Chapter Text
And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"
***
If he was going to be famous, if fame was coming his way— he wished it would hurry up.
John didn’t think Elvis ever had to suffer through this. Sleeping in what hardly could be called a room, using the ladies' loos behind a cinema, never bathing. It wasn’t quite the luxurious lifestyle he thought he’d have as a rock and roll star.
John pulled up the Union Jack he was currently using as a bedspread. He wiggled his toes, willing them to warm up. His big toe found a hole in his sock and it poked through.
Great. This was my last pair without a hole.
He made a mental note to ask Paul to sew them up, he was the only one who could semi handle a needle and thread.
He scowled. He had momentarily forgotten part of his current annoyance was directed at Paul.
Paul, who had been acting like a twat lately, harping on them to change their set list, getting annoyed that they weren’t practicing, as if playing for hours every day wasn’t enough. And then there was how he was acting towards Stu. John knew Stu wasn’t the best musician, but he was a mate and just as important to the band as Paul was. But Paul didn’t see that. Paul used every opportunity to put him down—little digs under his breath, sending angry looks across the stage, whining that they weren’t sounding good, and it was all Stu’s fault. He even made Stu turn around during one song that he partially played horribly on, so the audience couldn’t see.
They’d all had short fuses lately. The nights were growing colder, their tempers wearing thin. They were all exhausted too, running on nothing but prellies and beer.
Earlier that evening, Paul had taken off right after their set. John hadn’t seen where he had gone but shrugged it off and went off with Stu.
“Paul’s staring at us,” Stu mumbled after taking a sip of his pint.
Oh, there was Paul. John looked across the crowded dance floor and met Paul’s eyes briefly before Paul turned away.
John felt a weird jolt as their eyes met at the intensity of Paul’s stare. They often caught each other’s eyes as they were playing on stage, but John had just brushed the weird feeling off as excitement from playing.
But to feel it now didn’t make sense. He pushed the thoughts away with another pull of his pint.
John didn’t see Paul again, too drunk and wired on pills to keep track of anything. John eventually found a willing bird and it had taken his mind off of things momentarily. He had stumbled back to Bambi-Kinos, the bird he was with opening a door, John not caring which room this was, they just needed a horizontal surface, didn’t matter where.
They fell onto a bed and John started kissing her neck and unbuttoning her shirt. Her hands were working away at his buckle and trousers.
“What the hell are you doing? This is my room,” said a voice from the darkness to his left—Paul.
“So, shove off if it bothers you. We’ll be done soon enough.”
The bird he was with didn’t seem to mind either, and allowed John to keep kissing her neck and taking off her shirt. T
He heard Paul grumble and a squeak of springs from next to him, Paul probably turning away.
Once they were done only a few minutes later, John sent the bird on her way. He left Paul inside his room—though that was being generous, it was much closer to a closet— but not before catching Paul’s eyes glaring at him as he closed the door.
John laid awake shivering for a long time that night.
***
John stared at himself in the grimy mirror in front of him. His hair was a limp and greasy mess and his eyes were bloodshot with big dark circles underneath.
He put his head as best he could under the tap. He tried to wet his hair and shape it into some sort of style, but it was not exactly an easy feat in a dingy cracked sink.
They couldn’t even have their own bathroom here, forced to share the ladies’ loo of the cinema. If they were properly famous, they wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of rubbish.
Paul was at the sink next to him looking more tired, but clearly still looking to ruin John’s day.
“I was thinking about our set list…”
“Oh bollocks to your set list, how are you thinking about that right now?”
“Hardly slept, did I? Mind was wandering.”
“And you were thinking about our fucking set list. Course.”
“We should swap out…” Paul stopped abruptly as the door opened and George and Stu stepped in.
It wasn’t the end of the conversation though. Once they were on stage and getting ready to start playing, Paul continued on.
“We should add that one you wrote, “One after 909.” Great one.”
“Yeah?” John’s previous annoyance at Paul disappeared in an instant.
Paul nodded. “Yeah. Let’s put it after “Long Tall Sally.”
When they got to the song in their set later that day, John caught Paul’s eye with a grin, Paul’s face mirroring his own.
But then that all went to shit—someone up there really had it out for John.
They were in the middle of playing “Rock and Roll Music” when Paul muttered something Stu’s way. Paul had been making little side comments the whole night, but John hadn’t really been paying attention. He had learned to tune them out at this point.
So John hadn’t heard exactly what Paul had said, but it must have been something that was truly awful or had been one too many because Stu threw his bass to his chair and leapt at Paul, who was seated at the piano.
John couldn’t believe it—usually even tempered Paul, polite Paul, best friend of Grannies and Aunties alike was out there on stage in a full on fight, pummeling Stu. Sure Stu had started it, but Paul sure had prompted it. John knew it was a long time coming and Paul was fighting back. He’d never seen Paul like that. He never thought they would actually physically fight.
It was over before it really could begin, he and George pulling Stuart and Paul off each other before they could do any real harm. But Paul did have some blood trickling from his nose, and Stu looked like he’d have a fat lip tomorrow.
John took Paul’s job momentarily and was their front man, putting on a smile and saying they'd be back in 20 as good as new.
“What the hell was that?” John yelled the moment they stepped into the wings backstage.
Stuart scoffed, tossing a cigarette in his mouth. “Talk to him,” he said, jabbing a finger towards Paul. “He started it.”
Paul grumbled and took off towards Stuart again, George easily stopping him once more.
Stuart just threw his hands up and walked away towards the stage door.
“He started it,” Paul spit out pointing towards Stu’s back as he left. “Come back here you bastard! Where’s my fucking money you owe me! You said you’d pay it back and—”
"That’s it, is it?” John cut across him, raising an eyebrow.
“What’d you mean?” Paul said cautiously, he froze as if he’d been caught.
“That’s the only reason you’ve been such a wanker towards him with your little biting snide comments..”
“Well you know he’s crap at the bass! But I wouldn’t punch him for it.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t have a go at me alright? Why don’t you just go after your pal Stu. He’s the one that started it.” Paul pushed against John’s shoulder as he passed.
“Well you know what?” John shouted out before Paul could leave out the same door as Stu did. “If you don’t like Stu you can just quit then.”
Paul turned back so suddenly, John was sure he was going to get whiplash.
“What? Quit?”
“Yeah! Stu is a member of this band and if you don’t like that then you can quit!”
The blood drained out of Paul’s face as he continued to stare at John. His mouth opened and closed stupidly, making him look like some kind of fish as he clearly struggled with what to say.
“We’re gonna be famous— I’m gonna be famous and I don’t need you. You can just piss off back to daddy.”
John was the one to walk away then, leaving Paul still ridiculously gulping like a fish.
***
They all came back together eventually to finish their set. Paul in full on pretend everything was fine mode—as if John hadn’t just asked him to quit. John hadn’t really meant it, but they had been stupid enough to get into a fight and they needed this job if they were to ever become properly famous.
“Hey fellas,” Paul said cheerfully as he came back from wherever he had fucked off to after the fight. Just like Paul to sweep the whole fight and John’s comment under the rug even with the evidence of it still obvious on his face.
No-one responded, and John just stared at him as he started tuning his guitar. He could see Stu glaring at him as well.
John knew it would be days before either talked to each other directly, before Paul talked to him normally too, but it was for the best.
John was perfectly willing to keep this arrangement as well and ignored both him and Stu. Even when John felt the weight of Paul’s stare when they were playing through “One After 909” again, he kept his attention on the blurry audience in front of him.
John was tired of this, tired of not sleeping in a cold, dark damp room in what really did not constitute a bed. Tired of dealing with the drama of his stupid band mates and friends. And just tired. He really did need a decent night’s sleep.
During their next break, John was falling asleep at the bar when someone nudged him. “You can’t sleep now.”
John groaned, struggling to peel his eyes back open.
Rolf, the bartender, was giving him a look. He was always John’s favorite, willing to lend an ear.
“But maybe if I go to sleep I’ll dream of being famous already. Maybe I’ll have a proper bath and a big house with an actual bed. Haven’t been able to sleep properly since I got here, have I?”
John continued venting to Rolf—about the whole fight, Paul, and how much work it was to become a proper rock and roll star.
Rolf just nodded through it all. And once John was done, Rolf held out his hand, prellies John assumed. They were the one thing that helped them deal, the staff at the Indra Club always passing them out like candy.
“Tonight, I found a special kind,” Rolf said, still holding his hand out. John tossed them back, washing them down with the rest of his pint.
Rolf grinned. “You’re in for a special night.”
John hoped so.
***
When John awoke the next morning the first thing he noticed was that he didn’t feel cold anymore. He also had a real pillow and a real blanket. His socks were solid too—no more hole for Paul to fix.
He opened his eyes slowly. He looked around slightly dazed as he took in his surroundings.
This was not his room.
It was too bright, light streaming in from the window behind him. And he was on a giant bed, with what looked to be a very soft flowery bedspread.
Those must have been some strong drugs last night — he couldn’t even remember going to sleep. Did he meet someone rich and go home with them? He turned to look and see who it was with, only to find an empty spot next to him, the covers thrown back.
John drew back his own covers and sat up warily, squinting as he looked around. This didn’t seem like any room he had seen in Hamburg. It was much bigger and grandiose. Who had he shagged last night? Next to the bed on his side, there was a pair of round glasses. He picked them up with a frown. They didn’t look like anything he owned and he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them out, he had barely even worn his glasses while they had been in Hamburg. But why were they on this side of the bed? John put them down with a jolt of realization in his stomach. This bird must be married, and those were her husband’s glasses. He had to get out of there.
John jumped out the bed, looking down at his clothes. He was wearing striped pajama pants and a shirt. He grew even more confused. He didn’t own pajamas like this, and even so, he rarely wore pajamas while they had been in Germany, usually crashing in his clothes from their gig or just in his y-fronts. It didn’t make sense that he would wear pajamas after a quick shag.
There was a knock at the door.
John jumped at the sound, but then froze in his spot not wanting to make a sound.
“John? Are you awake? Are you decent?”
John’s eyes widened. Did I shag a bloke? How does he know my name?
Well if he did, at least he was wealthy, given the surroundings. He also had an American accent. Had he met some sort of sailor? John racked his brain trying to remember the previous night, but all he remembered was hazy bits and pieces of their gig—maybe he had been drugged.
The man knocked again. “Yoko had an appointment but wanted me to remind you that the Tarot card reader is coming at 11. It’s 10:45 now.”
Who the fuck is Yoko???
John didn’t even know where to begin with everything the strange American man had said. But he finally decided that if he had shagged some sort of rich American sailor bloke, he might as well take advantage of it. Maybe get a decent meal out of it.
John walked towards the door and opened it slowly.
The American man was not there, but John put the strange man out of his mind when he saw where he was. He had opened the door to a very large room with a couple of couches, artwork, glass tables—his eyes were roaming to take everything in. Mimi would just about die, it wasn’t her style but she never would be able to handle the clear wealth that was in every corner of the room. When his eyes landed on the windows to the outside he froze. This was clearly not Germany. The windows were overlooking some sort of park, huge tall buildings were in view as well.
John approached the windows to get a closer look. Pressing his face against the glass, John peered all around, though it was hard to see things clearly without his glasses. But what was clear was that this was not Germany. What the hell had happened last night? Where the hell was he?
“Oh hi John, good— you’re awake. I have some tea for you here.”
John turned as he heard the same man’s voice as earlier.
A tall skinny man with dark curly hair appeared carrying a tray. He set it on one of the very delicate looking glass tables in between two couches.
John had so many questions running through his head, he didn’t know where to start— Who the hell are you? Where am I? Where are my friends? Where’s Paul?
“What’s going on…where am I?” He settled on after a few moments as the man set about preparing the tea.
The man frowned and looked up from the pot he was pouring. “Did you take something? You didn’t get anything from someone did you?”
John didn’t feel like he could answer truthfully. This man was a stranger and had possibly drugged him, he couldn't trust him.
John shook his head. “I’m not telling you that. I don’t know you!”
The man put down the pot and looked up at him with a sigh. “Who was your dealer? I told you, I’ll get what you want but you can’t trust that street shit!”
“What are you talking about? I’ve never spoken to you in my life!” John started to run for the door.
“No! John stop!” John had his hand around the door handle ready to get away from this strange man as soon as possible. “Just calm down. Let’s just talk. No need to leave.”
But John didn’t care, he needed to get out of here as soon as possible and find his friends and figure out what the hell had happened.
He turned the door handle and took off down the hall.
He got down to the bottom floor to find two men standing in front of the doors to the outside.
“Sorry Mr. Lennon, it’s for your own good. Dan will be down in a second to bring your back upstairs.”
But John didn’t want to go back up with Dan who was speaking nonsense like he knew him. He nodded hoping that it looked like he was going to comply.
The men backed away from the door slightly, giving John his chance. He pushed between the two men and opened the door and ran out into the street.
Well he definitely wasn’t in Germany anymore.
John stepped out of the building and his jaw dropped immediately. All around him was the clear hustle and bustle of a big city— people pushing past him quickly in both directions, tons of cars on the street in front of him honking as they went, even yellow taxis.
American accents floated past his ear as people went by, cars going the wrong direction on the street in front of him, New York license plates on all the cars.
He was in New York City.
John was standing there taking it all in, when he felt someone smack into him.
“Hey, watch it!” The man turned around to look back at John, and his eyes widened. “Oh! So sorry! You’re—You’re John Lennon!”
John just blinked at him. A woman who was passing, who must have overheard, turned to look at John as well. “Oh my god it is John Lennon! Can I have your autograph?”
These people knew him? How? Was he dreaming?
Ever since John had stepped outside, his heart had started racing, but now he was struggling even to breathe and his vision started to blur. He had no idea what was happening to him.
Through his panic, he felt a hand wrap around his bicep.
“Come on John, let's get you back home.”
John couldn’t do anything but allow himself to be dragged back into the building he had escaped from.
***
“We had to cancel the reading today. John’s not feeling well. You should probably get over here as soon as you can. I think he took something.”
John came to, and found himself back on the couch in the apartment. He heard the man from earlier— Dan , he remembered the security guards calling him—talking on the phone.
“I’m not sure. He had a panic attack and he’s resting now. Yes of course I’ll take care of him, but—okay. Yeah, see you later.”
John was staring up at the ceiling feeling worn out and numb, that had been a panic attack? He never had one before.
“How are you feeling, John?”
Dan had come back and was standing at the other end of the couch. John looked over to him briefly, but couldn’t even begin to answer that question, so he turned over to face the back of the couch.
“John, at least have some tea or water or something.”
“How can I trust you? You dragged me back here and I don’t even know you! Those people outside knew me too. What the hell is going on?”
“John, I've known you for years, you’re just not thinking clearly.”
For years???
“I just want to leave and find my friends. Where’s Paul, where’s Stu—”
“Paul. You want to speak with him?”
“Yes!” John turned and faced Dan again and sat up on the couch. Dan was giving him a skeptical look.
“Yoko said…”
“Look mate. I have no fucking idea who the fuck you’re talking about. I just want to speak with Paul!”
Dan nodded slowly. “Okay I’ll get him on the phone for you. But please eat or drink something you’re still looking pale.”
Dan gestured towards the table. “I brought you your glasses as well. You should put them on. I know you’re pretty much blind without them. That may help you feel slightly more normal.”
John would never be caught dead in his glasses, what was this man going on about?
“I’ll go try to get a hold of Paul. It’s a good time right now with the time difference.”
Paul must still be in Germany. Or at least he hoped that was the case.
John heard as Dan walked away, leaving him alone again. He knew it was pointless to try and leave again. At least now. And he was still in pajamas anyways, he realized looking down. He might as well stay and talk to Paul and hopefully things would start to make sense.
John squinted at what Dan had left on the table.
Next to a spread of tea and toast, were the round glasses he had seen in the bedroom. John could feel his heart beating as he picked them up again, a low swoop in his stomach. He already knew the answer but had to test out his theory anyways.
He slipped the round glasses over his nose and the whole world came into crystal clear view. They were his prescription.
He ripped them off and threw them to the floor. He didn’t need to see anyways. He didn’t often wear his glasses so he wasn’t about to wear creepy weird glasses that somehow were his exact prescription.
The anxious, panicky feeling in his chest was amping up again. He focused on the food that had been left. His stomach growled.
He knew it was a bad idea, but he probably had been drugged already, what more could the man do. And tea always did make him feel better.
John reached out and took the cup of tea, taking a deep sip. It had been prepared exactly to his liking. How did Dan know?
Just as John was digging into the breakfast spread, Dan returned with a phone on a long chord.
“Took a while to track him down, but I have Mr. McCartney on the phone for you, sir. Would you like to take it here?”
John nodded and reached for the phone, a weird model he had never seen with the buttons on the handset—it was just another thing to add to a very long list of confusing things that hadn’t made sense.
John shooed the man away and put the phone to his ear.
“Paul what the hell is going on?”
Paul sighed deeply on the other end. “John, I don't really have time for games today. But your assistant said it was urgent. So if I did something to upset you let’s just have at it.”
“My assistant?”
Paul was silent for a moment. “Yes, Dan. He’s the one who called me. John, what did you take?”
“I think it was some kind of weird sort of prellie. You didn’t have any last night did you?”
“Prellies? Going back to the good old days are you? No, I didn’t have any last night, haven’t touched those things in ages.”
“What are you going on about? I saw you take one a few days ago.”
Paul was silent again. “John, I haven’t seen you in months, mate. If you took something, Yoko or Dan could help you.”
John’s ears started ringing, his mouth dry. Months?
“Wait. You know Yoko too? Paul what is going on? I don’t know where I am, I’m in a strange apartment in New York. I think it’s New York? And people knew me when I stepped outside! I have an assistant and he knows how I take my tea. He gave me weird glasses that somehow have my prescription and—”
“You taking the piss?” Paul sounded properly mad now. Was he still mad that John had told him he could quit? John hadn’t meant it. Paul had to know that. He was always talking shite.
“I’m not sure what game you’re playing this week,” Paul continued. “But if you’re just going to piss about, I’m going.”
“No! Paul, I’m sorry about what I said last night, okay? But please don’t go. I’m so confused and I don’t know what happened. Where are you? I don’t know these people—”
John’s voice broke, his eyes stupidly welling up with tears.
“Last night? We didn’t talk last night..You’re sure you didn’t take anything?” He sounded less angry now. “Put Yoko on.”
“Who is that? I don’t know her!” John shouted in a whisper. He didn’t want Dan to come running. Paul would be able to hear the tears in his voice now. He didn’t care.
“Did something happen with you two?”
“What are you talking about! I told you I don’t know who you’re talking about!”
“Did you hit your head or something? Dan said you were a little out of sorts but..”
“I don’t know!” John knew he sounded hysterical now.
“Okay. Okay.. Let’s see…What’s the last thing you remember?”
John kept his voice down again. He knew Dan must be nearby. “Playing our gig last night, Rolf behind the bar gave me some weird prellies and I couldn’t fall asleep, though I must have because I woke up here.”
John was only met with silence on the other end. “Hello? Paul?”
“John…. that was over 10 years ago.”
The phone slipped from John’s grip. Did he have amnesia? How does someone just forget that many years of their life?
John picked up the phone again with shaking hands. “John? You still there?”
“I’m here. I’m just—” John didn’t really know how to describe what was going on. “What year is it?”
“1972.”
John almost dropped the phone again. He could feel the panicky feeling in his chest getting worse and worse like he had when he had gone outside. He could feel himself start to hyperventilate.
It couldn’t be 1972. There was no way.
“John you okay?”
“No I’m not!” John yelled, sounding hysterical. His heart was beating wildly and it was hard to breathe. Things were getting blurry again too.
“John. You’re okay. You’re okay. Take deep breaths.” His voice was fading out.
Paul’s voice was now nothing but white noise in the background now but it was soothing John nonetheless, calming him. A familiar sound amidst all of the confusion.
Next thing John knew, he still had the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder. Paul was singing to him, humming a tune he didn’t recognize. It was comforting.
“What song is that?”
“You don’t recognize it?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Well, are you feeling better now John? I think you had a panic attack.”
“Fuck.” That was his second today or maybe just one long panic attack. What was wrong with him?
John wiped his face clear of the tears he didn’t remember shedding “I mean I still am suddenly 12 years in the future in a strange place with strange people but sure I’m grand.”
“Just rest and I’m sure you’ll feel right as rain.”
“I won’t. I need your help.”
“How can I help you?”
“Can you help me make sense of all this? What’s even happened?”
Paul sighed. “You really don’t know do you?”
“No!”
“Okay, calm down..”
“Paul, you're the only one I can talk to.”
He was only met with silence and the faint sounds of a woman's voice in the background.
Paul cleared his voice. “Okay, John. Okay. I can help hold on a second.”
John wanted to yell into the phone— No Paul don’t leave me!
He was being so disgustingly needy but he couldn’t even begin to care, he just wanted Paul here with him. Seeing him would make things make sense again.
There was a noise like Paul was placing down the phone. “Sorry, Lin. It’s John..He’s…” It sounded as if Paul had put the phone down fully now and John couldn’t hear the rest.
Who was Lin? Who was he talking to? Was he married now? Did he have children?
A lot could have happened in the last 12 years.
After a few minutes John could hear the phone moving around again. John had so many questions, he didn’t even know where to begin.
“Paul who—”
“Sorry John, I gotta go. Bit busy around here right now.”
Busy with what? The more Paul spoke the more confused John was. He couldn’t go now! John was about to interrupt when Paul continued.
“But I can help you. I’m going to catch a plane to New York as soon as I can.”
“But, Paul—”
He heard the sound of a child crying in the background. “Gotta run. See you soon. Bye John.”
Paul hung up, leaving John alone once more.