Chapter Text
George sits in the living room, wearing nothing but a nappy and a sweater as he scribbles with his crayons on some paper. He’s not thinking of anything in particular, not even trying to draw anything coherent as the television bounces around with children’s cartoons in the background.
Billy was in the kitchen, getting something ready for dinner when a new sound rings through the house. A knock. George jolts, his first reaction being to look at the TV to see if it came from there, but when another angry fist slams on the front door, George feels panic creeping up.
“D-Daddy?” He calls out, eyes shooting open when he sees somebody standing on the porch, peering in through the window directly at him. He shrieks, clambering up just as Billy rushes from the kitchen, face pale.
“Get to the nursery, honey—“ more angry knocking, making the frame rattle. George tries to glance back, but Billy steps past him, giving him a light push, and George bolts for the basement door, pulling it open just as he hears the front door open. He hears loud, angry voices as he rushes down the stairs, tears flooding in his eyes as he looks around frantically for a place to hide.
He curls up behind his crib, breathing shakily as he hears yelling upstairs. Tears threaten to overflow, worry consuming him. He shoves his thumb into his mouth, sucking to try and soothe himself.. and then things go quiet.
He holds his breath, hearing footsteps from upstairs. The door shuts, and the basement door is opened. George tenses every muscle in his body, praying that it was Billy with his entire heart. The footsteps meet the ground, and then there’s a click of a radio, and his heart drops to his stomach.
“Basement looks like a kid's room,” a random man says into his radio before starting to open the cabinets. He walks further into the room, and then freezes, seeing George tucked into the corner, holding his breath with his thumb in his mouth, and the man lets out a breath. “Yeah, it’s him,” he mutters into the radio before putting it away. He kneels down, keeping a safe distance. George stares at him. “George Harrison?” He asks, voice softening a great deal, and George simply whimpers.
Slowly, his thumb pops from his mouth, and he blinks back tears frantically.
“W-where’s Daddy?” He chokes out, and the man grimaces.
“My name is Richard Whitlock, I’m a police officer,” he says, and George shrinks back further against the crib. His heart pounds, and he feels dizzy from nausea. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you to a hospital.” He states calmly, and George just stares at him with a growing panic.
“Where’s Daddy?” He croaks louder, head jerking towards the stairs as more footsteps come. Two people enter the room, and he hears a muttered Jesus Christ, and suddenly there’s two more sets of eyes on him. He tugs his sweater down uncomfortably, starting to cry.
“Let’s get you up, okay? We have an ambulance upstairs waiting,” a woman coaxes gently, and George shakes his head no. His thumb makes it’s way back into his mouth, and he flinches when she comes and kneels down right in front of him, offering her hand. “You want your.. daddy. Right?” She says, and George sniffles, managing a meek nod. “Well he’s upstairs.” She explains, and George hesitates before taking her hand.
She helps him up, and all the officers pointedly don’t look at him or his nappy. He gets up the stairs, looking around with teary eyes for Billy. Two officers trail behind him, with the woman holding his hand and leading him out onto the front porch. He jerks back a little at the sight of two cop cars and an ambulance, only to bump into the officers behind him.
“Where’s Daddy?” He asks, a bit more frantically, head whipping around until they land on him in the backseat of a police car. He sobs, starting towards it only for the lady to tighten her grip on his hand, dragging him to the ambulance. “Let go!” He struggles, and suddenly the other two cops had arms wrapped around his arms, dragging him towards the ambulance. “Let go!” He shrieks, tears streaming down his face. He’s ushered into the back of it, even as he fights, and the door shuts before he can even turn around, with one agent still with him, while the other goes back to their car.
“Holy shit,” he hears one of the paramedics mutter before trying to get him to calm down, “Hey, George—“ how did they know his name? A scared sob tears from his lips, “hey, we’re getting you to a hospital, don’t worry—“
“I wan’ Daddy!” He screams, struggling back away from the officer. Everything seems blurry, and it’s hard to breathe. The cop grabs him, making him sit down. He holds his arms still, hearing a muttered command to sedate him, and George wails at the top of his lungs when a needle enters his arm, and then things go dark.
George wakes up in a hospital bed, wearing a gown. He glances around, completely disorientated and confused. He wants Billy. He wants to go home. He whimpers, managing to sit up, and his eye catches on his Daddy sitting in a chair nearby, eyes tired and red rimmed. His hands were clasped between his legs, one of his knees bouncing. George swallows.
“..Daddy?” He asks softly, and Paul’s head snaps to him. George flinches at the sight, cringing backwards. It was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Paul is up in an instant, taking his hand and sitting by his side.
“Georgie,” he whispers, and then arms are around him. He feels Paul’s shoulders shake as he holds him, and George hesitantly wraps his arms around him as well, knowing that something was off, but he can’t tell what. “Oh god, we thought y’were dead,” he chokes out, clearly trying not to break down entirely, and George shifts awkwardly.
“Y’were just cookin’, ‘n they broke in,” George recalls shakily, and Paul pulls back, looking at him miserably. He squeezes his hand with his own trembling one, head shaking.
“I dunno who that man was,” Paul croaks, “but yer safe now, I promise—“
“Daddy?” George asks again meekly, voice cracking with increasing confusion and desperation. Paul pauses, looking like his heart broke the longer he looked at George. Tears well up in his eyes, head swimming. His mouth opens to speak, but he shuts it, not knowing what to say.
“..no, Georgie,” he says softly, voice barely audible, “‘m not.. It's me. Paul.” He manages, voice tight. The words sit in George’s mind, and George just stares at him with wide, confused eyes. With his free hand, his thumb creeps up to his mouth and presses to his lips before sliding into his mouth to suckle on it, trying not to cry. Paul stares at him in shock, unsure of how to react. He quietly lets go of George’s hand, standing up before letting out a shaky breath.
“The.. the others went downstairs fer some food,” he murmurs, “they’ll be back any second now.” He hesitates, eyes fixed on George. He swallows, “..they found ye in a nappy,” he says, letting the statement sit in the air, and George feels his face flush. He doesn’t respond, and there’s a knock on the door that makes him jump, both of them looking at it.
John and Ringo invite themselves in, and suddenly there are more arms around him. George squirms, tearing up more at the trapped feeling that seems to pulse through his entire soul.
“I can’t believe yer alive–” Ringo gushes, just as John chokes, “Y’scared the shit outta us, Hazza.” George sucks on his thumb harder, curling up as much as he can with both of them around him. “We thought y’were dead in a ditch somewhere. They said they found you in a nursery? Did that monster have kids there with you?” He asks, pulling back to look at George, and the chatter seems to die down when they see the scared look on his face and the thumb in his mouth.
John hesitates, looking to Paul for answers, and then to Ringo who shrugs. John glances back at George with an increasing look of worry, and then stands up.
“Get the nurse in here, what’s goin’ on with him–?” he tries,
“He’s traumatized,” Ringo snaps lightly at him, and George brings his shaking knees to his chest in the hospital bed. Ringo reaches for his hand, expression gentle, and maybe at some point in George’s life it would’ve settled him down. Now it only makes him flinch, terror shooting through him as he realizes how alone he truly is. “Georgie, ‘s okay. ‘S just us. Y’remember us, right?” he asks, and George can’t help the muffled sob that falls out behind his thumb.
His bladder aches, and without a second thought he lets go. He’s been in nappy’s for so long he can’t remember ever not wearing them, so it’s quite a surprise when the liquid runs down between his thighs, dampening the sheets as he cries. The other lads notice fairly quickly, both hearing it and seeing the puddle spread. Ringo stands up as well, staring down in shock, and for the first time in a while he feels shame.
Embarrassment seems to flood him, making him weep harder. If Billy was here he would clean him up and put him in a nappy. If Billy was here, he’d be getting praised for going potty, not stared at in disgust.
“I wan’ Daddy,” he chokes out, and there’s no response from any of them. He looks at Paul desperately, and all of them just.. stare. It’s suffocating, like a physical weight in his chest as he cries.
“We’ll.. Give y’some privacy, yeah?” Paul says uncomfortably, inching towards the door. The rest of his old band follow, and he can hear a hushed discussion outside the door as one of them pulls aside a nurse.
He can hear her explaining what exactly happened in clinical terms, and all of it feels too big for his little mind. When she finishes, there’s a long silence, and then they all re-enter. The nurse comes over to him, starting to take his blood pressure, and George can’t seem to stop the tears from falling.
“Daddy–” he sobs, eyes squeezing shut. “Daddy!” He wails when the cuff tightens around him, thrashing, and suddenly Paul is right beside him, dragging him into his arms. He shushes him, and calmness crashes over George. He knows that it isn’t Billy, but he smells the same, and he looks the same, and it’s enough for now.
He weeps until it’s over, and when Paul pulls back a feeling of emptiness floods him.
“I think he should stay with you for now, Paul,” John mutters, and Paul looks like a deer caught in headlights at the statement, like he hadn’t realized that George couldn’t stay alone, but it made sense because of what the nurse told them all. He was regressed to the point where he couldn’t function by himself. The nurse helps him up, and Paul lets go of him, watching him with a sorrowful expression as she changes the piss soaked sheets.
“..yeah, I guess so,” Paul mumbles, sounding disappointed and sad. It only makes George cry harder.