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| "Well, you don't contribute anything to the group! You're just the fucking drummer!" screamed John.
"It was our idea in the first place to start the bloody band in the first place, 'member John? George and Paul only came later!" Ringo yelled back.
"Yeh, but what do you do for the band? You play the freakin' drums, for Christ sake! Anyone can do that!" John screamed in reply.
"He has got a point there, Ring." George remarked from is green room.
Ringo and John had been in bad moods all day, and after one remark from Paul over Ringo not being able to write music, both had finally cracked.
They stood on the edges of their seperate rooms, face to face. Paul was sitting in his white room, cringing at every stinging remark they made, knowing he had inadvertantly started this argument.
However, at George's intervention, he snapped too.
"Look, all of yeh SHUT UP! We're a bloody band, we all contribute, right? No-body is better than anyone else. Get over it!"
He got up and stomped in to the kitchen.
Ringo and John glared at each other. "Paul's wrong. You are no good for the group. We should get a new drummer, one that can sing! You can't do anything. You just sit there. What's to like about you Ringo?"
John sneered at him. Ringo glared back. Then his expression changed. John swore he saw tears in his soft blue eyes.
"You're right John. I-I am no good. I don't d-do anything. I'm just shyte, o'right?" Ringo ran out his front door, leaving it swinging in the wind.
"Fuck." John muttered. Paul walked back in to the room.
"John, what the hell did you do to him now huh? Showed him how fantastic the Great John Lennon is? You're a bloody idiot."
George stood up and looked out the still swinging door. "Damn, it's cold out here. And Ringo didn't even take his jacket. He'll freeze."
He remarked softly.
"Oh great. So now it's my fault if Ringo freezes. What, d'you want me to find him and give him his jacket? Huh?." John said, still angry.
The stares from George and Paul confirmed this.
"Oh fine! But you're coming with me!"
The three remaining Beatles bundled up warmly, since it had been snowing earlier that week, and it *was* cold.
They looked around the local streets where they lived. No Ringo.
After searching a few of the bars Ringo was known to frequent, they almost gave up.
"He's probably at home watching telly." said George. "While we're out here looking for him."
They walked in to a park, just to see if he might be here. After searching the park for a few minutes, they noticed a man sitting on a park bench, shivering in a thin blue shirt, and fading and fraying jeans. Which is what Ringo had been wearing before he walked out.
"Ringo!" Paul yelled, as they jogged up to him. He didn't reply, but they knew he heard them. John sat on the park bench next to him, while George put his jacket over his shoulders. Paul sat on the opposite side of him, and said, "C'mon Ring, please come back home. You'll freeze out here! And we can't have a band with a ice-block for a drummer, can we?"
He didn't lift his head up, but he did reply.
"You're right. You can't have a a band with an ice-block for a drummer. Or a band with me for a drummer, either."
"Aww... C'mon, John's sorry, aren't you John?" said George, glaring at him.
"Erh, yeh, sorry 'bout what I said before Ringo. O'right?"
"No, it's not alright. Now fucking leave me alone!" He stood up, and walked off, leaving them there.
"Great. You really got to him this time John." George commented. John watched Ringo's small figure slowly shrink as it got further and further away. He sighed.
"We'd better go home before *we* freeze." said Paul, standing up.
"Yeh... I hope Ringo gets it in to his head that we need him back soon." John said slowly.
"C'mon Johnny-boy. He'll come back soon enough. Lets go home first, though." said George.
"'Kay."
The three remaining Beatles solomnly walked back through the park.
"George?"
"Yes John?" Don't ever call me Johnny-boy again!"
They all laughed and walked home on a happier note than before.
* * *
Ringo didn't come home for the next few hours.
"He's probably at Laura's house!" George said.
"Well, he probably has more fun there than he does here!" Paul giggled.
"Shurrup! I'm trying to watch the telly here!" John growled.
"O'right! Sorry Johnny!" George said, incincerely.
Thngs were quiet for the next few minutes, as all the Beatles wondered what had happened to their drummmer.
Just then, the blue phone in Ringo's room rang.
"'Ello?" John said.
"Excuse me, but does a Mr. Starkey live at here?"
"Yeh, what do you want?" John snapped, thinking it was another crazy fan who managed to get hold of their phone numbers again.
"This is the Royal London Hospital." John's face paled greatly. He immediately thought the worst. Ringo did have a history of being very sick as a child.
"Might I speak to a Mr. John Lennon, Mr. Paul McCartney, or Mr. George Harrison?" the person from hospital enquired.
"I'm John Lennon." answered John.
"Alright. Well, you friend, Ringo is it? He was hit by a car earlier this afternoon. I'm not sure how bad the injuries are, but we think he's stable."
"What is it Johnny?" George asked, concerned, as he watched John grow paler and paler.
"R-Ringo. H-he's in the hosptial." John stuttered.
"Oh my God..."
"Mr Lennon?" the voice on the telephone enquired as John didn't reply.
"Yeh, I'm still here." John answered.
"Good. Would you like to come to the hospital. To fill in some forms for us?" the hospital-voice thingy asked.
"Eh, sure. I'll be there soon."
"Great. Good-bye." The hospital-voice-thingy-majigy hung up.
"Oh my God..." John echoed Georges' former remark as he sat down on Ringo's bed. Paul walked over.
"What happened? Did they say?" he asked, deeply concerned for Ringo.
"Yeh." he said slowly. "Um... He was hit by a car earlier this afternoon. They're not sure how bad he is..." He trailed off.
"Well, let's go. We're his best friends, we have to know how he is." Paul grabbed his jacket. The other followed him suit.
As they sat in the car, John's mind wandered.
//It's all *my* fault. If *I* hadn't have yelled at him, he'd still be here... Why does everyone leave me? Me Mum, me Dad... Pete...//
"John?"
"Yeh?"
"It's not your fault. You didn't know this was gonna happen. Don't blame yourself." George consoled him from the front seat.
"Thanks George."
John sighed. He hoped Ringo was alright.
* * *
"Mr. Starkey? Yes, we have word of his condition. Dr. Townshend should be able to help you. Ah, here she is now."
A tall woman, about in her early 40's walked up to the three Beatles standing at the information desk.
"Ah, you must be John, Paul and George!." She said. "Don't worry, I'm not a screaming fan! Now, Ringo." She consulted her clipboard, then looked at them and sighed.
"Well, he has 1 broken arm, several abraisons on his legs and arms. We've stitched them up fine though. Uh, a sprained ankle, and mild concussion, due to a bump on the head."
"Oh God." John mumbled.
"W-will he be alright?" asked George.
"Oh yes, sure he will. He may need to stay here for maybe a week, so we can keep an eye on him though." Dr. Townshend assured him.
"Er, can we see him?" asked Paul. Dr. Townshend glanced at her clipboard.
"Well... Yes, but he's not awake yet."
John tried to hide the guilty look on his face. He still thought it was his fault.
They followed Dr. Townshend down a corridor, and she stopped at a single room.
"Don't disturb him. Call me if he wakes up."
"O'right."
The three Beatles waited until Dr. Townshend had disappeared down the hallway before entering. Paul grasped the door knob, and slowly swung the door open. Ringo was lying on the hospital, it's size making him seem much smaller than he was. He had a drip in his right hand, and his hair was tousled, making him look like a little boy again.
"Ringo?" John sat on the edge of the bed beside him.
"You 'eard what the doctor said John, don' wake 'im." Paul said.
John didn't reply. George sighed and sat down in 1 of the 2 hard plastic chairs. They all just sat, or stood there for a few minutes, sliently contemplating how this could have been avoided.
Suddenly, Ringo groaned. George stood up and walked over to the bed, standing next to Paul. Ringo's eyelashes fluttered, as he slowly woke up.
"RINGO! Are you alright?" Paul asked, concerned. Ringo moaned.
"Eh, what the hell happened...." He paused. "Hang on a minute... I told you to leave me alone... T-then what happened?" he asked, his face pained.
"Apparently you got hit by a car." George supplied for him.
Ringo frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"Ringo! I said I was sorry, right? We're here because we need our drummer, and because we care about him!" John said, a bit too loudly."
"Yeh Ringo, we're sorry 'bout all the sutff 'e said, aren't we John."
George said.
"C'mon Ringo, you know John never means anything 'e says anyway."
Ringo didn't look at any of them. He looked down, knowing he's been stupid about brushing them off like that.
He looked up at them.
"Lads, I'm sorry 'bout yelling at you like that before and telling you to leave me alone..." He trailed off, seeing the other staring at him.
"It's not yer fault Rngo. I shouldn't have been yelling at yeh in the first place." said John, he still felt guilty about Ringo's predicament.
"O'right, we're all sorry, can't we just kiss and make up?" asked George. "Yeh, you can kiss Paul and make up!" John cried.
"No!!! Paul can kiss you Johnny-boy!" George replied.
"Don't call me Johnny-boy!"
"Kiss George!" said Ringo.
"Ooh! Maybe we should get Jessi in here Geo!"
"Sod you Lennon."
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