The Year We Had (MCYT AU)

46: Fear

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence. Please read with care!

They took Tommy into what felt like a car.

It was certainly a vehicle, whatever it was. It moved roughly, with sharp turns and jolting stops. The harsh grip on Tommy's bicep never left, a constant reminder that he was a prisoner. His hands would have shaken had they not been tightly bound in front of him.

He couldn't see anything, so he closed his eyes. Maybe it would all just be a bad dream. Maybe he wasn't being carted off to god knows where, probably to be killed horribly. Maybe Techno wasn't shot trying to protect him. Maybe Wilbur was fine, maybe he was getting ready for another date with Sally instead of bleeding out on the classroom floor.

He didn't bother trying to delude himself.

Tommy felt nauseous. Maybe it was the lack of sight mixed with the moving car. Maybe it was the sticky blood still on his hands. He couldn't tell. The hand on his arm had loosened slightly, but it still wasn't comfortable.

The drive lasted an indeterminate amount of time. Maybe thirty minutes, but maybe seven hours. Tommy was losing track. He forced himself not to cry anymore. He didn't want to seem weak, especially not when these guys had guns on them. When the vehicle finally stopped moving, Tommy clenched his jaw to force back the panic.

"Out." Said a gruff voice to his left. He heard the car door open, and then he was roughly pulled from the car. Hands gripped his bicep tightly, and he was made to walk blindly.

He stumbled slightly, but that just made the man pull him along faster. There were at least four sets of footsteps, maybe more. Tommy hoped that there weren't more shooters at the school. He couldn't deal with the thought of more people ending up dead.

The creak of a door was heard, and then the ground changed. They were inside. It sounded like floorboards. Maybe concrete? Tommy couldn't tell. He could hear his breathing and the drumming of his heart, and not too much else.

Another door opened, this one more creaky. "Hurry up." Came the gruff voice again.

He was pulled down what felt like stairs. He inhaled sharply as he almost slipped, but the tight grip on his arm was unwavering, and didn't give him time to recover.

"Oh, Mr Watson, do we have a treat for you!" It was the voice of the man from the classroom. The one who had shot Techno, and called Wilbur. He spoke with so much delight. Tommy hated it.

He was yanked around a corner, almost tripping over his own feet.

"No." Phil. Dad.

Tommy looked around, despite the hood covering his head. He'd missed him so much. "Dad?"

"No. Please." He sounded so desperate. So exhausted. It had been so long since Tommy had heard his voice. "Just let him go. I'll do whatever you want."

Hands were on him again, pulling him down into a chair. More than one set this time. They worked with ropes and chains, unbinding his hands, only to fasten them to the arms of the chair. Every fiber of his being told Tommy to fight them, but the knowledge that his dad was somewhere in the room forced him to remain complacent.

It didn't take long for them to fully immobilize him. Moments later, the hood was pulled from his head. Tommy blinked hard as the light flooded in, blinding him for a moment. The world faded back into view, and he did his best to take it in.

They were in a basement. The walls and floor were all concrete, and there was a tool bench in the corner. Across from him sat his father, bloodied and bruised and tied to a chair, but very much alive. Tears were in his eyes before he could stop them. "Dad?"