Chapter Text
Doc didn’t care about the element of surprise—not anymore. That fiend had taken Marty again—and the last time that had happened, Marty had nearly died.
He could only hope he was not too late this time…
He forced open the doors of the futuristic lab, glaring into the surprised face of his mortal enemy, Horace Witherspoon—a scientist of the future who, above all else, desired the secrets of travel through time, space, and into parallel universes. His technology had allowed him to manipulate space and time in the laboratory itself, but he needed something to make it portable. He needed the Flux Capacitor.
But the Flux Capacitor was the furthest thing from Doc’s mind as he stared at the stunned man.
“Where is Marty!?” Doc hissed.
“…So it is true—you did survive…!” Witherspoon marveled. “I thought for certain you were dead—lost to the tidal forces of the Time Vortex!”
“What did you do to him!?”
“…You don’t know how relieved I am that you are alive,” Witherspoon tutted. “The boy’s knowledge pales in comparison to yours, and my plan is working just as I’d hoped it would—!”
“WHERE. IS. MY. APPRENTICE!?”
“He is no longer your apprentice, Dr. Brown,” Witherspoon replied, calmly. “He is now in my employ, and since I know you will be reluctant to give me the secrets of unbounded time travel, perhaps he will be the one to extract that information from you.”
Doc glared at Witherspoon, too furious to speak.
“…You’re lying. Marty would never betray me,” he managed to say after a while.
“Would you be willing to bet your life on that statement, Doctor?”
“Absolutely,” Doc returned, without hesitation.
“Then I will take you to him—and then you can do exactly that.”
“If you’ve hurt him in any way—”
“He’s been the one dishing out the pain, as it were,” Witherspoon sighed, as he led Doc down a corridor. “In the state he’s in, I’m the only one who can get through to him.”
“What state!? What did you do!?” Doc demanded, as they stopped outside a sealed door.
Witherspoon opened a small panel on the door, allowing Doc to see inside; the room was dark, but he could still discern the silhouette of Marty, strapped down in a chair by his wrists and ankles. The boy’s body was tense, his jaw clenched and his teeth gritted as he angrily attempted to pull himself free from his restraints, giving an animalistic snarl with each attempt.
“Marty…!” Doc gasped, full of worry for him.
The boy heard him and his head snapped to his direction, giving an involuntary snarl from the light coming from the hall—his pupils were dilated, and the light was far too bright for him, but, even as he squinted, he still remained tense and his jaw was still clenched as he angrily inhaled and exhaled, trying to see who was looking at him.
“Get away…!” he warned. “Whoever you are, get away!”
Doc turned to face Witherspoon and seized him by his coat lapels.
“What did you do to him!?”
“I tried to put him under hypnosis, but he proved to be uncooperative. So, we administered a drug that would make him more susceptible to hypnosis. It worked—to a degree. He seems to recognize my voice and will not harm me, but he is exceedingly violent towards anyone else.”
“How long does this last—whatever it is you gave him!?”
“…I don’t know,” Witherspoon replied, with an unfeeling shrug. “It’s a new formula that hasn’t undergone any clinical trials—I’m not even sure that this was the desired effect. Perhaps it will wear off… or perhaps there’s a self-sustaining feedback loop that will cause the reaction to continue indefinitely.”
Doc could only stare at him in speechless rage again; Witherspoon’s casual dismissal of the value of a human life had always disturbed him—but moreso now that Marty was the one suffering because of it.
“Why!?” he finally managed to say.
“Because, Doctor, it became very clear to me in our last encounters that you care very little for your own well-being and would die before giving me your secrets!” Witherspoon shot back. “But the boy is your pressure point, and, therefore, the best leverage against you. And now, he works for me—more or less. As I said, I’m the only one he won’t attack. You, Dr. Brown, no longer mean anything to him—I doubt that he would even recognize you.”
“No,” Doc responded, looking through the viewing window at Marty, who was still glaring at them in a fury. “He’s still in there, in spite of whatever drug or hypnosis tactics you’ve used. And, like I said earlier, he will never betray me.”
Witherspoon punched in a code, allowing the door to open, and he gestured for Doc to step inside.
“Let’s see if you’re right,” he said. “But don’t worry—if you’re wrong, I’ll make sure he spares you within an inch of your life.”
The door closed behind Doc; in the dim light from the viewing window, he watched as the restraints holding Marty retracted, and with a snarl, Marty got to his feet, his face still in an expression of unbridled rage.
But Doc felt no fear as he looked into the rage-filled eyes—just sorrow at what had happened to the boy who had always been like a son to him.
“Oh, Marty…” he said, softly. “I’m so sorry.”