Work Text:
Camping sounded like a good idea from the start. What better way to bond with your friends than to force yourselves to sleep in a tent together and live off of mere rations for the weekend.
And although princess Paul was having none of it, the other three Beatles were very excited about it. Especially Ringo. He’d spent the week before packing his clothes and planning out activities to do, and George found it absolutely adorable that his friend was getting so into it.
Because of that, Paul sucked up his fear and decided he might as well make the most of it.
The first day they got there, Ringo dragged them all on a four mile long hike, which none of them even wanted to do, but they ended up having a lot of fun.
When they were back to the campground, Ringo headed off to the toilets with Paul. He let his friend go first, and when Paul was out, he slipped inside and saw the toilet rising up off the floor, but it opened into a giant pit in the ground.
He stared at it for a few seconds, not sure he could go in this. He pulled himself out and aimed at the hole, but nothing came out, and eventually he gave up and went back out to meet Paul.
They walked back to the campground where George and John were starting on dinner. George had a big smile on his face as he held up a pitcher of what looked like lemonade.
“I made lemonade, you guys!” he said happily. “Do you want some?”
Ringo wanted to say no, because if he couldn’t use the toilet, he’d at least have to limit his liquid intake. But he knew he’d have to drink something or he would get dehydrated.
“Richie, please? I worked so hard on it.”
Then George looked at him with his puppy dog eyes. “Yeah, I’ll have some.”
George poured him a tall glass and handed it to his friend. “Paul? You want some?”
“Of course, Georgie. I love your lemonade.” He took his glass and started to gulp it down.
As time went on, Ringo found himself becoming more and more desperate for the toilet. But every time he went, he found that nothing had changed, and he still couldn’t will himself to let go.
And every time, he walked back to the campground with a heavy bladder, every step threatening to force it empty. But he said nothing, hoping it would just go away.
Late night came all too soon, and he was getting more and more worried. They only had two sleeping bags. One for John and Paul and one for him and George. He really didn’t like sharing, but it was a very cold night, and he would freeze if not.
But as soon as he snuggled up with George, he felt that if he wasn’t constantly thinking about holding his bladder, it would empty itself. And there was no doubt what would happen tonight if he didn’t get up right now and take care of it.
But he couldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t work out. So he fell asleep, ignoring it the best he could.
-
When he woke up, George was still peacefully sleeping next to him, but John and Paul had gotten up and it was already light outside. The drummer shifted around and felt the wetness underneath them both that he expected and tried his best to hide his tears.
He could always get up, but there was no way that he could clean it up without George knowing. He had soaked him, too, so it would be no use even trying to hide it.
He started to shake the guitarist awake, waiting nervously as he opened his eyes.
“God, Richie. You could’ve just let me sleep, yeah?” Then he looked around them both. “Is It day? How late is it, my god!”
Ringo took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But I’ve… oh, god…”
In seeing his friend so distressed, George furrowed his brow. “Rich? You alright?”
“I’ve wet myself, George. Last night, I wet myself. And I’ve ruined the sleeping bag and both of our clothes, and—“
George put a finger over his mouth. “Hey, hey. Calm down, love.” He undid the sleeping bag and saw what Ringo was talking about. “Oh, you haven’t ruined a thing. It’s alright.”
Ringo snivelled. “Oh. O-okay. I’m sorry.”
George got out of the sleeping bag. “It’s fine. Why don’t we go get John and Paul?” As soon as he mentioned it, he saw Ringo tense up. The two of them seemed to mess around with him a lot. “I’ll tell them it was me. It’s alright.”
Ringo nodded reluctantly, getting up out of the sleeping bag, and George unzipped the tent, causing both John and Paul to look over at him.
“Hey, do you think they have some sort of washing machine here?”
“Erm, I think there was a laundromat up at the clubhouse,” Paul replied. “Why?”
George looked down at the ground. “Erm… no reason. Just wondering.”
John glared and then started walking over to the tent and unzipped it all the way to be sure they weren’t shagging or something. But then he saw their pants.
“I’m sorry,” George said in a rush of words. “I wet myself. I don’t know what happened…”
But John saw the way Ringo blushed, and he knew that George was lying.
“Do you need any help cleaning up?” Ringo shook his head quickly.
“No! We’re fine!” he blurted out, and George couldn’t even argue before John zipped the tent back up. He looked over at Ringo, who looked away quickly to avoid George seeing his red eyes.
“Richie? What happened?” he whispered gently.
“I can’t use the toilets here,” he confessed. “I tried, but I just can’t.”
“Why didn’t you just tell somebody? You know we would’ve helped you out!”
“You couldn’t have! You can’t change it!” George gave a weak smile.
“Richie, they have actual toilets up at the clubhouse. We could’ve just walked you up there.”
Then Ringo got quiet. “... Oh. I’m sorry..”
“It’s alright. Just… tell me next time you have to go, and we can go on up there, yeah?”
He nodded. “Okay. Th-thanks.”
“No problem. Now let’s get this situated.”