Break Me One More Time [McLennon]

in which paul sings a song

      "You idiot," a cold voice spoke to Paul. "Paul McCartney, you complete and utter idiot! What were you thinking?!"

       "I have to go back," Paul said shakily, staggering to his feet and locking eyes with President Wilson. "Please, I've got to go back. He'll die — he's going to die! I have to go back now!"

      "Yes, he will," President Wilson said as calmly as he could manage. "He will die, just as he was supposed to. If you did not wish to face this, you should have let him die when he was supposed to!"

      "You never told me not to save him!" Paul said, willing himself not to cry — he couldn't cry, he knew he couldn't cry! Not now! "You never said I had to let Brian die! So — what? Am I just supposed to let him die? Am I just supposed to sit back and watch George die?! Am I supposed to let everyone except for John die?!"

      "You are supposed to do nothing without our explicit permission!" President Wilson bellowed.
   
      "I do not have to ask for your permission for every little thing I do! I have made changes without asking you, without you telling me to!" Paul yelled.

      "Paul," said a soft voice from the corner and Paul looked over and saw Barney, arms crossed and mouth curved downward into a tight frown. "Be careful," he mouthed.

       "Those were small things!! MINUSCULE things!" President Wilson screamed. "You could have ruined everything today! You do not stop someone from dying without our permission!"

      Paul shook his head slowly. "Please... He's my friend..."

      "No," President Wilson scowled and though Paul opened his mouth to speak again, President Wilson snapped his fingers and Paul was falling, soaring, and he slammed back down on the concrete.

       Blood. So much blood.

      "Brian," Paul murmured, reaching for his manager, for his friend, but he couldn't see — his vision was fuzzy and dark around the edges. "Let me save Brian, let me save him please..."

      There was another hand on his shoulder then and he flinched.

      "It's okay, Paulie," said a gentle voice, smooth and familiar.

       "John," Paul breathed. "John... Brian..."

       "I know, Paul," John said softly, pulling Paul to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

      "No... Brian..."

      "Can you walk?"

      "I — "

     "Paul?"

     "I can't see."

     "Okay," John said gently. He ushered Paul slowly back to the flat.

      When Paul's vision returned to him, he was on the sofa wrapped in a soft blanket with a cup of tea in his hands. John was beside him, both arms wrapped around his waist in a protective sort of way. George and Ringo were standing, watching him carefully with tears filled eyes.

      "He'll be okay, he'll be okay," Paul kept saying, over and over again.

     "Paul."

      "He'll be fine, he's okay."

      "Paulie, he's dead."

      "He's fine!"

      "He's gone, Paul," John whispered against Paul's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."