Escape of the Nerk Twins

Chapter VII

Being a ninja is not a 24-hour occupation. How else do you think they amass such world-famous stamp collections? Whether I'm a ninja or not, I don't collect human beings - including the Beatles!

A/N: My posting is going to be a lot less frequent in the next few weeks, but I'll stay on track as much as I can! Thanks to my reviewers: on WattPad - Macca40, InmylifeIloveLennon, MasterofFire, and cityofstarlight. on FanFiction - ThisBirdHasFlownToRhye, leah9712, The Beatles Babydoll22, Macca's Little Teddy Bear, and omgringo. I also had my first reviewers on Archive of Our Own, which made me dance a happy jig for a second before realizing that I don't know how to jig. Several planets-full of thanks to McLennonLuv (who was the very first :0), Peyton, and Emma (who followed in quick succession)! I think Emma's is the longest review I've ever gotten :0)

A silvery-blue Ford Anglia barreled down the narrow Scottish road in the wrong lane, its yellow headlamps illuminating the road before it. The velvety sky, now completely black, was spangled with small, bright stars, and the grass below was equally dark.

Another car zoomed around a curve toward the Ford Anglia, which swerved abruptly and narrowly missed a head-on collision.

Inside the Ford Anglia, Paul McCartney burst out laughing. "This is great, man!" he slurred, turning to look at John. "No wonder you drive so crazily!"

"You're drunk, Macca," replied John, gently taking hold of the steering wheel and guiding the car around a curve.

Paul slapped John's hands away and careened around the next bend, barely avoiding skidding off the road entirely.

"'M not tha' drunk," argued Paul, hiccupping.

"I don't believe it," mused John, taking a moment to stare up at the sky. "Not only are you drunk, but you're drunker than I am!"

Paul laughed again.

John sighed. "I guess it's my responsibility to tell you to pull over, then. Go on."

Reluctantly, Paul yanked the steering wheel to the right. The Ford Anglia swerved off the road with a loud screech in protest of this rough treatment.

"Should we sleep in the car, then?" inquired Paul.

John nodded. "You go get the comic books so we have something to do."

Paul got out of the car and stumbled to the trunk. John looked down at his hands and blinked. Cool, I didn't know I had four of those! Wait, I didn't have four hands at the bar. Otherwise I would've drunk more. I'll have to ask Macca later.

Paul collapsed into the backseat of the car with a grin. He tossed John a comic book and a flashlight. John utterly failed to catch them, despite having four hands, and retrieved them from the driver's seat.

"Say, when did I get four hands, Macca?" asked John, holding up his hands for Paul to see.

Paul frowned. "I only see three."

John stuck out his tongue at his friend. "Spoilsport."

"I'm reading," pointed out Paul, holding up his comic book in front of his face.

John held up his flashlight to his comic, but the shapes on the pages wouldn't resolve themselves into words and drawings. Instead, they floated across his vision like dead leaves in a stream. John let his head sink onto his chest and his eyes droop shut.

In the back, Paul looked up, mildly amused to hear his friend snoring already. He blinked happily at the light from John's flashlight.

"Wanna be friends?" he asked the flashlight as his head drooped onto his chest.

"I don't want to go to Yorkshire," replied the flashlight. It and John proceeded to do the tango across the Hamburg club and out the door.

Paul frowned. "All good friends go to Yorkshire!"

"I want to go to Yorkshire!" complained Ringo from his seat on the throne next to the bar. "But I can't."

"Good lad!" approved Paul. "Why not?"

Ringo laughed and turned into a lizard.

"Not very good manners," sniffed Paul. "Oh, hi, Elvis."

Elvis beckoned Paul across the dark room to a door. "Let's go on the roller coaster!" exclaimed the King happily, clutching his binoculars. "We can go stargazing!"

Paul agreed, but reluctantly, because he would rather go to Mars than stargaze. However, he found that he rather liked Elvis's roller coaster buddy, a young Victorian gentleman with weather-beaten hiking boots.

By the time Paul awoke in the morning, he couldn't remember who Elvis's roller coaster buddy was. Five minutes after that, he'd entirely forgotten the whole dream.

A/N: As I said above, Emma left me the longest review I've ever had! Does anybody want to try to top that? (No more than 5 exclamation points in a row, no repeated letters, no utter nonsense a la jabberwocky ;0) If you don't, still leave a review anyroad, I thank everybody :0)