Chapter Text
Hamburg. The city that doesn’t seem to sleep.
That was how George Harrison thought of it.
Even past midnight, the Reeperbahn pulsed with activity; neon bleeding into puddles, music clawing its way through its clubs, and voices shouting in a language George didn’t fully understand. The Kaiserkeller had emptied out minutes earlier, and the boy’s ears still rang with rock n’ roll. Sweat clung to his skin as he slipped out the back alone. He knew better. Hamburg was nothing like Liverpool— it wasn’t exactly kind, and it certainly wasn’t forgiving. But the backroom of the Bambi Kino felt too small for tonight. All he needed was the cool night air and a brief illusion of space.
Paul had followed him halfway to the door, sweet-dark hair plastered to his forehead. “We’ll walk back together,” he said, like it was already decided. From the stage, John laughed, probably a tease, but George hadn’t caught the words.
“I’m not a child,” George muttered, his words a little too sharp than he meant them to be, “I can walk alone.”
For a second, Paul hesitated; he always did. Then, he nodded, a clear reluctance in his movements. The door shut behind him, sealing the noise inside. It was quieter now, only hearing the faint sound of music in the distance. Cold air kissed his face, and he groaned at the fact that he had forgotten his scarf. Oddly enough, it reminded him of his mum back in Liverpool, forever telling him to wear layers, to mind the cold. The thought almost felt out of place here— for the first time in his life, he felt adult, and a little too far from home.
He heard faint footsteps behind him. He didn’t dare turn around, telling himself that it was nothing, probably a drunk wandering out of one of the clubs. Hamburg was full of people like that, especially at this hour. He kept walking, pretending his hands weren’t already shaking. The footsteps matched his. He slowed his pace. They slowed with him. Anxiety soon coursed through the boy’s veins, his pulse hammering loud in his ears.
“I don’t have much,” George said, his voice unsteady, “You can take it, just… Don’t hurt me.” He forced himself not to turn around, frozen, as if his gut was screaming at him to stay still. The presence behind him felt wrong. It was too still to be a human.
“You shouldn’t be here alone.” A voice answered behind him.
George turned at last, meeting the gaze of whoever or whatever stood behind him. The hazy glow of the streetlight made the man’s face impossible to discern. It was more of an outline of a person, as if night itself had taken form.
He blinked, and the man was suddenly closer. George hadn’t heard him move.
“What—”
Cold fingers clamped down on his shoulder. It was firm, tight. He tried to pull away, but couldn’t. The boy couldn’t hear himself think, losing it beneath the thunder of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. “Let go of me!” George panicked, yanking the man’s hands away from him, but they didn’t budge.
“I won’t hurt you,” the man said, and for half a second, George believed him. “I just need—”
The pain came fast.
It was white-hot, blooming at his throat, like being split open from the inside. George tried to scream, hands scrambling uselessly against the man’s coat as something sharp pierced his skin. His vision blurred, stars exploding behind his eyes. Eventually, his knees buckled.
His world narrowed to his heartbeat, pulse roaring until even that began to slow.
The man froze.
“Oh,” he whispered, fear evident in his voice. “No. No, no—”
George barely registered the words. His limbs felt heavy as he fought to stay alive. His thoughts drifted fleetingly to Paul— oh, Paulie, to how Paul always counted them before bed like a worried mother hen. He thought of his mum, telling him to keep warm. Of his guitar. Of the sun.
“Christ,” the man said, suddenly pulling back. “You’re just a child.”
George hit the ground. Cold stone kissed his cheek. The alley smelled sharper now, blood and rain stinging his nostrils. Warm, frantic hands pressed against his wound, fumbling desperately.
“I didn’t mean to,” the man said, voice quivering. “I thought, God, I thought you were older.”
George opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“I can’t leave you like this,” the man muttered. “I can’t—”
Something pressed to George’s lips. It was warm, metallic, and alive.
Every part of his body screamed no, but his mouth opened anyway. The taste flooded his senses, strong and overwhelming. He wanted to pull away, to spit it out, but his body refused. The pain in his throat dulled, then vanished entirely.
The man pulled away with a gasp, eyes wide with terror. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered, backing away. “I’m so sorry.”
George tried to stand up, or curse him, anything, but his world tipped sideways and went dark.
George woke to pain.
His body felt wrong, like he’d been rebuilt with unfamiliar parts. He lay crumpled in an alley behind the Kaiserkeller, the sharp stench of piss and beer sharp in his nose. Neon flickered above him, making his head throb and eyes ache, as if they weren’t accustomed to seeing the world at all.
“George?”
Paul’s voice immediately cut through the fog, grounding him in reality, or at least, the best it could do.
“George, where’d you go? You can’t just—” Paul stopped short when he saw him, eyes widening, “Oh my God.”
Paul immediately knelt beside him, clear panic etched in his face. His hands hovered over the boy like he didn’t know where to touch. “Jesus, you look awful. Did… Did someone hurt you?”
George blinked up at him. Everything felt too harsh. The lights were too bright, and the sounds were too loud.
“I- I don’t know,” he answered, “I think I got mugged. Knocked my head or something.”
Paul didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t press. He never did when George sounded like this.
Swallowing hard, Paul helped him up to his feet, arms sliding around George’s shoulders. George leaned into him, suddenly aware of how light Paul felt, how easily he could have held him up on his own.
That terrified him.
“Come on,” Paul said. “Let’s get you back, yeah?”
They moved toward the Bambi Kino, Paul steadying him every step of the way. George leaned closer, listening to Paul’s heartbeat. It was loud, too loud— was it always like this?
For reasons he couldn’t name, George knew deep down that whatever had happened last night wasn’t finished with him yet.