Work Text:
1961,
It had otherwise been a great night. Really. You had gone out with your great pals; John, Paul, George, Stu, and that Pete guy you never really talked to. Great fun! Until, of course, they went off to play on stage and you, and with your horrible singing and playing, went to the bar and watched- and immediately started pouring cheap drinks in yourself. And it didn’t take long before you were off your rockers, dancing along to the music. It was much more fun with the boys but given they were busy; you had to do so alone. And so it went for an hour of relative peace until, of course, some muppet opened his mouth, openly inviting you to connect your fist with his face.
What he said and what happened afterwards doesn’t bear repeating but here it is, anyway; it had started out mild. The guy and his four buddies made some crude jokes- whatever, right? Nothing you hadn’t heard before from John or the lads. But then they moved on to an entirely different subject- the band. Most specifically, Paul’s appearance. And you weren’t to take that shit, you weren’t about to stand there in silence listening to them saying just nasty things about your friend! So you poked the pug-faced lad on the shoulder, trying to be polite, you said; “guten tag, the band up there are my friends and if you don’t shut up or talk about something else and not about what you wanna do to my friend’s ass-” he interrupted you with a loud huff. “It’s none of your business what we talk about,” he crossed his arms and scowled at you. His buddies stepped closer to you and you swiftly ignored the loud flashing lights of danger danger in your head and took a step closer to the ringleader.
“Oh,” you laughed, “it’s very much my business.”
“Standing up for your girlfriend, eh?” He looked around at his friend, smugness written all over his face. You weren’t much impressed. It was a very lacking… insult, if you could call it that. But the environment was hostile enough for you to feel the hit of it. You looked around, laughing good-naturedly, seeing other patrons of the nightclub starting to notice something going on, and watched as his pals laughing faces turned to confusion at seeing your hearty expression. It served you well, their confusion, as it left them in a shocked state when you finally threw your first and entire body against every mother’s dream. You had hammered on the stranger for a good while before the background music drastically stopped and your arms were grabbed and bent behind your back by his yelling friends. You knuckle was bruised and bloodied and you choked on a chortle of spit as you were dragged away, seeing your new friend gurgle on his own blood. You heard the hurried tap tap of familiar boots and out of the eye saw your friends come running as you were dragged out the club by the man’s rather burly friend. You gave John, who looked well beyond furious, a lazy wave as the door closed on them.
The men had landed a couple of hits on you which amounted to… eights hits, you think. The situation wasn’t making math particularly easy. They all felt brand-spanking new, and you felt the skin of your lips rip and teeth… not feel very secure in your mouth. You really had landed yourself in a mess this time around! But you had managed to get some kicks and bites in before the door to the alley slammed open, revealing a huffing John and George, and Paul looking wildly panicked. Stu was… not there, nor Pete but whatever about him. John yelled out something nonsensical and went with the rest of the gang out and pulled off each their own guy, leaving one behind for you that you finally managed to bite hard enough for him to yell expletives and back off. He held his arm, looked rather startled, bleeding from where you had bitten, cursing like mad hell before storming back into the club, presumably back to his friend and whatever state you had left him in. You felt your body creak and body as you fought your way up from the ground; it was a lost cause, and you resigned to laying on the fantastically cool floor, watching your lads beating the hell out of the men who were slowly backing off and towards the club door.
“Bye,” your sang at them, voice cracking as you watched them retreat. The collar of your jacket was suddenly tugged violently upwards, and you met the face of a furious John, causing you to giggle nervously at his expression. You were in trouble. “You idiot!” He sneered and shook you madly, feeling as if you could hear something rattle inside your head in response. You heard Paul stammer in protest and felt John’s grip slip slightly as he stared back and forth between you and the guitarist. “He need help! Not to be shook,” Paul griped at John in a hushed voice while glancing towards the door. John groaned and gestured to George to pull you up and over their arms. The teen looked worse for wear, making a painful tinge of guilt make its way through your drunken state.
“Let’s get him to the Kino,” Paul said with a rather authoritarian voice and off you went. John weren’t exactly quiet on the way to the cinema and Beatle residence, giving you several synonyms for idiot- and he said he didn’t do well in school, please! You would’ve told him he wasn’t in any place to judge but… well, you would if you didn’t think opening your mouth would only make a cascade of blood and broken teeth. And… really, how would he react to such a judgement? In the mood he already was in? You huffed at the thought, and in reaction, coughed violently- making your friends stop against a cold brickwall as you coughed your lungs dry.
Paul tutted, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped your mouth as you stood in the aftermath, trying to get your breath back. You sighed at the feel of the soft material as he carefully wiped your face. The fine light blue cotton was splattered with dark red splotches and you muttered a painful apology at the sight of the lovely cloth being all but ruined. Paul shrugged and shoved it into the back pocket of his drainpipes. “It’s fine. You’re more important than some silly clothing,” he smiled, though it looked sad… or, rather, disappointed. Like he always looked at you or John whenever one of you (or both) got into a brawl. You looked at the last pair of the group and seeing them talking amongst themselves a small distance away from you, you motioned for Paul to come closer to you. “I did it for you,” you told him as if it were some great secret and his eyes widened slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but you got there first.
“No one talks about you like they did- not on my watch,” you leaned back again, inadvertently hitting your head against the hard brick. You watched him glance to John and George, like you had done moments prior, and now were the one to lean forward. “Thank you,” he muttered softly and before you could react, he leaned in a placed a soft kiss on your bruised cheek. “But stop getting in fights,” his face swiftly changed from gentle to stern. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt.” You nodded and carefully placed your burning cheek, feeling where his lips once had been.