I do not own MacGyver, but I wish Lucas Till was mine.

It was dark by the time he drove up to his house. In all honesty, it was surprising he had actually been able to rent and drive a car. He could mentally see how he looked: black and swollen eyes, blood and bruises everywhere, and dirt that had decided that his skin and hair were a great and permanent home. Even more surprising was that he had his passport and driver's license still. Just to double check, he reached into his pocket and pulled them out.

He looked at the pictures that adorned the documents. The man staring back had clean blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a happy smile. Even though the pictures cut off, the man was sure the person within the ink was healthy. Tears threatened to come as he stared at them, seeming to mock him more than anything else. He huffed and shoved them back in his pocket.

Slowly, he made his battered body exit the car and walk up to the house. By habit, he reached into his pocket, but found it empty of anything resembling a key. He did the next logical step (for him, anyways) and turned the door knob. He was shocked and surprised when the door opened. He pushed it open the rest of the way, barely able to keep it together as it squeaked quietly.

Upon entering, the first thing he noticed was that the entire house was dark except for strongs of lights creating pathways. Walking slowly and silently, the young man crept his way into the kitchen. Successfully doing that, he rummaged through the cabinets for a glass. Water was next. As soon as the sound of running water hit his ears, the glass dropped and shattered in the ground. The next few minutes proved nearly painful. He dropped to the ground, hearing and feeling footsteps racing to his location. He curled into a ball, closing his eyes and covering his ears. He suddenly felt the air around him shift and forced himself to stifle a scream. From behind his hands, he heard a gasp and then a soft and almost incredulous…

"Mac…..?"

MacGyver flinched at his name, waiting for the pain he always knew accompanied it. After a few minutes of nothing happening, he hesitantly looked up meeting the eyes of a familiar face. Short salt and pepper hair with a muscled, but kind face. MacGyver felt a sense of trust, but refused to let himself give in. It always meant pain later. Mac felt hands gently grab his wrists and pull them away from his ears. MacGyver could not hold in the scream any longer. It ripped from his throat: long, hoarse, and painful, as if his body could not handle the act. The hands refused to let go and Mac tried to get out, fighting with all his body could give. When nothing seemed to work, MacGyver's body did the most logical thing: it shut down.

Seeing the flinch, Jack gently wrapped his hands on the blonde's wrists, noting with dismay that he could wrap his hands around them each twice if he could. As soon as skin touched skin, a thin, keening wail erupted from the bloodless lips. Jack felt MacGyver attempt to pull out, but all that happened was a slight jerking that he wouldn't have felt if he had not been holding on at the time. After a minute, the blonde's body went limp and collapsed the small height to the floor, wrists still being held by Jack.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the slim frame bridal style and carried him to the bathroom. He set MacGyver on the floor and began to gently undress him. After he got Mac's ripped shirt and bare recognizable pants off him, the young man stirred, but not before Jack got a good look at the man in front of him. Jack looked at MacGyver's body with barely disguised horror. He looked at all the bruises able to piece together the story together from the mottled map on the pale skin. Overlapping footprints on a misshapen chest told a horror story of broken ribs, the same marks marred the back with the protruding spine as well. Jack was able to picture the scenario; heavy boots stomping repeatedly on sensitive ribs, cracking and breaking them without mercy. Bruising resembling handprints, but overlapping to indicate it happened multiple times, created a macabre necklace making sure to match the rest of the art splattered across MacGyver's body. Jack was positive that if MacGyver tried to talk, he would not be able to talk due to all that swelling and bruising, but the blonde had yet to try. Jack lowered his vision to the scrawny legs: thin and sickly with bruised and swollen knees and ankles. Jack had been surprised at the rental vehicle sitting in the driveway and realized the kid had driven himself home.

Throughout the entire ordeal, MacGyver had refused to lift his head. Jack felt his heart break again (just another one to add to the growing list of time) as he registered the shivers that tormented the weak body in front of him. Jack took a step backwards to grab a blanket off the back of the couch, not missing the flinch out of the corner of his eye. Jack had enough sense to not go up to MacGyver, so he put the blanket on the floor. He then proceeded to step out of the room, intending to turn on the television and keep an eye on the blonde.

I know it's really short, but I hope you guys like it.