A/N: OMG. Only one chapter more after this one, and it will be uploaded Saturday! This was originally going to be one really long 4,000+ word chapter, but I figured why not once again cut it into two parts and have a last cliffhanger on it? I'm so evil, but it's so fun! ^^ ENJOY!
(((((SPECIAL THANK YOU: Thank you so much to the anonymous reviewer, 'Someone Random.' Your review, in particular, was so incredibly nice it literally made my entire week :D)))))
Chapter Nine
"Can't you hurry up?" John growled, annoyed, staring at the mechanic he held at gunpoint. The man opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, apparently thought better of it, and instead silently shook his head. John rolled his eyes; it had only been an hour or so, but with the police suspicious, they needed to get out of there as fast as they could manage.
Baldy, only a few feet away from the two men, glanced back at their captive, who had fallen into a feverish sleep almost as soon as he'd sat down and leaned against the hill a half-hour ago. He frowned as, all of a sudden, he found himself wondering if he was alright. Then he turned back around, crossing his arms. Why should I care? The only thing the kid had done was cause trouble for them, and just for that, Baldy couldn't dislike him less. But now, for a brief, strange moment, he saw it differently. He wasn't just a problem they'd accidentally gotten themselves into; he was a teenager who'd been kidnapped and, now, was apparently sick. He then shook his head, refusing to let himself feel how he did any longer. As soon as the man fixed the car, they'd all be out of this Hell, and he'd never have to see the kid again, that being exactly how it should be.
Marty blinked, confused, his blurred gaze landing on John as he impatiently shifted a few feet to his left, bringing the hand holding the gun closer to his chest as if tired of pointing it at the man for—how long had they been there? Marty couldn't know for sure. The heat, thirst and head pain he just couldn't complain about really starting to get to him; he felt horrible and exhausted, almost like he'd been drugged with sleeping pills. He drifted in and out of consciousness for the two and a half more hours the mechanic worked on the DeLorean, almost grateful for the moments where he wasn't overwhelmed by his headache.
When finally the man had completed the repairs (which Marty had been almost sure was impossible,) John waved towards the man's car with the gun, and waited until the he had gathered up his tools before following him back to the vehicle. "Call the police, and there's not going to be a mechanic in your town anymore." John said as the man closed the door, pointing the gun at him. The man nodded vigorously, and John placed the weapon back in his jacket as he drove off. Baldy, who was a few yards behind him, asked, "How do you know he won't call the cops?"
"Oh I know he will," John shrugged. "But we're going to be out of here before they can find us." They both started back down the hill, and John stood in front of Marty's sleeping form. "Get up." He ordered, and when Marty didn't stir, he grabbed his arm and yanked on it. "Uh!" Marty exclaimed, jolting awake. "Get. Up." He ordered once again. Whatever almost-kindness John had had before was apparently gone now, because he glared at the teen unsympathetically as he struggled up. "Come on, get in the car, we're leaving."
"I don't think so."
Both kidnappers turned around to see who had spoken, incredulous.
"Doc!" Marty gawked at the scientist, who looked more solemn than ever before. He unwittingly took a step forward—only to be shoved back by John, who'd seen his movement out of the corner of his eye. Marty stared at Doc, overcome both joy and fear, but his friend had his eyes on John. "What are you doing here, old man?" John chuckled. Baldy stood beside him, staring threateningly at Doc, whom he was a good half foot taller than, but the man seemed undaunted.
Doc finally made eye contact with Marty for a brief second. "I'm taking him back." He said, and John shook his head. "Oh no, you're not." John said, and with lightning-fast movements, he turned around, grabbed Marty by his hair, and forced him in front of him. Marty clenched his teeth but did not cry out.
"You don't call the shots, I do. And right now, I'm telling you to get the HELL away from the car, and us, and go back to whatever you came here in. I will let the kid go as soon as we're back in 1985."
"I'll let you leave," Doc said, louder now. "I just want him back. I don't care about the money, the car, anything. Just give me—"
"Listen!" John shouted, irate, and both Marty and Doc flinched simultaneously as he took out his gun and pressed it into Marty's back. "If you want him back alive at all, you will get out of here now!"
Doc held his hands up, and began walking up the hill, not taking his eyes off John the entire time. Doc, please, no! Marty mouthed desperately. But something told him to trust his friend, and he didn't struggle as John pushed him towards the car. "Get in," John ordered, tucking his gun back in his pocket, and releasing Marty as he began to climb into the seat. As soon as the man's hands left Marty, Doc faced them from the top of the hill, reached into his pocket and grabbed the object he'd brought with him, got a firm grip on it, aimed—and promptly shot both kidnappers before they could even take another step. They dropped like stones, and Doc rushed down to Marty, who stood pressed against the car, trembling and whiter than a sheet, his eyes frantic. "Y-y-you sh-shot them!" he gasped, and Doc gave him a small, weak smile, showing him the weapon he'd just used. "It's only a stun gun." He said, and Marty still looked so genuinely frightened that Doc bent towards him and brought him into his arms. "It's okay," he soothed, and Marty shook his head. "Oh my God, Doc…" he mumbled, his voice hoarse. "I—I—"
"It's okay," Doc repeated, "it's over."
After several minutes, Marty pulled away gently, feeling very ill again. Just by eyeing him, Doc could instantly tell more than just fear was wrong. He was holding his stomach with one arm, had a gash on his forehead—which seemed to be very new—and his eyes were cloudy and unfocused even though he was staring right at the scientist. "Marty," he began warily, "Were you hurt in the crash?"
Marty hesitantly shrugged. "I—I don't know," he murmured honestly. "I don't really remember it." He watched as Doc's expression turned to one of concern. "Wh-what?" the teen asked, but Doc only shook his head. "Nothing." he said, and then after a moment added, "Do you think you can sit on the console for the trip back?"
Confused, Marty slowly nodded and got in. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but he placed his feet over on the passenger seat, and that made it less cramped. He turned to Doc, about to ask why, and then widened his eyes as Doc began pulling one of the kidnappers into the car. Startled, he nearly fell over before practically yelling, "What—why are y-you taking them with us?"
"Because, if we leave them here, there is a chance it could cause a problem." Doc hauled the second one in and shut the door, getting the driver's seat and starting the engine. He looked at Marty, who was staring at him as if he'd just slapped him, and Doc shook his head almost helplessly. He backed up and managed to make it over the hill. Then, he threw it in drive and quickly started back towards Hill Valley.
Marty was obviously terrified of the men, because in only three minutes of continuously staring at them, he had not only moved his feet from their side to Doc's side, but had also unconsciously scooted all the way over on the small center console, almost falling into the driver's seat. "Sorry," Marty mumbled, edging a bit back over once he realized what he was doing. He had a terrible feeling—that this had all been much too easy. After the past three or so days, he now just expected it never to end. He kept trying to say something about it, but couldn't find the words to do so. He knew he wouldn't quite be able to let himself relax until he was home, but with Doc there it definitely felt safer. They drove off the road as they reached Hill Valley, and Doc tensed, hoping no one saw them do so. It wouldn't exactly make the trip back easier if they were being chased by suspicious officers who recognized the car.
Finally, after what seemed like forever of rough travel over the grass and rocks, they reached where Doc had hidden—or more so, tried to hide—the much larger second time machine. He parked, and then cautiously glanced at the kidnappers, even though he believed they would be out for a while longer still. He couldn't be sure, however, as he'd never used it before; and that was what worried him. He also couldn't be too careful, not with Marty's rescue so close to being successful. He helped Marty out of the car and the teen unsteadily made his way over to the locomotive, leaning against the metal while Doc opened the stairway. "Th-thank you," Marty finally managed to stammer as he got in. Doc gave another small smile, as if he, too, could not relax yet.
Within five minutes, he'd hauled both men into the time machine, placing them on the ground. He took one last trip to the DeLorean, ripping out the time circuit keypad and wiring, disabling the function, and taking the fuel system off the back of it, rendering it just a strange-looking vehicle. He brought these things back with him to the steam engine, closed the doorway, and started it up. A moment later, the whole thing rose into the air, turned, and sped off.
When they arrived back in 1985 just a moment later, Doc landed the thing on the abandoned train track near the edge of town like he always did, walked to the payphone across the street, and called the police. "Yes," he murmured into the receiver, squinting in the dying sunlight. "I know where the men who've robbed the stores earlier this week are." Though he didn't say it, he vowed that, if the police didn't know already, he would be sure they figured out the men were kidnappers, too. He gave them the address, clunked the phone back on the hook, and made it back to the locomotive. He first made sure Marty was safely in his van before he went back to drag the two kidnappers into the little warehouse next to the track. He looked at them for a long minute, wondering if he should wait until the police got there, but then realized he couldn't. Marty needed a doctor, and that was far more important to him. He turned, and suddenly there was movement behind him. As he spun to face towards the men, he heard a distinctive click. He looked down at John, who, though still lying down, Doc could make out he was holding his gun in his hand—pointed straight at him. The man groaned and sat up, blinking, and then focused his glare on the scientist, shaking his head. "You think you can just get away, just like that?" he asked, getting to his feet, his other hand on the wall of the warehouse for support. "That I would just let you have it that easy?"
Doc was silent, regretting he hadn't just left them, and so John continued. "I lost all of the money I had, either here or in nineteen-whatever-it-was. And it's all—because—of you and that damn kid." He growled, taking a step closer. Doc swallowed hard but kept a firm gaze on the man. He slowly began to reach into his pocket, but remembered with a jolt of fear he'd left the stun gun on the van. "Don't you dare," John said, eyeing his hand, unaware he didn't have it. Doc put his arms stiffly by his sides. "I'm smarter than you think, Dr. Brown." He said. "How do you think I would have ever even known about the sleep inducer?"
"How did you know?" he asked quietly, half trying to buy time for something to save him, but also strangely curious.
The kidnapper clicked his tongue. "I guess it's not surprising you don't remember me." He said slowly.
Doc squinted at him, and for the first time, did in fact see something vaguely familiar about him. "I…I don't…"
John chuckled. "Three years ago?" he murmured, as if giving a child a hint in a scavenger hunt.
Great Scott… Doc blinked, unable to believe he hadn't realized it before. "You were—you came into that electrical store the same day I did, when I bought the last part for the sleep inducer!"
"There you go." John sneered.
A/N: *Gasp!* I just can't make good, solid bad guys, can I? I apparently just have to make them question what they're doing at least once, even if it never happens again. Huh. I'll have to work on that x)
Even though there's a bit more explanation on it in the next part, I hope you can forgive me for not being able to find a more descent reason for John knowing about the sleep inducer. I didn't plan on this scene even happening, but I started experimenting how I could end the story and it just kind of struck me as a good idea, even though I couldn't exactly think of how to do it. See you Saturday!
