It Don't Come Easy

by atomic_groupie

Summary:

At best, Harry's "Son of Dracula" was going to be an excuse to hang out with friends and dress up in silly costumes before Halloween. But after a night of post-film drinking and partying too hard, Ringo finds himself in a coma. Not knowing how long he'll be, he can only bear witness to the squabbling and tears of his former band members as he tries to wake from increasingly intangible and upsetting nightmares.

Notes:

Hope you like the story! Kudos and comments are appreciated! :D

Chapter 1: Count Downe

If anything, the movie was a good excuse to hang out with a friend and dress up in silly costumes outside of Halloween. If they'd stop cracking up, they'd get it done before fall.

" 'But, please excuse me, I must...' " Ringo sighed, trying not to yawn like the old man he was portraying. How long has it been since they came to the set? "I must concern myself totally with your astrological chart, and..uh... ascertain the precise moment of your crowning."

Harry's stance relaxed an inch as he broke character, "You okay, man?"

"Yeah, yeah, just..." Ringo yawned, instinctively scratching his wizard beard, "Think I've been playing an old man for a bit too long today. "

Harry thought for a moment, "Wanna stop for the day?"

"Can we? Maybe a drink will spruce me up."

Harry shrugged, "Sure. "

There was black. There was nothing.

Then color appeared, and then he could feel.

Violent, thrashing waves. Ringo stared at the copper sky, like liquified developed film. His body surfed the water, limbs floating like spaghetti noodles in a pot being washed. Back and forth, back and forth, struggling to keep the filthy water from his mouth. He couldn't move, only pray the distant siren sound would come with a rescue.

The copper broke off into different pieces, different shapes, and colors. The shapes formed faces, symbols, and colors became more diverse.

Damn it, he's in the hospital again. For what he had no idea, but he was in for a long visit. An eight-year-old could only listen to so much hospital-speak before he got bored. His mom came into the room and sat by his cot. It was definitely a money thing. Oh god, this was going to be so expensive for them. He frowned, looking to her for some sort of signal on what to feel as she held his hand. She held it with a distant and dejected look on her face.

"It's going to be okay, Richie," She said in Maureen's voice. She stroked the top of his hand with her thumb and Ringo tried not to cry. "You're going to be okay."

Chapter 2: How Do You Sleep?

It was the last call he'd expect to get in the middle of the night, but what do you expect to hear after a reasonable hour?

John grumbled as the telephone rang by his bed.

"The fuck is it?" He squinted into the darkness. Yoko snuggled beside him, wrapping her arms around his torso in her sleep. The line crackled.

"It's Maureen. I...I just thought to let you know before the press...Richie's in the hospital. In a coma."

"What'd he do, get his face done in by a pigeon?" He wheezed. Silence filled the line. John cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "What happened?"

"So, he's making this movie with Harry, and after filming they got a drink, which turned into party hopping, and somewhere along the way Richie separated and fell into an open manhole."

"Naturally." John sighed.

"Who is it?" Yoko whispered, her words radiating warmth against his chest.

 

"It's Maureen, mother. Ringo's in the hospital. Fell in a hole and now 'e's in a coma." "Oh no. Is there anything we could do....?" She hummed against his shoulder. He petted her hair with his free hand as she fell back asleep. 

"Ye' need anythin'? I doubt I'll be able to come down, though. Hard enough gettin' into the U.S... They'll probably think I'm on a mission to kill Elvis if I try to go to Vegas. "

"No, no, it's fine as it can be. Your thoughts and prayers would be nice. Maybe get a session with that tarot person, get some answers other than 'Just be patient, it takes time.' My husband's in a coma for Christ's sake!"

"Got it." He rubbed the sleep from his eye. "Have you told the others yet?"

"...yeah, I've told George and Paul. An-anyway, I'm going to let you go back to whatever you were doing."

"Bye. I Hope Ringo gets better. "

"Thanks. Tell the family I said 'Hi'..." She sighed. He could hear her slumping her shoulders, eyes red from more tears than rest could stop. She sniffled as she hung up the phone. John put the phone back and settled back into the blankets. He stared into the abyss of the Dakota's ceiling, vague colors and shapes dancing across his vision until he finally went back to sleep.

Chapter 3: The Wind Played A Dreadful Cantata

The lights convulsed as Paul strummed away on his bass. Grooving would be a better word, with his knee shakes and restrained hip thrusts as he sang. His jaw stung with joy every time his mouth opened to sing. He nodded his head to the beat. Playing a gig at a university! Without anyone knowing beforehand!  

Lucille, please come back where you belong
I'm speaking to you, baby
You sing such a beautiful song 

Ah, this was the best fucking idea he's had since ever! Paul stepped back from the mic to chuckle out the adrenaline. Denny finished the song with a flourish of his own. 

 Paul stepped back to chuckle out the adrenaline. His ear twitched at a cry. He looked to see where the strange sound came and lo and behold, it was Linda at the keyboard with her head down, her shoulders shaking with sobs. 

Paul chewed on the inside of his cheek, strumming on automatic. 

Out of songs. Only 30 minutes into the concert. His wife is crying. Help! 

"Hey, how's everybody doing tonight?" He called from his mic. 

The crowd cheered and whooped.  

"I love you!" a random student called out. 

Paul chuckled, "Flattered, but I'm taken!" 

"I'll be your Yoko Ono!" Another girl called out. Some people laughed, a few people booed.  

"Hey, now!" Paul calmed the crowd. Like dogs to a whistle, the students quieted to pay him their full attention.  

"We've had a request by...Agatha Rines, from the Humanities department to play 'You've Got To Help Me Darlin'' a second time around! Woo! Yeah!" Paul clapped, and everyone cheered.  He stepped away from the stoplight as Henry began to lead the song.  

He joined Linda on the keyboard, hugging her to himself. She buried her head in his shoulder as he calmed her.    

"I'm sorry..." Her breath skidded as she tried to stop crying. "I'm sorry, I just...I can't play!" 

He played an upbeat tune to fit into Henry's song, leaning his head on hers. "It's fine, love...You're here with me; that's all I care about."  

They finally found a motel. Real crusty, the popcorn ceiling was a blizzard of asbestos in one corner and the fly-zapper was half as effective as the ceiling lights. They buzzed like a dentist's drill doing a tooth filling as the receptionist gave them their key. The roadies and Henry, Denny, and Danny got their rooms. No one has a clue where tomorrow will lead to. No plans, only crusty motels, and Rock 'N Roll for now. 

The McCartney brood settled into their bed. Heather and Mary settled between Linda and Paul. At least it wouldn't be cold, Linda shrugged. 

John and Paul laughed as they strolled down some street in Liverpool, guitars resting on their backs. The sound was endless, every scrape of their cowboy boots across the loose asphalt, the sighs after catching their breaths, crickets, and distant barks from the street over,  it all echoed as they took their sweet time. 

They'd just gotten done with an audition under "The Nurke twins' '. They bombed it, but they had fun. That's all that mattered back then.  John suddenly stopped for a moment, shaking his head like a headmaster.

Paul turned his head. "What's wrong?' 

John pointed at the corner house.  " Can you believe these mad people? They've been playing cards in the cold! They're always out there when I leave your place!"

"John. That's a nativity scene."  This isn't how it happened, but he went with the flow. 

"The fuck?" John burst out laughing.  "I've been judging statues for a week! I even did my best impression of Mimi, damn it!”  They started walking into the house.  Paul chewed a piece of gum as the smell of pine took over his senses. 

Paul cupped his hands over his mouth. “Linda!”  Every pole and cardinal direction was infested with trees and sounds of chirping without any birds attached to them. “George! John!”  No rivers, no wildlife, nothing. He walked in a nameless direction, and walked, and walked.

“Linda!”

The branches rustled as he ducked and shoved them aside, only revealing this grassy clearing and that one.

Nothing.

"Linda?" he whispered.

No answer but more leaves blowing from the trees. Paul took a step back and looked around. Trees, trees, and more trees. Nary a bush or stray flower bed for miles, the branches rustled as he ducked and shoved them aside, only revealing this grassy clearing and that one. 

A thin, strangled stream of musical notes made its way to Paul’s eardrums, with small bubbles of intangible but sedative words surfacing every now and then. Left, his ears told him.  He followed the tune. 

 The sun broke between the cracks in the woodland ceiling, a warm ray sun sending ethereal shivers down his body. He dipped his feet in the lukewarm river and let all the sounds in, the trees lulling in the breeze, the peace seeping into his skin, muscles, and bones.  He sighed, giggling as the stress of his waking life rolled off his shoulder like a gentle rain.  Then the music stopped. Did he do that himself? No, there’s no way. 

“Hey, Paulie!”  

Paul looked around him, setting his eyes on a familiar sight. He scrunched his eyebrows, failing to hide his confusion and joy. 

“George?”     

George smiled and said something. Paul nodded. 

“Paul!” 

“Yeah?” 

“Paul!”

Linda nudged Paul awake. “Honey, it’s almost noon. We should get on the road, find another gig, maybe get some lunch.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Good morning to you too.” 

Linda chuckled and kissed her husband on the forehead, “Good morning, hon.”  

The petrol station reeked of cigarettes and exhaust as he finished filling up the van’s tank.  Denny came back from the store, drinks and paper in his hands, and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Hey, Paul. I think you’ll want to see this.” Denny handed him the paper. Paul put back the pump and took the paper. Paul needed to read no further than the headline for him to remember what George said to him in the dream and for his stomach to sink. 

“FORMER BEATLE DRUMMER IN COMA. RECOVERY UNCERTAIN” 

“You okay?”

Far from it, really.

“Yeah,” Paul walked back to the driver’s seat, avoiding his bandmate’s worried look as he did, “I’m fine. Stupid gossip ‘s all.” 

Notes:

Fun fact: I was inspired by Yoko's music video for "Mrs Lennon" to write that scene with Paul dreaming he's in the woods. I think it's a very atmospheric song and I encourage y'all to check it out! :)

Chapter 4: 4: I say Hello, You Say Goodbye

Summary:

Another Lennon/McCartney original fight, ladies and gentlemen...

Paul squinted his eyes as he entered the hospital lobby. The walls, the floor, the uniforms. His pupils burnt, too dilated for the pristine colors to be comfortable.

"Need your sunglasses, hon?" Linda asked, readjusting Mary in her arms.

"Yeah, could you get them from the car real quick?"

"Sure. Here." She handed Mary to him. "Be right back. "

"Thanks, Lin."

"You're welcome, honey." Linda kissed him on the cheek before walking back to the car.

Paul sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs. Heather sat in the chair beside him, swinging her legs. The man next to him cleared his throat loudly and buried his head in the local newspaper, tapping his foot on the floor. Paul looked over the section facing him, a bunch of music crossword puzzles. "Sorry?" Paul asked. "I said ' How 'bout them sports?'"

"Oh. I don't follow sports, sorry." He looked away from the man. What kind of accent did he have? It sounded vaguely Liverpudlian. "Ah. Busy man, I reckon. With children, work, an' all."

"Ehh...yeah," Paul said.

"Better than being one of those sissies. Musicians," he shook the paper in violent disgust.

" I don't know..." Paul scratched his nose with his middle finger. He took out a joint and lit it, "I like them all the same ya know?" He took a starting drag and leaned back in his seat as he exhaled.

"Well, I don't!" The man threw his paper on the ground, revealing his tea shades and fur coat. "Hypocrites! Sycophants! Every last one of them riding on all the coattails since the likes of Presley, Cochran, the Everlys! Originality is dead all thanks to those blasted Beatles, especially that communist git: Lennon!"

Paul doubled over, laughing hysterically before it turned into a coughing fit.

"I'm serious!" John chuckled. Yoko leaned forward in her seat and waved at Paul, who returned the gesture.

Heather looked over at the others, concerned about the yelling. "What's wrong, daddy?"

"Huh," Paul caught his breath. "Oh, nothing, sweetheart. Just having fun with some mates. You remember John and Yoko. When you visited Apple?"

She waved back and hopped off her chair to look at the nearby vending machine.

"So how's the wife?"

"Good, Linda's good. She's getting something from the car. "

"Ah, I see."

"Yeah." He took another puff. "Did you talk to Maureen recently?"

"Huh?" John's expression became more neutral. "Yeah, she told me about the whole thing."

Linda came back with Paul's sunglasses.

"Here you go."

"Thanks, love." He smiled and kissed her.

She sat down by Heather and gave her daughter a drawing pad and pencil. 

Linda turned to John, "Sorry about what happened to Ringo."

"Yeah, it was nasty luck for the man."

"Wouldn't call it luck," Paul commented, looking into nowhere.

"What's that mean?"

The man continued his love affair with the THC between his fingers.

"Well, it's the same shit as Hamburg, you know. You do a recording, you have a drink, you go out, you have another drink, another party, another drink, and you wake up in a Hotel room that's not yours and can't remember which girl had the Clap. "

"Yeah, but we never fell in a sewer grate."

"You’re the only one who wasn’t deported the first time around!"

"Still, I don't think Ringo planned to fall in a puddle of shit and go into a coma!"

"Guys!" A voice spoke up. John and Paul looked up from their squabbling.

George glared at them as Maureen joined his side. "I've been here for an hour, where have you two been?"

"Didn't see there was a timetable, headmaster, sir." Paul mocked.  

George rolled his eyes, "And I thought John was the snarky one. Come on, while it's still visiting hours.”

Notes:

Hey, guys! Hope you all are enjoying the story! Quick question, are the shorter chapters more enjoyable, or would longer chapters be preferable? Thanks for reading!

Chapter 5: Pricked By The Bent-Back Tulips

Summary:

Get ready to see how the other half lives...

Notes:

Thank you a ton, rufasrants, for choosing to beta-read and help me write my story!

The hospital room got bigger, nurses and doctors exited the room like they were on a conveyor belt. Ringo looked back to an empty chair, his hand feeling like it'd been shoved in ice without hers to shield it. 

"Where is everyone?" he thought, growing much older as the dream changed. The colors became drab, meshing gradients of black and white. He's in a fancy hotel on tour, his mind knows. The group is all here, eyes glued to the T.V. program.  It's a lousy sitcom. Susan Campey plays a "young, bright-eyed secretary for a group of overnight sensations - The Bottles -- that aren't so fun and upbeat once the cameras stop filming." ‘Absolute rubbish, they all agreed as they settled in for the reunion episode. 

Bellamy stumbled into Susan’s office, his fried hair trying to get away from his smoking scalp. Frankie Crisp and Susan stopped their conversation.

"Oh, Jesus." he groaned. He leaned on Susan’s desk, catching his breath in between coughs. 

“What did you do this time?” Frankie sighed. 

“Oh, you know how fired up Kite gets when we get at it. “  Cue the audience's laughter. 

“And what was it?”   

“I have no idea. Probably drugs or something stupid like that.” Bellamy giggled. 

Susan let her head fall over the back of her chair. “There goes the security deposit.”  

“Boo!” The boys chanted. 

“Oh, now it’s funny to relate to the working class, is it?” John threw some popcorn at the telly in opposition to the audience’s laughter.      

“I’m not done with you, Bellamy!” Kite roared. He slammed open the door, lunging at his former bandmate with the rage of a betrayed friend. A fourth man, Scouse, follows close behind him, too close. As Kite and Bellamy brawl like animals, the door bounces off the wall. 

“Hey, guy-” 

Wham! 

Scouse stumbles back, bringing pieces of the sickly doorframe down with him. His face hogs the next frame, his poor nose flat enough to eat off of thanks to the door.  

He opens his eyes, and Ahme is readying the shrinking serum. Has readied it. He can still feel the needle in his arm after she takes it out. Bellamy’s electric organ is playing a tune, on the edge of his mind. His muscle memory could almost grab it and bang it against the drums, blindfolded. The room’s aroma was dreadful. His sense of smell was burdened with the splechky taste of muddy water, wet rust, and cold platters of fish and chips. It was almost home.  

Maybe he desperately needed a shower, 

Unlike the first time, he does shrink, but he’s still able to look into the other’s faces, unable to speak. 

 "Well, here we are, all together now. The Mad Four under one roof again." 

Mr. Kite swallowed, slowly wearing away the threads of his jeans as he dragged his nails in laps. 

"Hard...hard to believe it's been 2 years already."  

“Aye.”   

Frankie sighed. So many years of controversies and arguments over things they said, and this is all they can come up with? 

"Hey, Rings." Bellamy’s voice boomed in Ringo's ears. “I..um…I started a new group, recently. We got a couple of lads from New York and Linda’s on the keys.” he sniffed. Kite waved a feather to Bellamy’s face as he giggled. “It’s-it’s working for us. We’re actually just beginning to tour, mostly universities. Bringing the kids too. It’s been a bash and a half. Wake up, get some scran and petrol, get on the road not knowing where y’er goin’, what the hell y’er going to see…”  

“Time’s up.” 

Bellamy sighed, “Bye, Ringo. I hope you’ll…hope ye get better.” 

“Yeah, get well soon, Rings. I mean it, damn you. ” 

“If you don’t wake up, I’ll take your wife, your kids, and I’ll defend my case to God’s doorstep. And I’ll fucking do it, too!” Kite threatened, immediately undermining it with his own laughter. He sighed, comfortable at the last possible minute.   

"See you 'round the clubs." 

Their whispers are gentle and sympathetic, like a dying sparkler's smoke. As quick as they came, the familiar footsteps recede into the hospital traffic. 

A lukewarm hand held his. 

"I love you, Ritchie." Water drops fell onto his wrist as she kissed his ring finger. 

"I'll come back later, I promise." 

Silence fell, and any meaningful dreams faded into apathetic darkness.