Day 4 - Fracture
A/N: Strickland never realises the amount of suffering he inadvertently caused Marty. Set during Part II.
Dammit, McFly, you'd make the lousiest James Bond ever.
Marty's hand flapped around uselessly on top of the desk, blindly feeling around for the sleek paper of the Almanac's front cover. He felt the tips of pencils and the edge of what he suspected was the desk lamp, yet he couldn't risk moving further out from his hiding place for a proper investigation. Strickland couldn't have put the damn thing in a drawer, or the bin…That would've really helped-
His ears registered the disgusting creaks of Strickland's chair.
Then came the sickening crack.
His nerves screamed.
HOLLLYYYYYY SHHHIIIIITTTTTTT-
The sensation seemed to spread along each of his fingers and radiated as far down as his wrist. He was able to contain the urge to scream long enough to rip off his fedora with his other hand and shove it into his mouth, biting the fabric so hard that he felt the fabric seams rip. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WHY STRICKLAND WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT YOU OLD BASTARD AHHHHHHHHH-
A loud slurp told him that Strickland had finished his coffee, the pressure instantly being relieved from his tortured hand as the principal's chair returned to its normal position. Marty instantly yanked his hand back under the desk, continuing to munch on the fabric in his mouth. The pain only seemed to intensify as he looked at the mangled flesh; even his fingernails were pulsating with agony.
He couldn't believe that he hadn't screamed, but it was still taking every ounce of control to stop himself from hyperventilating. Get a grip on yourself, McFly!
Strickland rose from his chair, the sound almost making him jump and smash his head into the desk. He watched on as the principal gazed at the Almanac before casually dumping it in the wastepaper bin, slamming the office door behind him.
If he hadn't been in so much pain, Marty would've seen red. Instead, he stared at the trash basket in a numb state of disbelief. Seriously, Strickland?! You were just gonna THROW IT AWAY? Why the hell did I even bother!
Marty took a few deep breaths before he forced himself to move from under the desk, cradling his injured hand as carefully as he would a newborn baby. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the discoloured skin and pulled the Almanac from the bin. "Yes! Yes!"
Holy shit, I did it! Thank goodness….This means we can finally go home!
Feeling giddy from a combination of pain and bliss, he found himself beginning to flick through the pages, expecting to see the familiar statistics and columns he'd initially seen in that future vintage store. Instead, a cold dread settled over him as he began to come across raunchy photos and a disturbing lack of women's clothing. "No!…"
No no no no no! Don't tell me!…
Fumbling with one hand, Marty threw the dust cover aside, his heart sinking as he realised he was looking at an adult magazine. "Ooh La La?! OOH LA LA?!"
In any other circumstances, he might have considered taking a moment to have a proper read.
But his fury was raging hotter than the fire consuming his hand, and he swore colourfully as he threw the useless magazine aside, panting as he grabbed the walkie talkie from his jacket. Dammit, Biff, you bastard! You did this on purpose!
"Doc! Doc, come in! GAHH!" Marty sunk his teeth into the collar of his jacket to stop himself from howling. He glanced at his noticeably-swollen hand, the beginnings of multiple bruises visible in the muted office light. Curious as to the extent of the damage, he gingerly tried to flex his fingers, only for a renewed wave of torment to ripple through his flesh.
"Marty?!" Doc's anxious voice warbled through the radio. "Marty, come in!"
"Doc!" He realised his voice was shaking almost as badly as his damaged hand. "Doc, Jesus, I blew it! ARGH!"
"Marty, what the hell happened?!"
"Strickland!" Marty hissed between gritted teeth. "Squashed my damn hand, GAHHH! SHIT!"
"Marty, focus!" Doc ordered. "What about Biff and the almanac?"
"He must still have it! All I got is the damn cover!" Marty realised he was on the verge of tears. He clenched his jaw shut as he doubled over, moaning pitifully into his elbow. God, man, this hurts!
"You mean you don't have it?!"
"NO I DON'T, DOC! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK?!" Marty allowed an unrestrained scream to leave his throat, the sound reverberating in the small office space. He remained unrepentant of the racket he knew he was making, continuing to hold the swollen appendage delicately. "I don't have it and it's all my fault and- ARGHHH!"
"Marty! Marty, you need to focus!" If Doc was angry or disappointed with him, he didn't let it show in his voice. "Where is Biff now?"
"…I don't know!" Struggling to gain his breath, Marty stumbled to his feet and collapsed into the wall next to the windowsill, resting his forehead amongst the dusty blinds as he tearfully stared out into the empty car park below. "He could be ANYWHERE and I wasn't fast enough-"
"Marty, the entire future depends on you finding Biff and getting that book back!"
"I KNOW, DOC! I'M TRYING!" Marty shrieked furiously, his emotional state only heightened by the spasming of crushed nerves and ligaments. Despite the thick curtain of tears obscuring most of his vision, his jaw fell as he suddenly recognised a very familiar scene unfolding in the car park below. "Holy shit!"
I never got to see this part!
"Marty?!"
Marty stared in amazement as his mother leapt from her seat in the Packard to tackle Biff, only to be cruelly shoved to the ground in front of a visibly-shaking George. "Hang on, Doc! I gotta go!" He screamed eagerly. "I got one shot! My old man's about to deck Biff!"
Without bothering to answer Doc's garbled question, Marty shoved the walkie-talkie and his injured hand into the depths of his jacket, racing out of Strickland's office at an unprecedented speed. I can't screw this up again…The broken hand is gonna have to wait.
I just hope it doesn't fall off…
