Escape of the Nerk Twins

Epilogue

 I don't own the Beatles, "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)," or "Copacabana" (thank God I don't own the last one)

A/N: Wow, it's finally the end. I hope you all enjoyed it (I sure did)! Make sure you listen to "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)," it's a great song :0) A final thank-you to all my fabulous reviewers: Archive of Our Own - Swimmer girl 17; WattPad - Macca40, NJ2001, MaccasWeirdFriend, cityofstarlight, ThisBirdHasFlown, InmylifeIloveLennon, leah9712, and PurlyandGirly. I hope you all had fun!

Paul McCartney breathed in the bittersweet tang of fading winter. The ice below his feet cracked, spilling water over his leather shoes. The famous musician made a face and slammed the door of his black Aston Martin.

I'm not young enough for this any more, he thought, yawning a little as he crossed the cracked parking lot to the gas station. The snow-dusted, brown-purple hills of the Scottish highlands surrounding him hummed quietly to themselves, sounding a bit like medieval monks, if one listened closely enough. Sir Paul McCartney didn't. He had other things on his mind in this unfamiliar spot.

Should've brought a map yourself, he thought ruefully, stepping gratefully through the sliding glass door into the warm gas station. How else did you expect to find an obscure, ruined castle in the middle of nowhere?

The only other person in the gas station was a young woman with a blank look on her face. She sat behind the cash register, her large nose buried in her smartphone. "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" emanated softly from the speakers above her.

Paul took long, quick strides across the store to an aisle filled with maps.

Why are there so many? he wondered, flummoxed by the plethora of maps. He pulled one out at random and tried to unfold it; it proceeded to fight back, flapping open in all the places he didn't want it to.

"And I would walk 500 miles!" sang the Proclaimers tinnily through the crummy speakers. "And I would walk 500 more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles just to fall down at your door . . . ."

Paul gave up in his battle with the map.

"You're being uncooperative," he scolded it under his breath, attempting to fold it back together properly. He wasn't sure he'd got it along entirely the same ridges as it had been folded before – it seemed awfully wide – but it was good enough.

As "Copacabana" struck up on the speakers, Paul suppressed a grimace and examined more maps. Aside from slightly different keys and colour schemes, a lot of them seemed very similar.

"Well, not one that's just the Highlands and Islands," muttered Paul, dismissing one section of the shelving with a wave of his hand. The section of shelving resolutely stayed put, but Paul continued, "And I don't need one that's all of the UK" – he waved away another section of the shelves – "which just leaves this bit."

Finally, "Copacabana" ended. A pregnant pause hung over the static fuzz coming from the speaker, reminding Paul of a moon above a lake a long time ago.

A very familiar guitar intro rose gracefully from the speakers.

"Two of us, riding nowhere," they sang in a very familiar voice. "Spending someone's hard earned pay . . . ."

Paul's lips quirked into a small smile as he grabbed a map at random and strolled to the counter. The girl looked up from her phone just long enough to scan the map, swipe his credit card, and wish him a good day.

Paul stepped back out into the icy parking lot dazzled with orange evening sunlight. He found himself humming the familiar song as he crunched through the slowly melting puddles. It was getting late; time to head back to the hotel.

A/N: Don't forget to drop a quick review before you rush off to start reading Murder Most Discreet!