Months went by, and things began to get better. Slowly but surely, things were getting better all the time (pun absolutely intended).

     But it was 1967 and August was fast approaching and Paul couldn't even begin to form a plan on how to save Brian. The problem was that Paul still didn't know whether it had been an accidental overdose or if Brian had killed himself. If it was an overdose, he could check on him consistently in the days leading up to when the police were supposed to go in and find him dead. But if Brian had killed himself...Paul didn't know how to save someone who didn't want to be saved.

     He was also concerned with the fact that he'd never changed anything quite this big. Dating John was big, yeah, but that was also kept a secret for the most part. John not falling in love with Yoko was pretty huge but it wasn't a life or death matter. Stuart escaping death was insane but that hadn't been Paul's doing. If Paul saved Brian's life, though...

     "I'm going to save Brian," he told Yoko with a huge smile plastered across his face, looking rather unremovable.

      "You are?" She beamed.

      "Yes!" Paul nodded. "I mean, I've been given a shot at saving John, that's why I'm here, but does that mean I should let everyone else I love die? Hell no."

      "Absolutely, I'm totally with you!" Yoko nodded. "So, how're you going to do it?"

     "I have absolutely no idea whatsoever," Paul said, but he was still smiling.

      Not long after, Barney came for a quick visit and Paul told him the same thing he'd told Yoko — Barney didn't

      "I'm worried," Barney sighed. He was on one of his father infrequent midnight visits. July was coming to an end which gave Paul barely a month to formulate a plan.

      "Me, too," Paul nodded. "I just don't know how I'm going to do it. Where do I even begin?"

     "That's not what I meant, Paulie," Barney shook his head. "I meant I'm worried about the whole saving him thing. I'm not so sure you should go through with it."

     "What? Are you crazy?" Paul looked at him, eyes the size of golf balls. "Barney, he's my friend. If I don't save him, then what's the point of me being here? So, what? I'm only supposed to save John? I'm supposed to sit back  and watch Brian die? What's next? Should I just let George go, too?"

     "All I'm saying is...be careful," Barney said. "Changing the big things...it's dangerous. And especially when we're getting so close to saving John, we have to be careful."

     "We're not close!" Paul shook his head. "It's 1967, for god's sake. I've been here for six years, yeah, but we've got thirteen more to go before Chapman pulls the trigger."

     Barney sighed. "Still.."

     "You know, I've been thinking," Paul said. "Why don't we just kill Mark David Chapman? Wouldn't that make this all so much easier?"

     "Oh, sure," Barney said. "Instead of just keeping John out of New York, out of America if we can, during the time surrounding his death, let's just go kill someone. In fact, let's go right now. How old is Chapman right now? Eleven? Twelve?"

      Paul sighed. "Okay, point taken."

     Barney nodded. "Good. Now, listen. I should tell you to leave Brian alone, hope for the best and pray that maybe you've altered history enough that he won't die, but that's not what I'm going to do. Here's what I am going to do; I'm going to tell you to do what you think best, but promise me you'll be cautious."

      Paul quickly nodded. "Of course. I'll be careful, I swear."

     "Okay, then," Barney nodded. "Best of luck."

~~~

     August twenty seventh was fast approaching and Paul was doing all he could to find out where Brian was going to be on the original day of his death. Paul knew where Brian had been found, of course, but he wasn't willing to let Brian's life rely in the consistency — not after he'd seen how inconsistent everything had become, anyway.

     When the day finally came, Paul walked up to Brian's front door and knocked firmly — his heart was beating out of his chest, he was sweating, he felt like he was going to either be sick or pass out or maybe both.

     It was a couple of minutes before the door opened and Brian opened the door. His eyes were red and Paul couldn't tell whether he was high or he'd been crying. "Hi, Paul," he said a tad apprehensively. "How are you? Haven't seen you in a little while... What're you doing here?"

      "I know we haven't seen each other in a while," Paul said, thinking to himself that he didn't seem high. "And that's why I'm here. I miss you, Bri. We all miss you. We need to hang out more."

     "You guys really miss me?" Brian asked.

     "Yeah, of course we do," Paul smiled warmly.

      Brian smiled back gratefully. "I've missed you boys, as well. Very much. Why don't you come in for a little while and we can talk, Paul?"

      "I'd love to," Paul nodded and followed Brian into his home. They sat down in the living room with some tea.

      "So how have the four of you been?" Brian asked. "Er — working on anything new? You know, so we can back into the studio sometime soon?"

      "Oh, yeah," Paul nodded. "Yeah, of course, we're always working on new material, you know that."

      "Yes, yes, I do," Brian chuckled, nodding. "I do still wish you boys would decide to tour again, though."

      "Me, too," Paul admitted without thinking about it.
 
      "Oh, you do?" Brian said hopefully. "Because I really could have something arranged and then — "

      "I'm sorry, Bri," Paul frowned. He shook his head, sighing, and avoided looking at Brian. "I mean, I really would love to tour again, but John and George and Ringo just don't want to."

      "Oh, right," Brian nodded, "of course."

      Paul frowned again. Brian had never kept it a secret how much he wanted the Beatles to tour again, but Paul had been the only one to ever stop and take a minute to realize that up was more than just about their careers; it was because he cared about them — really cared about them — and he realized that them not touring, them allowing themselves to grow apart, was going to ruin the band.

      How right he'd been in the end, even if he hadn't been around to see it.

     "What were you planning for tonight, Brian?" Paul asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

      "Oh," Brian shrugged. "Nothing much." He wasn't entirely convincing.

     "Oh," Paul said because he didn't know what else to say.

      Brian sighed, heavily, and sniffled a little. He rubbed at his red eyes and Paul was sure now that Brian had been crying before he arrived. "Have you seen the papers recently?"

      "No," Paul shook his head.

      Brian sighed again and pointed to a small stack on the table.

      With a frown, Paul began to pick through them. Obnoxiously aggressive headlines containing horrible words stared back at Paul, accusing Brian of having "sexual relations with men" and being "a practicing homosexual". The paragraphs below the headlines claimed that's he wasn't fit to be anyone's manager, least of all a band of such a high caliber like the Beatles.

     "Brian," Paul shook his head slowly. He found himself blinking back tears at the articles. "Brian, I am so sorry. You don't deserve this. No one does."

      "They've got me thinking," Brian said and Paul wasn't sure that Brian even realized he'd spoken. "Maybe — well — maybe I shouldn't be your manager."

      "WHAT?!" Paul looked at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. "Brian, that's insane! We'd never give you up because of these bullshit headlines! We established this years ago!"

      "Yes but I think, for your own good, I'm the one who's going to have to give you up," Brian said. "Because I know you'll never do it yourselves. What if this leads the press to dig deeper? I haven't forgotten what you told me about your own sexuality all those years ago, Paul."

      "I'll be fine," Paul said. "I always have been."

      "I — I just can't do this anymore," Brian shook his head. "Not you, not to John, not to George, not to Ringo....not to myself."

      It was there, in that moment, that Paul doubted the results of the autopsy. It had been a long time since Paul had thought that Brian had killed himself, it had been a long time since he had doubted what the doctors had told him about it being an accidental overdose.

       Paul stood up very suddenly and Brian started nodding slowly, staring into space absently. "You should go," he said slowly. "Just go. Leave me."

      "No way," Paul shook his head. He pulled Brian to his feet. "Come on, you're coming with me."

     "What? What're you on about, Paul?"

      "I'm not leaving you here all on your own, not when you're talking like this," Paul shook his head.

      "Don't worry about me," Brian said. "Oh, no, Paul, just go home and forget about it. I'll be just fine and we can talk about whether or not I'll still be managing you when we get a chance to sit down with the rest of the band."

      "I won't bring that up to them," Paul said. "I promise. But you're coming with me, you're going stay in our flat for a couple days until you're okay."

      "I am okay!" Brian insisted but the look Paul gave him told him that he wasn't getting out of this.

      Paul escorted Brian to the flat he shared with the rest of the band.

      "Brian," Ringo said, delightfully surprised. "What're you doing here?"

      "Oh, Brian's not feeling very well," Paul said, squeezing Brian's shoulder and smiling warmly at him. "I thought it'd be good for him to stay here for a few days so we can keep an eye on him."

      "Yeah, of course!" John nodded.

     "I'll sleep on the couch, you can have my bed." George offered.

     "Oh, no, George," Brian shook his head. "No, that's really not necessary. I told Paul that I'm fine but he really insists that I stay here, but I insist I'll take the couch and you keep your bed."

      "No way, Bri," George shook his head. "My bed is all yours."

      "Ringo," Paul said. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?"

      "Uh, yeah, sure," Ringo looked puzzled but he followed Paul.

     "Listen," Paul said. "I'm — I'm really worried about Brian, okay? There've been things in the papers recently about Brian being gay and he's being attacked for it. I didn't say any of the articles until today, but Brian's got them all stacked on his coffee table. And he's talking about quitting, letting us go, not being our manager anymore — says we'll be better off."

      "Well, that's crap," Ringo crossed his arms. "We couldn't possibly be better off without Brian."

      "No, we definitely can't be better without him," Paul agreed, thinking back to how bad things got after Brian had died with a shudder. "But I don't want you to tell him I've told you any of this, just be on the lookout for anything he does that seems worrying. I've really really really worried about what kind of mental state he's in, and he's going to be sleeping in your room."

      Ringo nodded, "I'll keep a close eye on him. Promise."

     Paul smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

      Later, Paul was curled up in bed with John's arms wrapped around him. He was watching the alarm clock that stood on his bedside table obsessively, watched each second tick by until finally, at long last —

      "Midnight." He breathed.

      John stirred. "Hm?"

      "Sorry," Paul said. "Go back to sleep."

      "Mm." John said, nuzzled his face into the crook of Paul's neck. "You should get some sleep too, you know," he mumbled drowsily before going back to sleep.

      Paul closed his eyes with a huge grin tugging at his mouth, one he couldn't have wiped off if he'd tried to. It was August twenty eighth, and Brian was asleep in the room down the hall under Ringo's watchful eye.

     He'd done it — he'd saved Brian Epstein, and he was without a doubt going to save John Lennon.