware—as per Paul’s doing—of the amount of danger he attracted all too often—he enjoyed provoking people and drinking himself silly a little too much, then setting out on his own, and he was a half-blind bat who had a hard time seeing in daylight, never mind his favoured night time—and Paul had lost count of the number of times he’d had to work his way around their surroundings to make sure John stayed alive. He couldn’t imagine how John must have been as a child, since Paul had only become his guardian angel a couple of years ago.
It was certainly heavy work, but John didn’t set out to make his life harder—he was mostly inattentive and had a slight macho attitude of “what could possibly happen to me?” but he didn’t really want to be in danger, Paul knew. He just took it in stride by now. Paul had learnt a trick or two on stirring John, just a nudge in the right direction, he never even noticed the hands of fate guiding him away. Paul found it even fun sometimes—John could get himself into some fucking mad stories.
His job could be a lot worse. He mostly just hated having to be here.
As Paul gazed at the fairly cloudy sky through John’s window, he noticed John pull out the small notebook he liked to carry around from his night stand drawer and sit on his bed, so he moved until he was in front of John, bending forwards and looking from above as John wrote—he was adding another story, this time about a three legged cat, complete with wobbly drawing and everything, making Paul smile. Paul loved hearing John’s wicked stories from when he figured no one was actually listening to him ramble to himself—his sense of humour was pretty unique, and had pulled more than a dozen laughs out of Paul. That’s why Paul knew that, if John really put his mind to his writing and his playing, he would never be a bum. He’d have adoring fans who’d dig every crater looking for even the most obscure b-side, much like John himself did with his idols.
He was really glad too when John eventually took out his guitar and started playing. Paul was hungry for music—ever since he’d become a guardian angel, he couldn’t attend any of St. Cecilia’s concerts, which truly bummed him out—she played a mean organ. Paul had even learnt a few instruments with her and her angels, was practically inducted into her group, but Heavenly Bureaucracy dictated he had to be a guardian angel and so he’d been sent to Earth to care for other people—which he liked well enough, but he really missed playing with others. It was one of the reasons he’d taken to John well in the first place. John was bloody good, much as Paul had had to slightly nudged him away from banjo chords at first to real guitar chords, but John learnt fast. Paul couldn’t help the surge of pride whenever John incorporated everything he’d been indirectly teaching him to his songs. It probably wasn’t proper for the angel to take credit for their ward’s progress but John had really started to grow as a musician coincidentally at the same time that he had arrived. Heavenly Bureaucracy didn’t need to know.
Much as Paul couldn’t actually play with John, seeing as John couldn’t see him or really hear him, in a way, all the small melodies he brought up got to John anyhow. He made confused faces sometimes, his bushy little eyebrows crushing together, as he made notes of something suspiciously similar to what Paul had sung next to him, like he knew, on some level, he hadn't come up with them. Paul felt content enough being his sort of muse.
“Up to your standards, Tim?” John said as his cat sat next to him, looking at his wrist moving with every strum. Sam soon joined in and John now had an entranced audience of two, not counting Paul. Surprisingly to him, the cats always avoided the place he was at. They didn’t seem to mind him but they also never let him “pet” them, unlike with their owner, who had stopped his song mid-way through to run his hand through their fur and make baby noises at their purring, scratching every place he found until the cats turned on their backs, leaving their bellies wide open, something John took full advantage of. Paul couldn’t help but chuckle at just how cute John could get with them—it was a side he was rather in a fortunate position to witness, since the cats were possibly the only ones who saw it, and maybe occasionally Mimi, technically speaking. It’d become even rarer after Julia’s passing, so Paul drank the sight of it as long as it lasted.
When John returned his hand to the guitar, Paul couldn’t help but notice the strings had gone a little out of tune so he nudged John to tune them again, unbeknown to John. It was all going as it should when the high E string snapped in the blink of an eye, startling them both. “Bloody hell,” John said in frustration.
“Don’t worry about it, John. You can buy new ones tomorrow when you do the groceries like Mimi told you to for the third time,” Paul said in a lazy voice to John, who nodded yes in reply, unthinkingly. Whenever music was involved it was getting increasingly common for John to respond without realising, and Paul wondered if he should maybe talk about this with the big people up there. He enjoyed having a semi-conversation with John—the job was boring otherwise.
He moved out of John’s way—nothing necessary, being incorporeal and all, but he preferred to play along—when he got up to put the guitar away, luckily before Mimi’s shouting voice calling for John made its way to the room.
***
While Paul had been put on the job just after Julia had gifted John the guitar, meaning he hadn’t really been to music shops with John often, he didn’t remember seeing this one before. The pristine-looking paint and warm interior seemed to suggest it was brand new but there was something... off about it.
It was unlike Paul to have such a hard time putting his feelings in words. It was his job to know what he thought was wrong, else John would end up decapitated by a tree branch or a runaway frisbee. It was unsettling.
Of course, John’s feet started moving quite happily into the shop. Paul couldn’t go against John’s will and forcibly drag him away without a strong enough reason, so he ended up forced into the shop despite his gut feelings.
The interior looked completely normal—various instruments surrounding every wall, one or two pianos in display, the counter surrounded by minor accessories—but the shivers down Paul’s spine only increased in intensity with every step further in. It looked warm and welcoming but Paul just felt cold and like every bit of his holiness was being sucked out. He wanted to leave now. John needed to leave now.
“Hey, John... maybe you should just walk a little longer to that other shop… or wait for a better day...” Paul voiced his concern even if John wouldn’t be able to listen as he continued towards the counter. He looked around for an assistant but no one was around, and no one seemed to be coming either, which only made Paul more nervous, though that was conceivably normal. Humans maybe thought he was being paranoid but being paranoid was basically Paul’s duty.
John turned around while he waited and looked at the guitars hanging on display, no doubt dreaming about getting his own electric guitar. The Quarrymen didn’t earn a lot—yet; they had the potential, Paul was certain—so it was a distant dream still, but Paul wanted John to have dreams—he wanted to make them come true, and helping him improve his songs and his playing was the closest he could get.
“Hello! How may we help you?” a sudden voice said behind their backs, startling them both. John shook his surprise quickly but it only made Paul more nervous—he should have been completely alert to someone approaching them. Why hadn’t he noticed him?
“Uh, yes, I was here for new guitar strings,” John replied.
“Oh, yes, we have a large variety on offer. What string were you looking for?” the rather tiny man asked. He looked normal enough, in his suit and tie, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he moved about searching for the high E strings, but Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong about him. He had a sort of halo around him that Paul couldn’t describe in any positive light and he kept glancing towards... Paul, not John. Paul’s breath stuttered. Could he see Paul? He should not be able to at all. No one should.
“John, we can wait for strings a little longer, don’t you think? Please, let’s go,” Paul insisted, hovering agitatedly next to John.
John obviously ignored him but Paul could sense a growing anxiety in the way John tapped his fingers on the glass display and the way he shifted about. Maybe if he could push him a little more…
“Here we are!” the little man said as he came back. “We hope these are to your liking, they are a very special kind. We’ve been told they can never snap. Of course, that would be impossible but it’s a good selling technique, wouldn’t you agree?”
The small smile on his face grew larger and more chilling, and when he looked Paul in the eye defiantly, he knew they needed to get the fuck out. In his increasing desperation, he did what no guardian angel should, and grabbed John by the arm, practically announcing his presence. “John, come on…”
John frowned in confusion and Paul could feel the shivers his heavenly touched produced but it seemed to do the trick—John quickly paid for the strings and walked out the shop.
“We hope you have a good day!” Paul heard a sudden dissonance in the clerk’s voice, and put all his strength in pulling John away as fast as he could.
***
“So, from the top again, right?”
The Quarrymen set off once more and Paul was relegated to watching from the sides as John howled the group’s newest addition to their act. Unfortunately for Paul, he never felt like he should interfere directly with their rehearsals—surreptitiously slipping new chords and new melodies to John in private was all fine and dandy but he felt like he shouldn’t meddle with John’s leadership right in front of everyone else—which meant a lot of sitting and listening—a lot of silent complaining about things they were doing wrong—otherwise known as his nauseatingly boring every day. At least when John got into trouble he had something to do.
Today he didn’t have all that much time to be bored, though. There was something wrong with John, Paul was sure. There was something in the way he’d been playing his guitar lately that struck Paul’s eye as… odd. It wasn’t really out of the norm for John. It was just this... frenetic atmosphere that surrounded him now. The stuff they played was meant to be high-energy but… Paul wasn’t sure yet.
Paul’s eyes drifted once more to John’s jumping form as he played with all his soul. He was shifting from foot to foot much more energetically than some silly rehearsal called for, like his feet were stepping on hot coals, and his red cheeks made him look feverish. Even the other Quarrymen were giving him strange looks.
He continued his intense playing until they hit the bridge, and before anyone could have seen it coming, John launched into this absolutely insane solo that just… sounded fucking amazing. His melody was unlike anything he’d been playing since Paul had arrived, really blues-y, and the way his fingers moved around the neck in quick, sure movements, like they were walking old familiar paths, was impressive, beyond masterful.
It wasn’t long before the others lost track of their own parts as they took it all in, same wide eyes and open mouths as Paul. He couldn’t understand where John had pulled this from. It was so intricate—when had John played like that before!? Paul was with him literally every second of every day, how—!?
"Ooh!” John shouted as he finished his improvisation, turning round with laboured breath and laughing at everyone’s shocked expressions. “That was incredible.” He gripped the guitar’s neck and looked down in amazement, a grin breaking out. He glanced at his friends again—John looked intoxicated, absolutely mad glimmer in his eyes. All Paul could think was how in the fuck—!?
John howled in delight and put his fingers back in position. “Shut your gobs, before the bats start putting up pictures in there. From the top, fellas!”
***
If Paul hadn’t been sulking about not knowing where John’s improved guitar chops had come from, he probably would have realised what was happening a lot sooner.
As soon as Mimi had said she was stepping out for a little while, John leapt to his guitar, like a thief at the chance of escape, and not even checking to see if he had to adjust anything, he just kicked off, careless in his energy but never missing a beat. Not a single one.
Paul grumbled and looked away—he didn’t foresee this sour feeling crawling out from under his skin in the near future. How had it happened? When did John gain the ability to get out of his sight to learn to play like this? Honestly, it wasn’t even that John had improved overnight, even if it was a little weird, but that he sounded so different from the style John had somehow developed with Paul! What about their thing!? It bothered him that it was as if Paul hadn’t helped at all, and a little guilt crept up his body for that because was it even a bad thing if John could play like that? He’d surely become a famous star with skills like those, every group in Britain would beg or kill for John’s support, he could be as picky as he’d like, maybe even Elvis would call—
A sudden jarring dissonance molested Paul’s eardrums and brought him out from his rambling thoughts. Not from out of tune strings—it was more like there were two guitars playing at once, a strange second melody parallel to John’s in a very off-putting interval. It seemed only Paul could hear this as John, who would have noticed such a change—he'd got much better at detecting these things—did not.
Speaking of who, John was not looking good. He was drowning in sweat in under five minutes of playing, his hair dripping all over, and his arms were in constant motion, never once stopping despite the visible strain it was causing. And that’s when Paul saw it—the thing that had been creeping him out was no other than a ghostly figure right over John, its foggy claws gripping John’s wrists and fingers, completely in control of the music.
"What the fuck!?" Paul screamed at the creature. “Let him go!”
“Oh, baby, we’re never stopping,” it drawled joyfully. “I finally found a young player that can go all night long. You should see the potential this kid has, together we can conquer every stage in the world.” The shadow only became more tangible with every word, and John was becoming more visibly afraid, his eyes blown wide and a whimper escaping his lips.
“What’s happening? I want to stop, please!” he cried desperately.
Without even thinking about it, Paul threw himself at John, tackling him to the ground and dislodging the guitar from his grip. It didn’t go far, merely tumbled to the side, but Paul took John’s hand and pulled him away quickly, moving closer to his bed.
“Where the fuck did it even come from!?” Paul yelled.
“Holy shit!” John gasped and squirmed away from Paul, which was just fucking great. “You’re the voice!”
Paul sighed in frustration at his inopportune timing—if there was ever a time John had to know of his existence, this was not ideal—and turned to him quickly, wasting no time in comforts. “I suppose I am, and much as I’d love to talk more at length, we have a small situation here.”
“Who are you?” John said, completely ignoring him.
“I’m your guardian angel and I’m a little busy at the moment,” Paul said pointing at the still very present shadow slowly making its way to them, the guitar thumping on the floor with every shuffle it managed. He needed to think fast—how could he get rid of that thing?
“I reckon it was that fucking music shop, with that creepy old man,” John whined while his eyes were fixed on the guitar, apparently unaware of the large demonic shadow coming from it.
“Then why did you buy the strings anyway?” He knew he shouldn’t have let John in there.
“I wasn’t going to walk a mile to the next one, I was already there!”
“And now we’re dealing with this!” Paul yelled as he pointed in the direction of evil. “A shadow that likes playing guitar too much!”
A much harsher thump on the floor brought their argument to a halt, and they sprung on their feet again, getting more distance from the thing, which made a turn towards them.
“How do we kill it, d’you think?”
“We’re not breaking my guitar, it’s my mum’s!” John said, his stance becoming defensive, and he had a point—Paul would never break something from Julia. But…
“Then what? There must be something!”
“I bought strings there, maybe if we cut them—”
“Gear, have any wire cutters on ya?”
“Of course I do.” John skillfully evaded the limping guitar and opened one of the drawers from his nightstand, grabbing a green wire cutter and waving it at Paul.
“Since when do you keep a wire cutter in there?” he asked, baffled at the turn of events.
“Since I had things to hide from Mimi,” John said as he made his way back to Paul’s side, handing him the cutter, which slipped right through his fingers to the floor. John picked them up and tried again to the same result. “Take the stupid thing already!”
“I’m not solid!”
“Then how did you grab my arm!?”
“I don’t know, I just did!”
“How bloody convenient!” John yelled and unconsciously moved in front of Paul, which unfortunately was right in front the cursed guitar too, and the shadow grabbed hold of John once more, chaining itself to his body and squeezing.
“John!” Paul cried, looking around for that cutter. He found it quickly—it had fallen from John’s hand in the shock—and this time, somehow, he could hold it.
“Rock around the clock, babe!” the shadow screeched, its voice becoming that same dissonant tone he’d heard before, and its claws dug deeper into John, breaking the skin of his arm, a red drop trickling down, highlighted in the contrasting white.
It happened in a flash—Paul kicked the guitar against the wall and away from John—sorry, Julia— the shadow lost some of its grip on John, and Paul’s cutter swiftly made its way through every string, the shadow becoming nothing more than smoke with each cut, but not without one last dissonant screech to be remembered by.
The room was finally silent. John and Paul stayed staring at the place where the monster had vanished, gasping for breath, stunned out of their wits. That is, until John looked up and still saw Paul.
"You're me guardian angel, then?"
"Yeah."
"Where were you this whole bloody time!? I was about to get murdered!"
Paul’s jaw dropped and his brows furrowed, astonished at John’s ungratefulness. "I saved you!"
"It’s your job! Here’s a medal for doing your job! And if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have known what to do!” John yelled. “Did you have to kick the guitar too?” He grabbed the slightly battered but no longer possessed instrument and hugged it like it hadn’t been about ready to enslave him two seconds ago.
“I save your bleeding life for the twentieth time and this is the thanks I get! Ungrateful git,” Paul grumbled and started to wonder how to become invisible again.
“Oh, come off it! I’m hardly in danger, in fact, far as I’m concerned, this is the first time you’ve ever saved me,” John retorted. He looked at his mildly bleeding arm. “And did a shoddy job at it, too.”
Being a guardian angel had suddenly become even more unappealing.