Sanctify | The Beatles

INTRODUCTION

Author's Note - The song isn't exactly connected to this story, but it's sort of close to some themes. And I love it's vibe and I love Nicole Dollanganger lol.

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"Blessed are the destroyers of false hope, for they are the true Messiahs - Cursed are the god-adorers, for they shall be shorn sheep!" 

Anton Szandor LaVey, The Satanic Bible

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The smell of internal organs and rot fill the tiny room. Ringo clings closer to whoever's nearest, petrified eyes peeking up from his shaking hands. Paul tightened his grip around Ringo's shoulders, shaky breath pouring from trembling lips.

"We're gonna die," George choked out, as if the words were barbed wire huddling up in the flesh of his throat. Blood dripped down his face, and Ringo wasn't sure if it was from a head wound or the fresh bodies swinging above their heads. "We're gonna die and it's all my fault-"

"Don't say that." John was in the opposite corner, voice unsteady and scratchy and head against the wall. "I planned the whole fucking thing, if it's somebody's fault it's mine."

"This isn't about the fucking trip anymore, Lennon." Paul hissed, and Ringo was relieved that it was indeed his body he was laying on. George started trembling, burying his face in what was left of his shirt. " We all wanna live."

"Tell that to the fucking cultists outside."

"C'mere Geo," Paul patted the space beside him, the younger boy practically hauling himself there.

Ringo shifted in his seat to make room for George, all of a sudden feeling white-hot pain bursting in his foot. He tried stiffling the sudden cry that threatened to slip out and bit down on his fist. All the adrenaline was gone and his body felt like it was about to crumble into dust.

"John," Ringo beckoned, extending a muddied hand towards the exhausted boy. John closed his eyes, and Ringo's mind drowned with anxiety- with the way he laid against the wall so still and statue-like, John looked dea-

The sound of metal scraping sent sudden chills down the boys' spine. The slide of it against the ground slit Ringo's eardrums and made his teeth ache. Tears stung his eyes, and he shut them tight lest it would escape suddenly. He can't let the others worry about him more than they are doing already.

John took in a sharp inhale of breathe and grabbed Ringo's hand instead. The hiss of metal faded in the distance, and he scooted closer towards his friends. He buried his face in Ringo's neck, mindful of his foot. The small sense of safety humming in his chest was enough at that time, where the four of them were being hunted by people. People who were more like wild dogs with the way they snapped at their heels.

Paul turned his head to his left, breath catching in his throat.

"He's sleeping," Paul whispered, voice filled with surprise and sadness. George looked younger as he slept, his eyes closed and mouth slightly parted. He looked so precious amidst the chaos beyond his unconscious state. "Can I...?"

Ringo nodded. "Go ahead. I'll stay up." It's not like I can't sleep anyways, he thought, blinking rapidly to remove the dreaded images seared in his brain.

"Thanks, Ritchie...." Paul trailed off, slowly closing his eyes. He breathed shakily, repeating until sleep took over him.

"John?"

"I'm awake." John found his way to Ringo's hand again, squeezing it tight. "I'm awake, Ritchie, I'm awake."

"Good." Ringo's voice quivered. "Because I'm fucking terrified and I don't think I could handle being awake alone."

John swallowed the lump in his throat. Everything was his fault, his stupid decisions lead to all of this. If he hadn't-

"I'm here," John rubbed small circles in Ringo's raw knuckles. "I'll always be here, okay?"

The older boy sniffled. "Okay."