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The songs were coming along nicely, all things considered.
Even with “little time” being added into his already busy schedule, George had managed to write a couple of songs to be proud of. He was finally finding his footing as a songwriter, as well as the messages he wanted to put out into the world.
He didn’t quite consider himself on par with Paul and John, separately or together, but he was getting close! All that was left to do was propose his songs to them, and secure a spot or two on their next album.
…Except his bandmates were stubborn gits.
“I just think it needs a bit of work before it’s Beatle-worthy, y’know?” Paul tried to sound friendly and placating, but it felt incredibly backhanded. “You’ve only just started after all.”
George never felt like an equal to them, but that feeling was amplified when they were in the studio. John and Paul were a close unit, and he would never be able to break in.
“Ye’re saying it’s shit,” George scowled, seeing through Paul’s people-pleasing facade. “Or maybe ye’re just greedy with yer fuckin’ A side.”
John snorted, finally joining the discussion while he mindlessly tuned his guitar. “Ye think that’s an A side? You’re mad, son.”
George flushed. “Maybe not, but it should at least be on the fuckin’ album!”
Despite clearly agreeing with John, Paul took a gentler approach. “Maybe for the next album, Georgie. We just want the best work you’ve got.”
Anger and indignation burned inside George. He knew his song was good enough, and he wasn’t backing down without a fight.
Ignoring the pit in his stomach, he turned away from the duo with a quickness. “I’m talkin’ with Eppy, then. He’ll give me a spot.”
A moment of silence passed— even Ringo stopped his constant tapping behind his drumset. George thought he had won until John began cackling.
“Brian? You think Brian has control over that?!” He doubled over, like it was hilarious that George even considered that would work.
“He’s- He’s our manager, isn’t he?” George shrank in on himself, suddenly feeling very aware of the eyes on him.
Paul cleared his throat to stifle his giggles, which felt equally as embarrassing as John’s hysterical laughter. “That’s not how it works here, mate. Brian answers to us, if anything.”
“And what, George? You’re gonna sway him with yer skinny arse?” John leaned back in his seat, his half-tuned guitar forgotten. “You wanna slut yourself out for a half-baked nursery rhyme?”
George could only blink, jaw clenched from rage. When he was seventeen, he would’ve taken a bite like that. Now, he stood up with a snarl.
“Like you did in Spain?!” He snapped, “Which song did you slut yourself out for?!”
John jumped from his seat, fists clenched like he was about to swing. “You son of a—“
Paul rushed between them, holding John back with a quickness. “Alright, alright. C’mon, lads, let’s cool it.”
George should’ve felt smug, like he finally won. He would have, if not for the look on Paul’s face. Utter disappointment, and mainly directed at him.
Why?! John started it!
Ringo made his way over then, joining Paul in an attempt to calm John. He didn’t spare George a glance, only lightly muttering to John to lighten the mood. John’s fists unclenched, so it appeared to work.. somewhat.
Still, he sneered at George. “Oughta take you over my damn knee, ye brat.”
Paul’s eyes widened impossibly. “Don’t even joke like that, John,” He pleaded.
“If he wants to act like a child, I’ll damn-well treat him like one!”
“Chrissakes! Enough already!” George Martin’s voice came over the speaker, irritated and commanding. They all froze, and George felt like the ground could swallow him up.
“All of you are being childish!” He scolded, absolutely fed up with their behavior. Martin was an understanding man, and certainly not easy to anger like this. They had truly fucked up. “Go home and work it out yourselves!”
It took a moment for them to gather themselves. George felt like a kicked puppy seeing Paul and Ringo comfort John when that bastard started it! But, in some way, he wished he could comfort John as well. He knew that Spain trip was a.. sore subject, especially considering that little incident at Paul’s 21st birthday.
But that didn’t change what John said to him, and no one was even acknowledging that! He worked hard and he deserved to put at least one damn song on the album!
Anger continued to bubble inside of him as they made their way out of the studio and to their car. George knew they wouldn’t let him drive, but he didn’t want to sit next to any of them either.
“I’ll walk home, I think,” He tried, weakly.
“What?” Paul turned to face him for the first time since the initial fight, brows furrowed.
“‘Said I’ll just walk home..”
“No, George, ye won’t,” Ringo said from the other side of the car, like it wasn’t George who could decide this.
At least he’d be sitting next to Richie, he supposed.
It was a miserable car ride, though. George was sat behind Paul at the driver’s seat, glaring out the window. He wanted to scream and argue, to do something to express his frustration and anger. Without anything to keep that flame alive, he felt himself dropping.
It started with a pang in his chest, a growing desire to apologize and get it over with so they’d look at him again.
He hugged himself tighter, lip wobbling. He wouldn’t cry.
But he was still mad! Why could John get away with saying cruel stuff to him but he got in trouble for the reverse?
They like John more than him, his mind supplied. Always helpful, that one.
He keeps his head down until they arrive at their shared abode, rolling to a stop. Paul even escorted John inside himself, leaving Ringo and George in the backseat.
George swallowed, sensing Ringo would surely say something by now.
“Go to your room, George,” He ordered, gentle but firm.
“Wha’-? But he-!”
“That’s not your problem right now, son. Go to your room and think about what you said.”
Now George really wanted to protest. This wasn’t fair! John was cruel, John threatened him! This isn’t nice anymore! Wasn’t being little supposed to be nice? They were supposed to take care of him!
He sniffled, but nodded and walked through their flat without taking his eyes off the floor. Though somewhat tempted to slam it, he gently closed his bedroom door behind him.
Was this it, then? He crossed a line and now they’re not speaking with him. John was always more important. He was the leader and George overstepped by daring to talk back. They hated him for talking back against the founder of the biggest band in the world.
He curled up on his side, at the far side of his bed. The tears were steadily falling now, and his throat hurt from holding back his cries. He pressed his face into the mattress, muffling a sob.
Maybe 20 minutes passed, maybe an hour. George wasn’t sure anymore, because his cries never calmed. But finally, someone gently opened his door.
George refused to face them.
“C’mon, son. Timeout’s not that bad,” Ringo joked, casually. He sat on George’s bed, startling the poor boy. “We just needed you to think about what ye-“
“Y’love Johnny more!” George gasped, shoulders shaking, “I know already!”
Ringo paused, and George hugged himself tighter. If they weren’t going to comfort him anymore, he may as well do it himself.
“Tha’s not true, Georgie..” Ringo started slowly, a bit of hurt in his voice. “We love ye both the same.”
“Yes it is!” George cried, huddling further away from the man. “He can be mean all he wants! ‘Cause ye like him more and ye don’t care about me!”
All of his anger was gone now, replaced by panic and despair. He had never felt so young when playing these games, always more comparable to a child. Now, he felt like a toddler throwing a fit.
“I needed you, Richie!”
Quiet followed his outburst, only his whimpers and sobs audible throughout his small bedroom. Part of him wondered if Ringo had left, but he hadn’t felt any shift from his bed. After what felt like an eternity, Ringo spoke.
“Can ye look at me, Georgie?”
He firmly shook his head.
“That’s alright, love. Can I hold your hand, then?”
George froze, that set of questions sparking a memory in his mind. Ringo had asked those same questions when they first discovered this little headspace of his.
He shakily reached a hand out.
And Ringo took it, rubbing soft circles on his skin.
“We’re not takin’ John’s side. Paul’s givin’ him the scoldin’ of a lifetime right now,” Ringo chuckled, scooting a bit closer to George.
“Wh- Why am I bein’ punished then?” George sniffled, slowly uncurling his lanky limbs.
“Ye still said some bad things, son,” Ringo explained. “Two wrongs don’t make a right. You know that.”
George did know that, but still.
“He shouldn’t’ve been mean first..” He whined, voice quiet. He rolled over to face Ringo.
“He shouldn’t have. You’re right,” Rich agreed, leaning back to see his boy. “But you shouldn’t have been mean back, Georgie. Not like that, at least.”
He really couldn’t argue with that, he knew that much. But he still felt.. wrong, scared, something.
“He’s not gonna.. um..” He trailed off, avoiding eye contact. “He said..”
Ringo looked confused for a moment, before it hit him and his eyes widened.
“Oh, Christ! He’s not gonna spank you, no!” He laughed, squeezing George’s hand. “Paul wouldn’t let ‘em, anyways. You know how his da’ was.”
George nodded, squeezing Ringo’s hand back. “…And ye still love me?”
Ringo’s gaze softened.
“Of course we do, Georgie,” He said, earnestly.
Ringo held his arms out as an invitation, and George simply couldn’t refuse a hug after a day like this. He whined and pressed his face into Ringo’s chest, sapping all the comfort he could from the man.
“L- Love you,” George murmured, tightening his grip on Ringo. “M’sorry, da’.. Love you, p’omise..”
Ringo scratched at his boy’s scalp, playing with his soft hair between his fingers.
“I love you too, Georgie,” He cooed, “Enough tears, love. C’mon now.”
Finally, finally, George began to calm. Soon, all that remained of his breakdown was an occasional sniffle. He still latched onto Ringo, though, but he felt like he earned it.
A soft knock startled him.
“Can we come in?” Paul asked through the door.
Ringo pulled away— ever so slightly, but George still whined. He gave the boy a questioning look, waiting for his approval. Wanting to get this over with, George nodded.
“Yeah, c’mon in!” Ringo called out.
Slowly, the door opened. Paul walked in, followed by a sheepish looking John. The former’s eyes softened when he saw the state of George, tear stained and exhausted.
“Oh, what happened, love?” He crooned, crossing the room to sit on George’s other side. “We didn’t leave you alone for too long, did we?”
George whimpered, pulling away from Ringo to reach for Paul. He needed both of them right now. Thankfully, Paul jumped at the opportunity to hold him.
He babbled softly, something that sounded like ‘mama’ leaving his lips. Paul just squeezed him tighter, humming a small tune.
“I’m sure you’ve got somethin’ to say. Right, John?” Ringo sat up to fix John with a look, keeping a soothing hand on George’s back.
Standing somewhat awkwardly, John cleared his throat. “George?”
Hesitantly, George looked up.
John looked like he wanted to run away, being so viscerally uncomfortable with the entire situation he had gotten himself into.
“I’m sorry.”
A moment passed. Paul cleared his throat, urging John to continue.
“I was being a dick. I mean, you were too. But it was me first, wasn’t it?” John rattled through his apology, fidgeting uncomfortably. “You know how I am. I say stupid shit before me brain catches up.”
George nodded, not quite trusting his own voice yet. Pleased, John continued.
“An’ you know I’d never hurt you,” He chuckled, humorlessly. It sounded like it pained him to even acknowledge what he said. “I promise I never would, George. You’ve- You’ve gotta believe me, mate.”
The desperation in John’s voice struck George. It was a pretty shit apology, all things considered, but.. that’s just John, right? He clearly meant it, at least, and waited patiently for George’s response.
George swallowed and tried to conjure the right words. It took a moment, with him being so deep in this headspace.
“M’sorry too, Johnny..” He began, figuring that was a good start. “I kn- know you didn’ mean it.”
“I didn’t, Georgie. I promise.”
“M’sorry I was mean,” George felt that same pit in his throat as he continued, eyes welling up. “Jus’ wanted you to like my song.. Shouldn’t’ve brought up B’ian, m’sorry..”
John’s frown deepened. “It’s not like that between me and him. It’s not, George.”
Jesus, he was still on about that?! The tears finally fell.
“I don’ care what it’s like!” George cried out, before being shushed by Paul. “I don’ care if either of you are queer. I just don’ want ye to hate me, Johnny..”
John practically drooped, eyes deep and sad. “I don’t hate you, Georgie.”
Slowly, he joined his bandmates on the little bed, squeezing next to Ringo, who happily moved over. He ran a hand through George’s hair.
“I’m a real prick, aren’t I?” He huffed a laugh, “I’ve never hated you, Georgie. You know that.”
George didn’t know that, but he latched onto John’s hand anyways, holding it close. The touch grounded him, especially being surrounded by Paul and Ringo as well. The comforting touches were all he needed, he thought. He could live the rest of his life right here.
John chuckled, scratching George’s scalp and earning a very purr-like groan. “We’re good, then?”
George nodded, leaning into his touch.
“Good,” He mumbled.
“Good,” John repeated.
“…Does this mean I can put me song on the album?”