Day 26 - Help Him!
A/N: Cheating with this one again to better suit my narrative. The Libyians see the first test of the Delorean, and decide that they want this knowledge - even if it means torture. An alternate ending to Part I.

The ropes scratched his skin with the slightest of movements, the individual fibres cutting through the epidermal layer like microscopic knives. He could feel his joints screaming at him, desperate to flex and be moved from their stationary position, though all he could do was shrug his shoulders to release some of the tension they carried.

How could he have anticipated this? Until he saw the first terrorist pointing a machine gun at his throat with a sadistic grin, he'd had no idea that the Libyians had even known about his dupe, let alone what he'd planned to do with the plutonium.

They'd been surprisingly gentle kidnappers, though Doc suspected it was because he went willingly. If anything, he was more surprised that they hadn't been shot on the spot.

Marty, on the other hand, did not take so kindly to the situation. He'd tried to struggle with the terrorist holding him hostage, only to be forcibly sedated after a pistol whip to the head. The crack that came from his skull made Doc nauseous, as did the suspicious popping sound from Marty's shoulder as they'd dragged him into the van. They'd bound the teenager's hands and feet with twice as much rope as Doc, and were cruel enough to use the very last piece to secure a thick handkerchief in his mouth.

Once they'd been moved from the van to a mysterious grey cell, Doc found himself staring blankly at the ceiling, guilt brewing heavily in his stomach.

I thought I'd been so careful!

How the hell did they find me?!

Have they been stalking me since I stole the plutonium? But that was months ago!

My God, if that's right, then they certainly have nothing better to do than follow an old scientist…

If he'd been the only one kidnapped, Doc would've tried harder at an escape attempt. He would've brainstormed and come up with an ambiguous technobabble script of how the time machine worked before pulling some sort of crazy stunt and making a run for it.

But those plans quickly became impossible, especially after they'd turned their attention to Marty.

The first time he'd refused to talk, one of the terrorists kicked the young man directly in the face. He had to force himself not to retch at the crunching sound that came from Marty's head, praying that nothing had been badly damaged.

It quickly became a predictable pattern; they would ask for information, Doc would refuse, and Marty became a human punching bag for the Libyans to exercise their power on.

Thankfully, Marty had remained unconscious during the entire process, though whether it was from the initial pistol whip or the subsequent head trauma was unknown. His nose had become a mangled bloody mess, and Doc was paranoid that he would suffocate, especially as he was lying on his back for the majority of the time. Bruises quickly formed along his collar line, with many more unseen beneath the fabric of his now-bloody shirt.

The scientist began to lose his cool once he heard the first of Marty's ribs break. "Torture me!" Doc had screamed until his throat was raw, thrashing angrily. "Leave him alone! Please! He's got no part in this! I'm the one you wanna hurt!"

He'd insisted and pleaded and begged. Yet his wishes were not granted.

The ironic part of all of this? He told them the secret of the flux capacitor ages ago.
And yet they continued to assault Marty.

A sick realisation came over him. They're doing this for fun!…

Their barrage of attacks on the unconscious boy was only interrupted by the leader entering the cell, yelling aggressively at them in Arabic. Marty was lifted from the floor and violently shoved in the corner, his tortured head banging once more against the concrete. The terrorists quickly abandoned their captives, slamming the steel door as they made a swift and silent exit.

Doc's resolve and remaining energy ran out as the door was locked, leaving them in semi-darkness. He allowed himself to weep exhaustedly, gazing at Marty's limp form through his tears. Oh, my poor boy…

Did they not believe me? I told them everything they wanted!

A sudden rage came over him. "You bastards!" Doc roared, writhing in his restraints. "If you've killed him, YOU WON'T LIVE TO REGRET IT!"

"Silence, American scum!" A muffled exclamation came through the door.

You'll have to kill me first…I mean, I deserve it at this point.

A low grunt roused him from falling into a spiral of self-pity. He squinted through the dim morning light, praying that this noise meant Marty had regained consciousness; the last few had gotten his hopes up, only for them to be crushed as he saw the shadow of Marty's head slump back onto the ground. How is he ever gonna forgive me for getting him involved in this?

He waited until he heard a second grunt before speaking. "Marty?"

"Mmmn…" The young man let out a pained moan, rolling slightly to the side. His unfocused eyes flickered as they slowly adjusted to the lighting. "Hmmmm?"

Doc could almost see the cogs tuning in his brain as Marty experimented with his bindings. "Marty? It's Doc," He reiterated. Hopefully his concussion isn't too bad. "It's alright, Marty. I'm here with you."

It took the teenager a few moments before his glazed expression disappeared, only to be replaced with frightened, wide eyes as he made eye contact with Doc. "Hmmk!" Marty seemed to be trying to breathe in through his disfigured nostrils, and began to panic as the lack of oxygen set in.

"Marty, you need to relax," Doc cautioned. "They broke your nose, so it's going to feel a bit strange. Struggling is only going to make you feel worse."

That explanation seemed to do the trick. Marty nodded slightly as his erratic and noisy breathing slowed. He glanced around the cell, brow furrowing before giving Doc a questioning look. "Mmmhmm?"

Doc assumed he was asking what had happened. "…The Libyans found us. I-I don't know how, but they found us. They knocked you out and then brought both of us here…That's as much as I've been able to figure out."

Marty groaned as he rolled his head back, leaning motionlessly against the cool concrete wall. "Mmmm…"

"Does your head hurt?" It was a stupid question, for he already knew the answer, but he thought it would be best to fill the silence with something.

"Mmm-hmm."

"I'm not surprised. They've hit you a few times."

Marty let out a pained whine that sounded suspiciously like an expletive. He squeezed his eyes shut, sniffing heavily as he tried to breathe through the discomfort in his skull.

This is all my fault! "I-I tried, Marty, I tried to…to get them to stop," Doc's voice wobbled as he fought to keep his composure. "T-They wouldn't listen to me-"

He trailed off as he realised Marty had fallen unconscious again, and allowed his tears to fall.

It didn't take Doc long to realise they'd been abandoned.

According to his estimations, it'd been just over a day since the cell door was last thrown open. They'd been extra cruel in throwing in a bottle of water and a packet of chips, knowing that neither of their captives could free themselves to take advantage of the new supplies.

He had to take comfort in the knowledge that others would know they were missing. Not because of him, of course; most of the town wouldn't even notice if he'd dropped dead or moved interstate. They'd be too focused on tearing down his estate and building another lot of tacky apartments.

But Marty, on the other hand, was due to be having breakfast with his family. He was expected at school on Monday. Once his family roused in the morning and realised he'd disappeared during the night, things would escalate quickly. I hope the police assigned to find us aren't complete idiots…

Part of him had wondered why the Libyans hadn't come back to finish them off. After all, they hadn't displayed typical terrorist behaviour by keeping either of them alive. Did they even take the Delorean after all of that bullshit?! Or did they just do this for sadistic pleasure to get back at me?

A muffled cough brought his attention back to the present. He gazed tiredly at Marty, leaning in the corner of the opposite cell wall. Each of their 'conversations' didn't last long, for Marty continued to wander into the realms of unconsciousness, his grips on lucidity getting shorter and shorter with each awakening. It was making Doc extremely nervous, and his mind was running wild with possibilities of paralysis and brain trauma.

Both of them were dehydrated and starving, though he knew Marty definitely had the worse end of the stick. It was a miracle he hadn't vomited with the gag in, and Doc continued to pray to whatever higher power was listening that he stayed alive long enough for rescue.

Keeping himself upright was becoming difficult though. His head span giddily with the slightest of movements, the gnawing hunger in his stomach having become painful many hours prior. Whatever saliva he could swallow was enough to stop his throat from drying out completely, yet he desperately longed for the water lying at his feet.

He moaned pitifully, closing his eyes and waited for death.

Whether he'd fallen asleep or had actually passed away he would never know - as unlikely as it was - but he was awoken from his unconscious state by a rumbling explosion. It was faint, but it was powerful enough to rock the walls of the cell.

Doc began to hyperventilate. All logical thoughts had evaporated from his delirious brain cells; he tried to back himself further into his corner of the cell, cringing as a second closer explosion followed. This is it, they've come to finish us off, we're dead and it's all my fault-

"CLEAR!"

The voice was muffled through the dense steel that separated them from the outside world, but Doc still heard it. Holy shit! Is that who I think it is?!

"CLEAR!" The voice repeated, followed by a third explosion, which Doc now realised was coming from the violent opening of other doors.

We're saved! Help! Help! "Help!…" Doc cringed at his croaky voice, swallowing what moisture he had left in his mouth. "HELP! In here!"

The footsteps grew louder as they approached, revealing it to belong to a group, rather than an individual. Doc was straining to hear what the voices outside were mumbling about before the cell door was suddenly kicked in, almost falling off its hinges in the process. The beautiful sight of a SWAT team greeted him as they swarmed into the room, with three officers remaining in the room as the others left to continue searching the building.

"Help Marty…" Doc gasped, frantically gesturing his head at the unconscious boy. "Please…help him! I can wait! H-He's…please-"

"Don't worry, Doctor," The officer spoke calmly, lowering his weapon to begin untying Doc. "It's alright now. We'll get both of you home. There's an ambulance outside to take you both to the hospital, okay?"

The frantic scientist finally felt a sense of relief as a pair of paramedics entered the cell and began tending to Marty, one using a pair of scissors to cut the bloodied gag away while the other shone a torchlight in his eyes. The teenager stirred slightly at the physical touch, staying conscious long enough for his eyes to flicker before slumping over once more.

He sobbed as he felt his hands being released, pulling them in front to bury his head in his palms. I'm so sorry, Marty…Oh God, I'm so sorry…