Fic - When You Wish Upon A Starr

[blitzbebe]

Title:  When You Wish Upon A Starr
Author: TheAuthoress, aka blitzbebe
Pairing:  George/Ringo, John/Ringo, John/Paul
Rating:  PG
Word count:  4,539
Warnings:  AU, alcohol, swearing, angst, magic, cheesy titles

Disclaimer: I don’t claim I own anything mentioned in this fic. Not the Beatles, nor either of the things this may or may not reflect.
Author's Note:   Italics are thoughts, bold are flashback. This is not based of Aladdin at all. Well, okay, the end is a little, teeny tiny bit inspired by it, but this has nothing to do with the actual plot of Aladdin.  It’s more based off of I Dream of Genie than Aladdin.

*crossposted to appleandmantras*


~*~

Ringo groaned. The bathroom floor was cold behind his back. He lifted a hand to block out the lights on the ceiling, head throbbing against the tile. An empty bottle of scotch lay at his feet, dripping the last of its contents on Ringo’s pants. It faced Ringo, open top almost mocking, the only reminder of the events that transpired the night before. Ringo rolled over, the tile now against his bare chest, his shirt unbuttoned and stained. He didn’t want to look at the bottle. He drank the thing to forget.

~*~

John frowned at him from across the room. “Don’t you even think of calling him a fucking poof, ‘cause he’s not. We’re not fucking poofs.”

“Well, what are you then? Just two blokes that happen to like shaggin’ other blokes?” Ringo was frustrated. One moment, John was making snide comments about Brian, hurtful, stinging snide offhanded statements, and then the next he was up and telling Ringo that he and Paul, his only other best friend, were dating, but they weren’t like Brian, they weren’t poofs. They were different. Fucking different.

“None of your damn business!” John’s temper flared. Ringo didn’t see him move, but the sudden pain on the side of his face gave him more information than his eyes could. John had hit him.

“John,” Ringo reached out and grabbed John’s arms to keep them in place. “You bloody told me you liked birds and nothin’ else.” There was hurt in his voice. Mostly because recently in their past, Ringo had been turned down by the infamous Lennon. The infamous Lennon that only shagged birds. And Paul, apparently.

“Paul’s different.” John snarled, fists clenching.

“But I’d make ya a poof.” Ringo’s frown grew deeper, and he let go of John, stepping back.

“That’s not what I meant, Rich.” John shrugged, like it wasn’t his fault Ringo didn’t get him. Which was probably why he was with Paul. Paul got him in a way Ringo never could.

“Just get out of here.” Ringo felt his fists clench. “Get out.”

~*~

Ringo put his bruised cheek and eye against the tile, feeling the pain ebb a little at the contact. John had left him a long time ago, so why did it hurt that he was with Paul now?  Maybe it was because he and Paul made it perfectly clear that John had lied to Ringo to break up with him. It wasn’t even a breakup, because there was nothing to break up. They had a night together, and John split, because he wasn’t into shagging men.

Ringo forced himself to his feet, feeling like his head was ten tons heavier than the rest of his body. He shuffled over to the mirror, staring at himself. He looked exhausted, worn thin, and there was a large purple bruise all across the right side of his face. He put a hand to the bruise, letting his fingers run over it, wincing at the touch. His shirt was unbuttoned down the front nearly all the way, his pants stained, and he looked like he had just rolled out of hell. The hand on his bruise moved up to run through his hair as he exhaled into the sink below him.

After a moment gathering himself, which included buttoning his shirt, he wandered into the main room of his apartment and then into the kitchen, heading to fix a cup of tea. He stopped, though, when he noticed what was on the counter that wasn’t there that night. He lifted it, eyes wandering over the tarnished brass in his hand.

It was a vase. A vase with a cork in the top, made of brass, and heavy in Ringo’s hands. Around the neck was a tag with a note. A note of apology, from Paul.

Rich~

Sorry about last night. I wouldn’t drink what’s in this, since I found it in the attic an all, but I thought you’d like it.

Don’t drink too much,

~Paul

Ringo smiled, pulling the tag off and setting it on the counter. He rubbed at the brass with his sleeve, watching it shine in the light. Then, he decided to pop the top off.

The sudden outward expansion sent the vase clattered to the floor, Ringo alongside it. He watched as a swirling mist leaked from the bottle, lifting into the air before forming itself into a vague shape. Said shape seemed remotely humanlike, and became even more so until there was no denying the humanity of the thing. Well, at least from the waist up.

“Fucking hell.” The humanoid from the bottle stretched his thin arms above his head, yawning. He was thin, dark haired, with thick eyebrows and a toothy grin. His form dissolved at the waist, his hips becoming transparent mist that led back to the vase on the floor. “It’s cramped in there.”

Ringo gaped at the arrival from the floor, eyes drinking him in. Not only had a man just erupted from a vase and was currently floating above Ringo, but that man apparently had no pants, and there was nothing keeping Ringo from imagining the bony legs, among other things. Ringo felt his fingers tighten, pressing against the floor. He was somewhat nervous, his gut churning a little, but he didn’t quite know why.

“Well, what’re you waiting for, then?” The… well, Ringo didn’t quite know what to call this thing, because it so resembled a person, but from the lack of legs, certainly wasn’t. Anyroad, this thing was watching Ringo was a sort of amused look on its face.

“Whad’ya mean, what am I waiting for?” Ringo asked, sitting up a little. He was terribly confused.

“You have no idea what’s going on, yeah?” The thing sighed. He floated over, sticking out a hand. “My name’s George. I’m a genie. You get three wishes cause you freed me from the bottle, yadda yadda. Normally, you people who open that blasted thing know what the bloody hell to do already. Sorry ‘bout that.” George smiled his toothy smile.

Ringo shook the proffered hand. It was warm in his palm. “M’Ringo. Three wishes? Anythin’ I want?” He pulled himself to his feet, righting the vase on the floor.

“Well, there are a few rules.” George shrugged. “It’s the business, you know. Basic stuff. No wishing for more wishes, no immortality, no hurting other people, mentally or otherwise, and no ruining someone else’s happiness. That just leads to bloody rows and using me like I’m a fucking servant.”

“No immortality?” Ringo chuckled, trying to lighten the sour frown on George’s face. “Why not that? One too many Jesus’s runnin’ about?”

“You could say that.” George smiled again, crossing his arms. “Now, you know what you want? Money, power, fame… ladies?” George wriggled an eyebrow. Ringo turned to the kitchen window, smile fading. If only. Then maybe he wouldn’t have such a damn hangover.

“Can I fix a cuppa ‘fore I start?” Ringo asked, turning back to the genie. “Can’t ‘xactly think. Hungover, ya know?” George nodded.  “You want anythin’?”

George floated down to a chair, thinking. The mist formed into legs, wearing dark pants that were larger around the ankles, before coming back close together at the end. Very puffy, they were. “Nah, m’good, thanks.” He smiled softly. There was  a pause as Ringo fixed himself a cup of tea. “No one’s ever offered me anything before, you know.”

“Well, what would you rather me do?” Ringo sat down next to George, crossing his legs and sipping his tea. “Treat you like a servant?”

George smiled, but this time is wasn’t his big grin. It was slightly sheepish, and grateful. “Not complaining. It’s just… different. You’re different, you know? It’s… hard to explain.”

Ringo took a deep swallow of his tea. Yeah, he knew. Paul’s different. Ringo set the cup down and put a hand to his head, sighing.

“You alright?” George asked, worried. He put a hand on Ringo’s head, fingers lightly tracing the edges of the bruise. His hands were cold, but not unpleasantly so. Ringo let out a little sound somewhere between a moan of pleasure and an answer.

“Yeah. Just… got into a bit of a row with me friends last night.” Ringo quickly elaborated. “A whole bottle of scotch don’t do much to fix it.” Ringo sighed. He looked up when he felt cold fingers brushing the hair from his temple.

“It’s just a row, though, right?” George asked, looking into Ringo’s eyes. The genie had dark eyes, old eyes, set in his young face. “It’ll pass. They’ll get over it, ‘n so will you.”

“Yeah, s’just…” Ringo sighed. A thought came to him, and he picked his head up from where he was slightly bent over, smiling a little. “You know, I’ve got me first wish.”

“Alright, ‘n just as a warning, you’ve got to be specific, a’right?” George picked himself up from the table and stretched.

“Got a question, first. You’ll stay with me until I wish all my wishes?” Ringo asked, standing as well. “’N, if you and I, ya know, wanna go for a walk or something, you’ll dress normal or whatever without me wishin’ it, right?”

“Of course.” George crossed his arms, smiling. “And yeah, I’ve got to stay with you no matter what. Even if you close that thing, I’m out ‘til I finish your wishes.”

Ringo thought for a moment. “Then I wish that I, with you along with me, could go somewhere a ways away, you know, not too bloody far like America, but not like London, and then stay there for as long as I want, ‘til I say otherwise.”

“Impressive, all one sentence. You’re good. You sure you’ve never done this before?” George laughed. He thought for a moment, before snapping his fingers.

Suddenly, they were in the lobby of a hotel room, a trolley with Ringo’s bags beside them. George was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, to blend in more. Ringo rubbed his eyes, startled at the change.

“Here we are. Florence, Italy. Good hotel, and thanks to your wish we’ve got a paid suite ‘til you’re ready to go home.” George stretched again. “Oh hell is it good to get out of that jar.”

Ringo headed over to the counter and retrieved his room key, coming back to get the trolley and George. He studied the information of the room ordered, having to re-read one bit three times over.

“One bed?” He looked up at George, who was wheeling the trolley of Ringo’s things towards the elevator.

“I can sleep in my vase, if you want. I don’t mind.” George shrugged. “Anyroad, S’cheeper than two beds, ‘n minting cash enough for this isn’t my forte. Don’t want to overdo it.”

“I don’t mind.” Ringo smiled. Things were looking up.

~*~

The days passed quickly, with them sleeping in more days that none (George in his vase) and spending the afternoons watching crappy movies on the telly or wandering the streets without much care. They didn’t talk about the reasons for why they were there, even a little. Now the night set on around them quietly outside the large suite window. Ringo sat, looking out across the city lights, legs crossed, deep in thought. He was thinking about John, about Paul, and the fact that even though he was miles from the situation he was still thinking about it. Still thinking about how John could’ve done that to him.

“You alright?” George sat down on the floor next to Ringo’s chair, legs crisscrossed. Ringo looked down at the genie and smiled softly.

“Yeah, fine.” Ringo looked back out the window, taking in the view. “It’s beautiful out there.”

“Yeah.” George murmured. He paused. “What’s so heavy on your mind, then?” The genie then asked, looking up at Ringo. The short man looked back at George and let out a heavy sigh.

“John ‘n Paul, mostly. Me friends that I got into a row with.” Ringo crossed his arms, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” George smiled reassuringly. “M’a good listener. ‘N  I won’t tell a soul.”

There was a second of silence as Ringo thought of what to say. “I loved him, you know. John. Loved him, or convinced meself I did. Witty man, him. Charming. Everybody loves ‘im. We had a night, once, shagged, ‘n he left. Told me he didn’t like shaggin’ men. Birds only. Then, last night he shows up and tells me he’s dating Paul. Other friend, also male.”

“Shite, mate.” George reached up and put a hand on Ringo’s knee.

“Yeah, said that meself. We got into it a bit. He hit me.” Ringo closed his eyes, the memory of that morning, when he looked into the mirror for the first time since they arrived, and saw how the bruise had turned yellow and nasty over the few days, flashing before his closed eyes. “Paul’s different, he said, Paul’s different. Shaggin’ Paul wouldn’t make him feel like a bloody poof. But me, it would, apparently. ‘N, well… it hurts. Don’t know why, he bloody left me a long time ago. Guess it’s cause I trusted him, ‘n he lied.” Ringo’s hand lightly drifted to the comforting hand on his knee. “S’a silly thing to get all worked up over, innit?”

“No, it’s not.” George got up and pulled up a chair so he was sitting level with Ringo. “Just… you’ve gotta find someone else to love, cause this John bloke isn’t coming back. ‘N even if he did… He hit you. Not the kind of man I’d go back to, you know? He could hit you again.” There was evident concern in George’s voice.  “Even if you’ve gotta find a man, you have to find someone. Someone who really cares for your well bein’.”

Ringo looked George straight in the eyes. The deep, soulful, beautiful eyes. The windows to George’s soul, staring at him with compassion and comfort. Someone who really cared for his well being. Ringo flexed his fingers, thinking, trying to read into the mind behind those eyes.

“I wish I knew what you were bloody thinking, if only for a moment.” He murmured. Realizing what he said, he bit his lip. Well, there goes wish number two. Within an instant, there was a voice inside Ringo’s head, and it was George’s voice.

“He’s got the bluest eyes in the world. They’re… beautiful.”

Ringo quickly got up from his chair, startled at the thought that raced through George’s head, and shuffled to the bed. George frowned, biting his lip a little, realizing that Ringo could read his mind and there was nothing he could do about it. “Let’s… get some sleep ‘n we can try and get out early tomorrow, for once.” Ringo said, pulling the covers back and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Damn, well, back to the vase.”

George stretched, heading over to the nightstand where the vase was sitting. “Wait, you wanna… share the bed?” Ringo asked, sitting down and pulling off his shoes. “I mean, s’not fair, makin’ you sleep in that vase all night.”

“Thanks.” George smiled, truly grateful. He shucked off his shirt and crawled into the single bed, the contentment making its way visibly across his face. “First time I’ve slept in a real bed in a long time.” He murmured, snuggling down in the blankets. Ringo crawled into bed with George and rolled so his back was to the other man.

“G’night, Georgie.” He murmured, closing his eyes.

“G’night, Ringo.” George replied.

“Poor thing. Needs to find someone that really cares for him. He’s too good of a person not to. If only I weren’t a genie… bloody hell.”

Ringo listened to George’s thoughts as he drifted off, and a smile crept onto his face. So George did really care about him. His heart beat a little faster at the thought. He’d only just met George a few days ago, but something in the genie’s eyes captivated him and pulled him in. He also cared for the genie - though Ringo was the type to care about all of his friends just the same - but George was different from John and Paul in that he truly appreciated the caring gestures.

I think I need to talk to him.

Ringo drifted off into sleep, the thought running through his mind, not knowing that George was thinking the same thing.

~*~

The next morning, George woke up first. He found Ringo was pressed into his chest, the shorter man’s arms up by his face, almost defensively. George pulled Ringo closer, wrapping him tighter in his arms, watching as the man arched his back and pushed his face closer to the thin chest. He was covered in a cold sweat, and his face was drawn in a grimace that offset the yellow bruise so that it looked much worse than it was.

“No…” Ringo half said, half moaned, pressing his palms flat against George’s chest, fingers twitching, trying to figure out whether they wanted to hold onto George or push George away. He thrashed a little in his dream, the nightmare becoming worse, and a tear streaming down his face. George wanted so badly to kiss the tear away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get attached to Ringo, not with only one wish left before he was trapped in the vase for another stint of who knows how long.

“John, stop…” Ringo’s words were slurred, half moaned, muffled against George’s chest. A quiet sob escaped him, and he thrashed harder, this time against George, pushing the genie away.

“It’s okay, Ringo.” George murmured, his even voice full of comfort. He pulled Ringo against him with strong but gentle arms, holding him tightly. “It’ll all be alright.”

“It won’t be alright!” Ringo was still asleep, talking to whomever in his dream, face still contorted with pain. “I don’t love you… I don’t love you John… I… I’ve moved on, I can’t, John, don’t d-do this…” Ringo curled his fists up against George’s chest, sobbing harder now, back arched drastically away from George. “Don’t do this, John, don’t… don’t, you can’t, John!”

With his last word, a cry so loud it startled George into backing up, Ringo shot up into a sitting position in the bed, finally awake. He was breathing hard, tears streaming down his face with reckless abandon. It took him a moment to realize that yes, he was awake, and that everything in his mind a moment ago was a dream.

Thin arms snaked around him and pulled him into a hug, where Ringo found the tears finally come to a halt. George simply held him, chin tucked into Ringo’s hair, lips pressed into a thin frown.

“Nightmare?” The genie asked, feeling Ringo nod against him. “Want to talk about it?” This time, the head against his chest shook no. “It was about that John bloke, wasn’t it?”

“How’d you know?” Ringo pulled back enough to look into George’s eyes.

“You talk in your sleep, mate.” George smiled. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“M’fine, really.” Ringo rubbed at his eyes, sniffling a little. There was a pause, comfortable silence floating between them. “Hey, Geo, can I talk to you?”

“You can talk to me about anything.” George leaned back against the pillows, stretching. Ringo paused, shifted, and then hopped off the bed to look out the window. George watched him, sitting up a little, brow furrowed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Do you care ‘bout me?” Ringo suddenly asked, fists behind his back gripping each other tightly. He was met with silence. “Do you really care ‘bout me?”

“Ringo.” George slipped off the bed, taking a step towards Ringo. Ringo turned around, his eyes pleading for an answer. “Yeah, I care about you, Rings, you’re my friend.”

“What about as… more than friends?” Ringo asked, wringing his hands in front of him. “I mean, ya said I should find someone that really cares ‘bout me, ‘n it’s just a thought, really, but do you care ‘bout me as more than a friend?”

“I…” George looked at the floor. He did care, like that. Really. Over the past several days, he’d seen the person Ringo was - the happiness, the kindness, the caring. He’d seen the Ringo John had fallen for ever so briefly. He’d seen Ringo’s other side, the insecure side, and he’d comforted that side more than once. Caring about Ringo as more than a friend was only the start of it, but George couldn’t act on it. He just… couldn’t.

“Yes or no, Geo, me sanity’s on the line.” Ringo smiled, and George found a smile forming on his face.

“Yeah.” George finally answered, voice slightly meek. “Yeah, I do.” He looked up at Ringo, whose face was alight with joy. “But… Rings, I can’t… date you. I care, hell, I more than care, but I can’t do a thing about it.”

“Why not?” Ringo took a step forward, closing the gap, and George stuck a hand out before the shorter man could get too close.

“I’m a genie, Ringo.” George said. His eyes rang with a deep, profound sadness, the kind of sadness that had been through his life a hundred times, and a hundred times after. “I’ve lived a thousand years. I’ve lived more than a thousand years. I’ve granted wishes for a lot of people, and I’ve loved a few of ‘um. But, Ringo, you’ve got to understand, it’s always the same ending. You make that last wish, I get locked in that vase, it’s granted, and I’m trapped until the next bloke pops the cap while getting a cuppa!” George threw his hands in the air. “It’s always the fucking same, Ringo! I’ve had my heart broken hundreds of times ‘cause of this, and I don’t think I can stand having it shattered again. I’ve never seen a bloke more beautiful, more kind, more loving, Rings, but I can’t make myself think I can have this forever. I just can’t.”

With that, George turned, and jumped back into his vase, rattling it and the table underneath it. Ringo was left standing in the middle of the room, staring at his heart that lay in a thousand pieces on the floor.

~*~

Ringo watched the Italian city turn in for the night outside his window.  He’d sat there all day, eating only a sandwich brought to the room at noon, and leaving his spot on the bed only once to use the loo. George remained in his vase, the thing not even vibrating a little with his movement. Ringo would occasionally glance at the vase, hoping for movement, or some other sign that George was still in there and alive. The rest of the time, he thought, and he thought hard.

“George.” Ringo finally moved over around the bed and tapped on the vase. George poked his head and arms out the top, crossing his arms across the top and putting his head on them.

“Yes?” The genie sounded hurt, betrayed, almost. Ringo felt sorry for the little genie in the bottle, and had the urge to reach out and stroke the tiny head of hair. “What, you got your third bloody wish, then?”

“I do.” Ringo glanced back out the window. Over the past few days, that view had become the sole holder of his sanity. When he was pining after John, it reminded him life moved on. When he hoped maybe he and George… The beautiful, soulful, sorrowful genie that Ringo had come to love… it gave him solace and peace, proving that some things didn’t change. The sun rose, the sun set. And when he was thinking, and planning, and wondering if he was throwing himself out on a limb that was too small for his weight, it gave him hope.

“Get on with it, then.” George sighed, resigned to his fate.

Ringo glanced at George and a smile broke across his face, and he reached out and stroked the genie’s hair with a single finger. “I wish that you, George, the Genie trapped in that little vase, were now human and will remain human until the end of your life, with no wish ever changing that otherwise.”

George hopped out of the vase, the cap drawing it closed tightly behind him. “You… Ringo!” He was startled, and also very tiny, standing on the carpeted floor. He changed into his taller, human form, though accompanied with a warm sort of glow. The dark eyes that stared at Ringo from the young face were still the same, beautiful eyes, but there was something different about George.  He was smiling.

“You said it yourself, mate. It’d just keep happening over ‘n over, trappin’ you in that vase. Couldn’t do that to you.” Ringo felt himself mimicking the smile that was spreading across George’s face, but without the drastic amount of surprise.

“But it was your last wish!” George protested, sitting on the bed beside Ringo. “You could’ve had anything, ‘n you wasted it on me.”

“Without you, Geo… well, nothing else was worth wasting the final wish on. I considered never making that wish, you know. Though about wishing you’d never have to leave, but that’s like wishing for more wishes.” Ringo laughed. “So, I took me only other option.”

“You’re too bloody kind, you know that?” George laughed as well, a surge of something strong and decidedly human rushing through him to the fingers. There was a pause, the silence stretching between them, like a long lonely road in the middle of the night. “I… well, Ringo, this is a new thing for me. Never thought I’d have the freedom to actually… think like this.” He laughed.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.” Ringo anticipated the question and answered with a chuckle. The hot blush than ran through George, lighting up his face, was also a new thing for the genie-turned-human.

“How’d you know I was gonna ask that?” George sounded flustered, but he was laughing at the same time. Ringo simply smiled at him, tapping his head. They both burst into laughter, both reveling in the ultimate content they felt. “And… I’m not just a bloody rebound, right?”

“Geo, ‘course not.” Ringo reached out and put his hand on George’s knee. “I was over John…  a while ago. Why I came here was ‘cause I felt… betrayed, not ‘cause we broke up. He was me friend, ‘n he lied to me. But you’re not, promise.”

George looked at the hand, before putting his hand over it. He stood, taking the hand in his own, pulling Ringo along with him as he made his way to the door. “C’mon, let’s go to that little place on the corner you liked so much. I’ve got enough cash in my pockets for a nice lunch.”

Ringo followed, laughing excitedly. As he got to the door, he glanced behind him. He looked into the empty room, and he could see John standing there, wanting to come back to him, maybe sometime in the future, and Ringo shut the door on the room and John, leaving them behind forever.

Fin