"I'm getting submarine sick," Paul said, face contorting into a nauseous grimace.

    "Here," Old Fred said, hold a green apple out to Paul. "Have an apple."

    "Eating is the last thing I feel like doing," Paul said, eyeing the apple suspiciously.

    "They're supposed help with motion sickness," Old Fred said while shrugging.

    "Are we there yet?" John groaned.

    "Almost," Old Fred replied.

    "Where are we going anyway?" Ringo asked.

    Jeremy started hopping as if he just couldn't contain his excitement, and he probably couldn't. "The Foothills of the Headlines."

    Paul rubbed his forehead. "What are we supposed to get again?"

    "Pepper!" Jeremy exclaimed happily.

    "This is going to be a sneeze fest," John grumbled.

    "We're here!" Old Fred yelled.

    No one said anything.

    He sighed. "I can tell you're all terribly excited, but please try to contain yourselves."

    "We'll try," Ringo said dryly as Jeremy started to climb up the ladder quite gleefully.

    "Now, why is he so happy?" John asked as they began to follow him up the ladder.

    "He's always happy," Ringo said, right behind Jeremy.

    They came up through the hatch and all stared the Headlines for a few moments. They were surrounded by colorful heads that had things like "yes" and "no" written on them. The brightness of the place was kind of making Ringo's eyes hurt.

    "It's exactly how I remember it," John said flatly.

    "This way to the pepper!" Jeremy cried, hopping off. They continued to follow him for a while before they made it to the pepper, which was scattered on the ground everywhere.

    "How are we going to— " John's face scrunched up. "Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . . choo!" He sneezed on Paul.

    "John!" Paul cried. "That is disgusting! Now I have your snot all over my new sweater— Ah . . . ah . . . ah . . . choo!" Then Paul sneezed on Ringo, who didn't say anything, just scowled at the two of them.

    "As I was saying before I sneezed all over Paul— how are we going to collect it?" John asked.

    "Hmm," Old Fred hummed thoughtfully. "What about your typewriter, Jeremy?"

    "Ah, yes!" Jeremy said and then pulled his typewriter out of nowhere. Ringo's eyebrows knitted together. Had he been keeping it in his fur somewhere? The typewriter then turned into a vacuum and sucked up the pepper. Jeremy joyfully put it in a jar and handed it Paul, who studied it carefully.

    "Well, that was easy," John said, and then proceeded to sneeze on Ringo.

    "Don't jinx us, John," Paul sniffled before sneezing on Ringo as well.

    "Will. You. Stop. Sneezing. On. Me?!?" Ringo screamed, voice echoing through the Headlines.

    John and Paul regarded him as if he was overreacting. John said, "Jeez, Rings, no need to get mad."

    "Yeah," Paul agreed. "What's wrong with you?"

    "Nothing was wrong with me until you both sneezed all over me!"

    "Well, I'm sorry," John said while rolling his eyes.

    "Let's just go on to the Sea of Science," Ringo grumbled and pushed past them.

* * *

"That is one big periodic table," John said as they gazed at it. It laid flat on the ground and had to be about sixty yards in length. Ringo couldn't get over how large it was, and he began to feel overwhelmed, shifting from foot to foot quite nervously.

    "Now we've just got to find the bromine," Paul said, chewing on his fingernails absentmindedly.

    "That's not going to be hard at all," Ringo said sarcastically as his eyes scanned all the different elements on the table. There were so many that he didn't even know existed! But it wasn't like Ringo was a science expert, either.

    "Boob, do you know where the bromine is on the table?" John asked Jeremy.

    "Period four, column seventeen, element thirty-five," Jeremy rattled off.

    They all stared at him with blank expressions.

    "Just follow me!" Jeremy said with slight annoyance, and began to hop off in the direction of the bromine. He counted the periods and columns as he was prancing so he could locate the bromine.

    "The messes George gets himself into," John muttered, shaking his head.

    "This is probably the worst one yet!" Paul exclaimed. "Usually he'll get himself into binds, but they aren't this bad."

    "Yeah," Ringo agreed. "Usually he'll just do something minor like drop his pick in his guitar and spend two hours trying to get it out."

    "Well, this time the pick jammed in there and won't come out," John said bitterly.

    "This concoction Jeremy is making will get it out, though," Paul assured him.

    Old Fred eyed them incredulously. "Are you really comparing his terrible predicament to dropping a pick in a guitar?"

    "Yep," they said in perfect unison.

    "Here's the bromine," Jeremy said, dancing around it. They gathered around it and waited for Jeremy to stop his victory dance.

    "How are we going to get it?" John asked. "Do we just take this tile?"

    "What kind of stupid question is that?" Paul asked. "We need actual bromine, not the tile that it represents on the table!"

    Jeremy didn't say anything, just lifted the tile to reveal dark red liquid. Soon after the liquid was revealed, a terrible smell wafted through the air, causing them all to cough.

    "It is toxic, so I should contain it quickly," Jeremy said, and pulled out his typewriter. It transformed into a dropper which he used to collect it and then put it in a test tube. John took the test tube from him and kicked the tile back down, coughing the entire time.

    "You're telling me it's toxic!" John said, coughing more.

    "All right!" Jeremy said, ignoring him, and heading back toward the submarine. "It's time for time!"

* * *

The ticking was about to drive Ringo insane. There were literally hundreds upon hundreds of clocks ticking all at the same time! He was about to tear his hair out because he couldn't even hear himself think.

    "Those . . . are . . . a lot . . . of clocks," Paul said slowly as they stared at the fields of clocks.

    "Do they grow out of the ground or something?" John asked exasperatedly.

    "I need ear plugs," Ringo said flatly.

    "We need a purple clock with blue hands," Jeremy said.

    "Why?" John asked.

    "To cure George," Jeremy said, looking at him in a funny way.

    "No, I didn't mean it like that! I meant, why does it need to be that color?"

    "George's favorite color is purple."

    "Why the blue, then?"

    "Because it needs to be."

    "Why are you being so vague?" John bellowed.

    Jeremy ignored him. "Let's split up, lads! Remember, purple with blue hands!" He disappeared into the field of clocks . . . probably never to be seen again.

    Paul began to go one way but John followed him. Paul stopped once he noticed John following and started in the opposite direction, but John turned and went that way with him as well. Paul finally stopped completely and glared at John, which was enough to get him going away from Paul.

    Ringo chuckled slightly and began to walk in his own direction. He tried to tune out all the ticking but he simply couldn't. It pierced through everything, nearly driving him mad.

    Purple with blue hands, purple with blue hands, purple with blue hands. He kept finding purple clocks but they didn't have the right color hands. Oh, there was one with orange hands. There's another one with black hands. Lookie there! There's one with pink hands!

    Ringo finally saw one with blue hands and ran to get it, but tripped over another clock that was half buried in the ground. He cursed and stood up again and began to cautiously make his way to the clock. He finally reached it and realized that the hands were navy. Not blue. Navy is a type of blue, he thought, studying it.

    "Jeremy!" Ringo heard John scream not too far away.

    "Yes?" came Jeremy's sing-song voice even closer.

    "Does navy count as blue?" John asked. Ringo snorted. He had found the same kind of bloody clock.

    "It has to be blue exactly!" Jeremy replied.

    Ringo chucked the clock over his shoulder and continued to look. He almost considered giving up, but then he thought of poor George locked all alone in a music room, turning more and more into a Blue Meanie by the second. He also thought of George standing up for him against the Pete Best fans and taking a punch because of it. No. Ringo wasn't going to give up. He started kicking clocks furiously out of his way.

    Minutes went by of Ringo recklessly breaking clocks until he found the one he was looking for.

    "Come to Papa!" he cried, throwing his arms out and skipping over to it. He picked it up and happily kissed it on its face. "I found it!" he announced.

    "Somebody release the confetti!" John cried in glee.

* * *

Ringo was recalling the last time he had been in the Sea of Monsters as if he was referring to a war. He'd been ejected from the submarine and then had almost been killed by several different terrible beasts. Let's just say it had been a traumatic experience.

    "Blimey!" Old Fred yelled, knocking Ringo from his reverie.

    Ringo's head jerked up. "What is it now?"

    Old Fred was pressing what seemed to be random buttons and was steering the submarine frantically. "We're about to be sucked up by a monster!"

    Ringo peered out the window and looked at the monster that had a snout that resembled a vacuum cleaner. It was producing a good amount of suction, but Fred was managing to keep the submarine from getting sucked up.

    "We're going to die!" Paul cried, clinging onto John who was regarding him with annoyance.

    "We're not going to die," John said. "Right, Fred?"

    "There is actually a fairly large percentage that we shall perish," Jeremy piped up matter-of-factly.

    "Shut up, Jeremy," Old Fred snapped, smacking buttons. Ringo felt the submarine hurl in the opposite direction of the vacuum creature, and he stumbled forward, smacking against the window.

    "That was a close— " Fred didn't finish his sentence because Ringo heard a loud stomping near his window. He dared to peer out and he saw a boot monster hopping toward them, desperately wanting to crush the submarine.

    "Oh, my God!" Paul yelled, diving to the floor as if that was going to keep them from being crushed. Someone else screamed shrilly, and Ringo wasn't sure if it was himself or not. He was going to tell himself that it was John for the time being.

    Old Fred smashed more buttons, remarkably remaining calm. Jeremy was even nervous, clinging onto John's leg and whimpering. The boot monster was booming closer and closer, shaking the ground, but the submarine wasn't moving.

    "Fred, could you please get the sub to move because . . . um, we're about to be squashed," Ringo said nervously.

    "I'm trying to get it to, but it won't respond!" Old Fred exclaimed, banging some more on the control console.

    "We are going to die," John said quietly and then slid to the floor where he and Jeremy clung to each other. Paul was on the floor as well, clasping his hands over his head as if he was bracing himself for a tornado.

    The submarine finally took on a burst of speed and left the boot monster behind and Ringo let out a sigh of relief. They cruised peacefully in silence for a few minutes, but Ringo's heart didn't cease the uncontrollable thumping in his chest.

    Paul pulled his hands from his head. "Where are these herbs we're getting?"

    "Right there," Ringo said, pointing out his window.

    Paul stood and joined him. "Ah, that's convenient. A pod of whales. Hmm."

    "Yeah," Ringo said.

    "Whales aren't aggressive, are they?"

    John came over, walking like a peg-legged pirate since Jeremy was still tightly wrapped around his leg. "It looks like they're guarding the herbs."

    "Maybe we can negotiate with them," Paul shrugged.

    John snorted and said sarcastically, "Yeah, sure! Whales speak English perfectly well."

    "No need to be cheeky, Joh— " Paul began but something struck the side of the submarine and everything went upside down. They were all thrown on the ceiling as the sub rolled. It finally rolled back so they were on the floor again and Ringo saw that a boxing monster had hit them and was closing in for another punch.

    "Not on my watch," Old Fred growled and pushed a button. A boxing glove extended from the nose of the submarine and sent the boxing monster flying. Old Fred smiled to himself.

    "Watch out, Fred's on the loose!" John cried good-naturedly.

    "Now let's go try to get the herbs from those vicious-looking whales," Ringo said.

    "This will be fun," John said flatly.

    "There's a ball coming at us," Paul said.

    "What?" John, Ringo, and Old Fred said simultaneously.

    "There's a quite angry ball rolling our way," Paul said, pointing out the window at the ball that was indeed hurling at them.

    Ringo exploded. "How many freaking monsters are going to attack us, for God's sake?"

    "This is the Sea of Monster, after all," Jeremy said.

    "Shut up, Jeremy!" they all barked.

    "This has been a horrible day," Paul moaned.

    "It's about to get worse," John said, and then proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs, "Knock that ball into next week, Fred! No more Mr. Nice Guy!"

    Fred pressed another button and a boot extended from the bottom of the sub and kicked the ball like it was a giant football. Ringo watched as it soared through the air and he imagined it going into a goal.

    "Yellow submarine one, rolling ball zero," Ringo whooped.

    "Now, for the whales," Paul sighed.

    "Jeremy, tell us exactly what we're after," John commanded.

    "We need herbs that are the same colors as your Sgt. Pepper costumes," Jeremy said, reading from his paper.

    "Oh, goodie," John said sarcastically. "So green, blue, pink, and orange?"

    "Yes."

    "Fred, do you think you can lure the whales away?" Ringo asked.

    "Let me see . . . " Old Fred said, appearing to be in deep thought. "What do whales like?"

    "Flesh?" John suggested.

    "I thought most whales like krill," Paul squeaked.

    "These don't look like usual whales," John said. "Hmm. Maybe we can sacrifice Ringo?"

    "John," Paul breathed. "How could you say such a thing?"

    "Well, do you want to lose our lead guitarist because he's turning into a hairy blueberry, or do you want to sacrifice our drummer to save our guitarist?"

    "Neither," Paul said, turning his nose up and crossing his arms.

    "What about Jeremy?" Ringo said, glaring at John.

    "What?" John said with a feigned gasp. "How could you say such a thing, Ringo? The boob is too smart and adorable to feed to some bloodthirsty whales."

    "Stop your bickering!" Old Fred yelled. "I'll lure the whales away with a decoy."

    "Decoy?" Paul echoed.

    "A shark."

    "A fake shark?"

    "What do you think, you fool? Do you honestly believe I would have a shark in the belly of this vessel?"

    "I don't know. It seems like this thing can do anything."

    "When they see the shark they'll chase after it because they see it as a threat," Fred explained as he pushed yet another button. Ringo gazed out the window and saw a mechanical shark swimming along easily. It only took a few moments before the pod of whales locked onto it and proceeded to chase it, bearing their sharp, not-so-whale-like pearly whites.

    "Go, go, go!" Jeremy cried and the sub raced to the herbs that the whales had been standing guard around.

    The three Beatles and Jeremy climbed through the hatch and began to rummage through the herbs for the ones they were looking for. They found the herbs they needed as quickly as they could, then hurried back to the submarine so quickly that Ringo tripped twice. Once they were all back inside, Fred made the sub speed off and Ringo looked behind them to see the whales returning to their positions, blue-gray metal hanging from their teeth. He shuddered. The shark had definitely taken one for the team.

* * *

They found a sobbing, hysterical Pattie outside the music room where George was being kept. Ringo approached her warily, unsure what to say.

    "Um," he stammered. "Are— Are you all right, Pattie?"

    "No!" she wailed, her beautiful blue eyes blotchy from tears.

    "What's wrong?"

    "I-I persuaded the Lord Mayor to let me see George and— and I tried to talk to him, but— but he didn't recognize m-m-me and he— he yelled and— it was scary, Ringo!" She sobbed harder and threw her arms around Ringo's neck, sobbing into his shoulder.

    Paul, John, and Jeremy stood around slightly uneasy for a few more moments while Ringo awkwardly patted her back.

    "It's fine," he reassured her. "We have a cure that will bring the old George back."

    "Really?" Pattie sniffled, pulling away.

    "Yes." Ringo nodded.

    "Okay," Pattie said, wiping her tears away and straightening. "Go in and cure him."

    It was worse than Ringo had expected. George was now furry and . . . well, bluer and he was absolutely vicious. He tried to bite John three times before they managed to subdue him so Jeremy could mix the cure in peace.

    "I will not be cured," George growled in a voice that wasn't his own. He then snapped at Paul's hands with his razor teeth. Paul jerked his hand back and levelly kept George's gaze.

    "George Harrison, this is for your own good," Paul said sternly.

    George snarled.

    "Hurry up, Jeremy!" John said through gritted teeth and he clutched onto George's furry blue shoulders. The thing Ringo couldn't get over was that George had always been a string bean, but now he looked like a linebacker.

    "Things like this can't be rushed!" Jeremy cooed as he ground the ingredients together with a mortar and pestle.

    "Well, we've got an insane blueberry wanting to tear our heads off," John growled, eyes glaring daggers at the little furry man.

    Meanwhile, Pattie was standing nearby nervously biting her lower lip and twirling her hair with a finger.

    "Done!" Jeremy cried and came hopping over. George thrashed wildly, trying to get loose of their hold, but they kept him in place while Jeremy forced him to drink it. As soon as the last of it had gone down his throat, George stopped struggling and stilled. Right before Ringo's eyes, his friend began to take on his old appearance: a lot less hairy and a lot less blue.

    They hesitantly let go of him and he slumped to the ground, eyes blinking quickly, unfocused, looking at everything in confusion.

    "W-What happened?" he stuttered.

    "It's a long story," Ringo said with a weak smile.

    "You kissed Pattie and turned into a vicious Blue Meanie and we almost died trying to get the ingredients for a cure," John said flatly.

    George blinked at him before slowly saying, "What?"

    "Do I have to repeat myself, Harrison?" John said testily.

    George regarded him with uneven gaze and looked down at the ground. "I feel . . . so terrible. I can't believe that I was selfish enough to put you through that."

    "Neither can I," John said, glaring at him.

    "John, cool it," Paul said, and then shifted his attention to George. He put his hand on his shoulder and smiled comfortingly at him. "It's okay, Geo."

    George scanned the room and then locked onto Pattie. "Pattie," he said softly, and shakily came to his feet and hobbled over to her. He hugged her tightly and felt tears welling in his eyes.

    "I'm so sorry I did this to you," Pattie whispered.

    "It's not your fault," George said, pulling away. "I pestered you until you kissed me."

    Pattie looked down at her feet. "Too bad I can never kiss you again."

    "Actually," Jeremy piped up, "you can."

    "What?" George and Pattie said in unison.

    "The cure keeps him from turning into a Blue Meanie again after being kissed by one."

    Pattie let out a cry of joy, practically jumped into George's arms, and planted a big kiss on his mouth.

    "Aww," Paul said. "This is heartwarming."

    John just stared at the scene with disinterest. "Yes," he said sarcastically, "very heartwarming."

    The music room door banged open, revealing a very furious Chief Blue Meanie. "Pattie!" he screamed.

    All Ringo could think was, Uh-oh.

Really long chapter! Anyway, tell me what you think!!!