The Year We Had (MCYT AU)

50: Treatment

The upstairs of the house looked shockingly normal. Tommy wasn't quite sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this.

He was laid down on the sofa, and his hands were cuffed tightly in front of him, and his ankles were bound by rope. His eyes struggled to keep up. He felt like he was high or something, but knew that he hadn't taken any substances.

"He's lost a lot of blood." An unfamiliar voice said. Tommy cracked his eyes open. He could see Marcus standing over him, as well as another body. He flinched away and tried to sit up, panic rising in his chest. If Marcus was here, nothing good would happen to him.

Hands were on him, holding him in place. "Get off me!" His shout was weak. Even in his delirious state, he knew that.

"I don't want to risk sedating him." Said the unfamiliar voice. "He might not wake up."

Tommy could hear his own breathing loudly. He looked around, his vision skewing. It looked like a living room. A normal, everyday living room. The hands on him were strong. He tried to sit up, but they held him down. He let out a desperate noise as he tried to twist out of their grip. He couldn't get away. He was so close to freedom. He could see the sunlight coming in through the windows.

He felt the sharp pinch of what had to be a needle, and he panicked even more. "What the fuck! What the fuck!"

"Relax, Thomas." Marcus's smooth voice cooed. "It's just something to calm you down. Wouldn't want you hurting our medic now, would we?"

That made Tommy fight the hands even harder. He let out an angry yell and tried to kick his legs, but they were tied too tightly together. And then, just as suddenly as he had become angry, the fight left him. His bones felt as though they were weighing him down. He stopped fighting, and his breathing evened out. The panic had been ripped away.

A new person hovered in his view. Another man, this one slightly younger than Marcus, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore glasses, and had a crooked nose. "Hi there, Thomas. My name's Caleb, and I'm going to treat some of your wounds. Okay?"

Tommy stared at him blankly. He should be panicking. He knows he should be panicking. But there's no panic left in him. Groggily, he manages a few words. "Tommy. Not fuckin' Thomas."

"Tommy it is." Caleb said indifferently. Tommy felt the hands leave him. Now that his panic was gone, the couch was the most comfortable thing in the world. He relaxed into it, letting out a slow breath.

---

Pissing in a bucket was gross on a normal day. This, however, was just sad.

When he was done, his guard had to pull his pants up for him. Tommy had never wanted to spit at someone so badly. He was walked back to his chair and sat down. They'd taken to chaining his hands together in front of him rather than to the arms of the chair now, and wrapping a thick rope around his chest to bind him to his seat. His shoulders ached horribly.

The drugs were still in his system. He could feel them. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wooden chair. As much as his arms burnt, and his face ached from the stitches that had been done yesterday, the pain that hurt the most was the way that he missed his brothers.

He thought back to sitting in that classroom, waiting their inevitable fate. He was so scared then. His hands were already shaking, and nothing bad had even happened yet.

Techno was sitting right there next to him. Alive and well. He had thought about asking to hold his hand, or for a hug, but of course he hadn't. He wanted to be mature. Grown up.