A/N: Hey everyone, Claire here! Well, this is a lovely collaboration with the incomparably fantastic Naturelover422, and we really hope you like it! First collab for either of us, so please be gentle on the reviews... Chapter 1 (this is the prologue) will be up in a couple days and we'll see how it goes from there!

He was happier than he'd been in a long time. Of course, the past five years with Sean had been wonderful, but it was great in a much different way to finally re-emerge to the public eye. Fame, once something he resented profusely, was something he wanted a new, more mature chance at. For the first time in what seemed like ages, everything in his life finally seemed to be falling into place perfectly, even including that creative spark he'd been missing for quite a long time. It was like he had finally figured out the puzzle of his own life: things were on the up and up. John Lennon was about to make a comeback, and the world had better be ready.

It was with these thoughts that John climbed out of the limousine, tipping the driver generously as Yoko followed suit out the other door. Together, hand in hand, he walked with his wife the short distance to the entrance of their apartment building. He knew that Sean would probably be asleep, watched over by a nanny that he and Yoko had hired to stay with him whenever they had to work. After all, it was almost eleven at night, high time for any little boy to be sleeping. He was inexplicably eager to see the little guy. It felt like it had been forever since he had seen him even though he had only seen him that morning, thirteen hours ago.

His thoughts trailed off abruptly at the surfacing sound of what appeared to be. The musician stopped in his tracks and turned his head slightly in the direction he thought the mysterious sound had originated from. An ear tilted up towards the sky in a pronounced effort to tune in, and he listened intently for anything more out of the ordinary. Yoko looked at him quizzically, and he shook his head and passed it off as his imagination. 'You're tired, John… it's been a long day…' he inwardly concluded, nodding along to Yoko's animated chatter.

He started again towards his apartment. Even if he hadn't been imagining things why should he feel the need to get worked up? He lived in New York City for the sake of Christ. People were everywhere, all the time, and fans or others of the sort hanging out near his home, while recently more few and far between, certainly weren't unusual… He shook his head at his initial paranoia. Just so long as the FBI weren't up to their usual mischief- he had a family to take care of, and he would rather appreciate it if they'd just have the decency to let him—

Footsteps… There they were again. He was certain of it. Yoko heard them this time too, and she opened her mouth with a question forming on her lips. John looked around, his nearsighted eyes squinting in the darkness. He could just barely see Yoko in the faint light cast by a streetlamp.

"John Lennon!" someone abruptly called out. The leering, malicious voice was every bit enough to send a resulting chill down the musician's spine. Slowly, cautiously, he started to turn towards the source of the spoken voice…

Bang! The gunshot rang out with the implied force of a jet breaking the sound barrier, reverberating around the otherwise quiet neighborhood. Searing pain enveloped his back and insides robbing him completely of his breath… it was like nothing he had ever felt before… What the…

Bang. Bang …Bang. Bang.

John was spun about like a top by the force, his eyes blinded by repetitive flashes of unforgiving, white hot pain that seared through his entire body. His entire world took on an unnatural tilt and he was able to vaguely take in now, a figure of some sort. A male… John could hear Yoko's frantic screaming, a long, unbroken wail of terrible emotions that he would never have wanted his darling wife to feel. He couldn't even see her. All his barely functioning eyes could focus on was something metallic, glinting in the outstretched hands of the man in front of him… A pistol? …A gun… He'd been shot…Jesus Christ… He'd been shot!

Staggering now, he charged up the steps leading to his front door, fresh waves of excruciating pain continuing to work its way out from his shattered chest cavity. It felt like someone was ripping him apart… like all his internal organs had been put in a blender and turned to puree… The door opened as he approached and he found himself staring into the hazy, undefined face of someone… someone he didn't rightly know. His legs shaking, he reached the doorway. "I've been shot…" he murmured. He had no energy, no energy at all… It was hard to believe that mere seconds ago he was so energetic and vital. Yoko's wails were met with another person's shouting, and the sounds melted together in a strange cacophony of horror.

Unable to hold himself upright anymore, John fell. Down, down, down, he plunged; the drop, to his decreasing mentality, seeming impossibly drawn out. He coughed painfully as he hit the ground, more unbearable twinges of pain spiraling out from within him. he could no longer see… something had happened, the clearness of his glasses was now disrupted, cracked, splotched in bright red. He coughed and coughed, the action sending horrible agony through him, and eventually he retched; expelling from his throat a sickeningly warm, sticky, thick liquid. Resulting panic ensued from somewhere in the distance… How far, he couldn't tell. Frightened cries, eerily distant, like they were coming from across an ocean… Cries sounding like they were stemming from his wife… But how could it be? Yoko was… Yoko… What was Yoko…? He was beginning to feel somewhat detached from reality now. Things he could have sworn he once knew, he could no longer pull up from his frenzied mind… Someone was talking to him, but he couldn't hear to respond. His glasses were removed from his face, something light was placed on top of him. the high keening of sirens were heard in the distance. Screaming. Crying. Yelling. Pain. Where was everybody? Where was anything? No longer capable of tuning into the severity of the situation, whatever it may be by this point… This pain thing was terribly distracting… He sucked in his last rigid breath before indeterminate darkness finally claimed him.