Break Me One More Time [McLennon]

in which it is december 8, 1980

It was two in the morning by the time Paul finally calmed down enough to call George, and it was three in the morning by the time George got to the house. Paul was pacing in the kitchen when he got there.

"Have you messaged Barney?" was the first thing George said.

"Barney?" Paul said. "Is this a Barney kind of situation?"

"It is officially the day John's supposed to die," George said. "This is a Barney kind of situation. Everything is a Barney kind of situation now."

Paul sighed. "You're right, yeah. I'll message him." He hurried up to the room where he kept the little phone and tapped out a message to Barney:

December 8, 1980. 03:12. John gone, don't know where. Come quick.

Back downstairs, he and George stood silently in the kitchen, waiting anxiously for Barney's arrival. The minutes crept by, and minutes, slowly but surely, turned to hours. When seven in the morning rolled around, it did so only to find George half asleep at the kitchen table, and Paul pacing madly.

"Paul," George said groggily.

"Hm?" Paul hummed.

"Paul, get some rest," George said.

"I can't," Paul said, shaking his head. "No, I — I can't rest. Not until we've found him." He kept shaking his head, he kept pacing back and forth. "Do you think we should go looking for him?"

"Paul," George sighed.

"Shit, we should've gone as soon as you got here," Paul hissed.

"We're miles from any town or city and he could've gone in any direction," George said. "By the time I got here he could've been in London, he could've been in town, he could've been — God, Paul, no. We had no way of finding him without help."

"Whose help?!" Paul cried. "Who's going to help us?!"

"Barney," George said. "We need Barney."

"Well, Barney isn't here!" Paul said. "It's been hours. I don't know what to do."

George shook his head. "You could send another message?"

"What good is that going to do?" Paul said. "Sending messages through time travel is — I don't even know how it works."

"You should eat," George said.

"I can't stomach anything right now," Paul said.

"The nerves are making you nauseous but you still need to eat," George said.

"It's December eighth," Paul muttered to himself, not listening to George at all now. He resumed his pacing. "It's December eighth. How did we get here?"

"You still need to eat though," George persisted.

"How did we get here?" Paul said again.

"I'm going to make you some food," George said, and Paul didn't agree, but he didn't protest either, so George got up from the kitchen table and went over to the fridge. He set to work putting some food together that he thought Paul would be able to stomach in his current state — nothing too heavy — then he sat Paul down at the table and made him eat. He watched him like a hawk until he had swallowed every bite. Then he made him drink some water, and once he was satisfied, George took away the plate and the glass. He washed the dishes, and put them away. "Would you please go take a nap now?"

Paul frowned. "Barney —"

"I'll wake you up as soon as Barney gets here," George said.

"But if he doesn't show up ever," Paul said. "Then I need to find John."