Aug 16
Imagining a Paul-Is-Dead fic where he isn’t replaced by Billy Shears, but is instead brought back to life.
He wakes in his room, body aching and terribly cold. He’s spacey, forgetful, constantly humming to himself. He stumbles and drops things, almost drunk in his clumsiness. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, he must have gotten sick.
It takes him an awfully long time to identify the sealed wound on his abdomen, the stitches that line the back of his head, hidden beneath the hair.
—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—
He can’t let the boys know.
