“Ya think yer so smart, don’t ya?” Drool is hanging off the old man’s lips as he leans over Stan, holding something that looks like a cattle prod in his hand. Stan’s not sure whether that’s a step up from his weird gun or not. “Huh?”
Actually, Stan feels really fucking stupid. He had known that showing the portal to a stranger was a bad idea, especially as the stranger in question was known for being unhinged and dangerous. But Fiddleford McGucket had also been a genius, and most of all, he had been a genius who had known Ford; Stan had seen the recognition in his eyes when Stan had brought him down to the portal. That’s when he had made his second mistake: instead of letting McGucket run away when he had started spewing about one-eyed beasts and gateways to hell, Stan had locked him up in a cage.
“I’m not doing this because I hate you,” he had whispered to the portal and Ford later that horrible night, thinking of how his brother would be even further disappointed with him for attacking his old friend like this. “I’m doing it because I love you. I want you back. This has to happen.”
Stan had felt bad about it, but not bad enough to let McGucket go. But he had waffled around, and that had given McGucket the time and the opportunity to figure out how to get out of the cage. He could have easily killed Stan with his gun then - what else could that thing be used for but killing? - but instead he had knocked Stan out when Stan had arrived into the basement, stripping off his clothes and tying his arms and legs together. Stan hadn’t understood the stripping part until he had spotted the cattle prod.
“Well, I’m smarterer!” McGucket throws his head back and laughs, long and hard, lifting the prod up high. For one hopeful moment, Stan thinks McGucket may be simply planning to beat him up, so he braces himself for the impact. Instead, McGucket halts the prod right before it hits Stan in the chest, pulls it back and thrusts it into Stan’s ribs.
Stan’s teeth gnash together as he’s shocked, but other than that he’s too surprised to scream. Surprised, because now Stan remembers where he’s seen that prod before: it’s been in one of Ford’s tool boxes, the one labeled ‘for difficult specimen’. Stan hasn’t moved that box from where it has always been, meaning that- despite his pain, he starts grinning, chest shaking with chuckles.
“What’s so damn funny?” McGucket growls, moving over to sit on Stan’s legs as he jabs at his belly and chest multiple times with the prod, making Stan’s body jitter at every touch. But Stan has broken into full laughter by now, screaming:
“You knew Ford! You tell me you don’t but you do, you do!”
“Shut yer mouth!” McGucket bounces up to his own feet, flipping Stan’s body over from his back to his stomach. Stan is still laughing when his face is ground up against the floor, but when he feels the prod press against his still fresh brand, he freezes.
McGucket zaps him there, several times a row, until Stan’s whole shoulder is numb. Stan groans, burst of drool spilling out of his mouth, which apparently delights McGucket; the old man laughs, sitting on Stan’s legs again.
“What do I know? What do ya know? The answer to both is: pain!” The prod pulls away from the brand, which makes Stan relax against his better knowledge, but soon he is tense again when the prod jams into his right buttock, pressing tight into the soft flesh. McGucket lets his other ass cheek have it too, taking his time pushing the prod hard against the skin; Stan has to wonder if the old man is trying to mark him or something.
“Ya want to know what I know? Let me tell you!”
A skinny lil’ knee presses between Stan’s thighs, and with that it becomes the most intimidating thing in Stan’s universe.
“Don’t!” For the first time, Stan starts to struggle.
He gets the prod between his shoulder blades for his efforts, and while he shudders under the onslaught of electricity, McGucket shoves his legs apart. McGucket pushes a thumb between his ass cheeks, grabbing the other one and pulling it to the side so his hole is exposed, and now Stan is really alarmed, shouting: “No, please don’t-!”
“What’s the matter? I thought ya wanted to know!” McGucket pulls the cattle prod back, taking it down between Stan’s legs. He can feel the heat coming off from the head of the prod, making the hairs on his ass stand up. Stan shakes his head as hard as he can, blabbering sad pleas before he gives up, pressing his forehead against the floor as he prepares for the burn.
The heat of the metal is already on him, scalding over the tender flesh of his opening, making Stan bite his lip.
McGucket pulls the prod away.
“That’s what I thought.” McGucket’s speaks almost too quietly for Stan to hear. “See, this is why I choose to forget.”
Stan is too shaky and stunned to demand to know what McGucket means, and a second later there is no more time: McGucket picks up his gun, pointing it at Stan as he pulls the trigger.