Chapter Text
Marty slowed to a stop on his skateboard, kicking the back and grabbing the trucks as he moved from the pavement to the now gravelly path. He could see the house in the far distance, sitting picturesquely atop the hill, looking every bit like it was pulled out of a painting or storybook. A far cry from the cluttered, cramped garage Doc had been living in just four months ago.
He paused in his trek, reminding himself that it hadn’t been four months ago. Well, to him, it had. To Doc, it had been…eleven years? Was that right? Ten years to build the Time Train, plus the traveling with his family, which he was pretty sure was almost an additional year.
Sometimes he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that so much time had passed for Doc. After all, he’d seen his friend a mere twenty minutes after arriving back in 1985 from the Old West. Yet Doc had gotten married, had a family, and built an entire life for himself. He had a whole decade’s worth of additional experiences and memories. It was all just a bit much to try to comprehend.
Marty shook his head to clear the jumbled thoughts, deciding he wasn’t going to get pulled into them today. None of that confusing stuff mattered anyway. Doc was back. He was back. And, for the time being, he said he wasn’t planning on doing any other traveling.
If only he lived a little closer.
Of course, Marty understood the necessity of the Browns being out here in such a rural area, safely away from prying eyes and questions that could put Doc’s family, and their very unique circumstances, at risk. They needed privacy, something they certainly had here. Plus, Doc and Clara seemed pretty happy with their new life, fairly secluded and living off the land, much like they did in the 1880s.
So, all things considered, Marty didn’t mind the long bus ride, plus the additional forty or so minute walk from town to the Brown residence. He was just glad to finally have his friend back in the same year as him. The opportunity for this three-day break from his family was an added bonus.
He loved them. But he'd be lying if he said his ongoing “integration" into the improved McFly family was going smoothly. Though a lot about them was the same, it was nothing compared to what was different. Sometimes he felt like he was scrambling to figure out how to play a complicated game he didn’t know the rules to. They were all in sync, moving to the rhythm of the only life they’d ever known while he stood on the sidelines, desperately trying to figure out where he fit into all of it.
So far, he had come up empty. Any progress he did make seemed to be immediately overshadowed by ten other instances that reminded him he wasn’t from here. Not really, anyway.
The near-constant sensation of being disconnected left him feeling as if he was viewing everything around him through a layer of frosted glass, with only brief respites of groundedness and familiarity.
Plus, there was, well…everything else. Marty didn’t like to think about that stuff, though.
The only thing that helped was to keep moving. To stay in such a flurry of mental and physical activity that he simply didn’t have time to dwell on anything else.
So, he'd skateboard around town until it felt like his legs were about to give out. He found excuses to run errands around town, even offering to do the grocery shopping. He paced the house, looking for things to clean or organize, and he ate his dinner at lightning speed so that he didn’t have to sit and listen to his family talk and laugh and reminisce about things he couldn’t remember.
It all worked but had the unfortunate side effect of gathering the attention of every member of his household who, understandably, were concerned at his sudden complete inability to settle for a single moment.
His father sat him down one evening and asked if he was doing drugs.
“I won't be angry, Marty; I just need you to be honest with me. Mom and I are here for you, and if something is going on, we can help.”
His mother sat him down a different evening to suggest maybe he needed drugs.
“Well, you’ve always been a little… high-energy, Marty. It just seems much more pronounced lately. Going to see someone can’t hurt. You know, they have medication for things like this.”
Though he’d been able to quell his father’s concern and tone down his frenetic energy enough to avoid being dragged to a doctor by his mother, they both still seemed to watch him out of the corners of their eyes. Needless to say, he was pretty much overjoyed when Doc called and asked if he wanted to come stay at his new house for a few days. Anything to get away from Hill Valley.
He’d only been at the house once before, a few weeks ago when Doc and Clara had just moved in and were getting settled. He’d spent the afternoon carrying and unpacking boxes, being chased around the property by an excited Jules and Verne, and listening to Doc recount some of the family’s adventures. It had been fun, and the additional phone calls Doc made to check in on him were nice, though none of it felt like nearly enough time with the friend he’d missed so terribly.
The sight of that house, and the possibilities of the three days ahead of him, filled Marty with a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. Almost as if he were arriving home, though he figured that didn’t make much sense.
Then again, not a whole lot made sense to him lately.
As he grew close to the house, Marty felt the exhaustion that had been hanging over him lift a bit. He tucked his board under his arm and jogged the final length of the path, bounding up the porch steps and knocking on the large, purple door. That, he knew, had been Clara's idea.
Almost instantly, he heard Einstein’s barking, followed a few seconds later by Doc's muffled voice.
“Oh, Einie, stop it. Down. It's—Einstein, it's Marty. Please allow me to open the door.”
Marty chuckled to himself, setting his skateboard against the porch railing in preparation for what he was sure would be an enthusiastic greeting from the dog. The door opened, a wide smile on Doc’s face as he waved Marty in with one hand while he held the other out toward Einstein, signaling him to stay.
“Marty! Come in, come in.”
Moving quickly, Marty slipped in through the doorway and had just enough time to drop his backpack to the floor before Einstein launched himself forward, whining and jumping, tail going a mile a minute. Though typically a well-mannered, docile dog, Marty knew that his four-legged friend had really missed him, so he wasn’t too surprised at the reaction. Doc, however, appeared none too pleased with the behavior.
“I knew he was going to do this,” Doc grumbled, snapping his fingers twice and gesturing to the spot beside him. “Einstein, come.”
“Doc, it’s alright. He’s just“—A well-timed jump sent Marty stumbling—“He’s just excited.”
“After the talk I had with him this morning though, I had hoped he would be better behaved. Einie, please give the boy a moment to breathe. Clara, some assistance?”
Through the hurricane of fur, Marty watched as Clara hurried into the room, she and Doc working on wrangling Einstein out of the front hall and toward the back of the house. The resulting quiet lasted just long enough for Marty to straighten up and brush off his clothes before the sound of running footsteps caught his attention, and he found himself once again struggling to stay upright.
“Marty! You’re here!” the boy shouted, both hands wrapping tightly around Marty’s wrist. “Dad said you’re staying the whole weekend.”
“Yeah, um—“
“Did you bring your skateboard? You promised to teach me, remember? Hey, Jules! Marty is here!”
Marty’s free hand went to cover an ear, feeling his brain practically rattle in his skull at Verne’s shouting. After the long, solitary walk to the house, the sudden bombardment of noise and activity was a little too much. Doc's return to the room then was a welcome sight, though the man's face conveyed to Marty that he was equally as flustered.
“Marty, you gotta come see my room,” Verne announced, attempting to pull him toward the staircase.
“Verne.” Doc's voice was firm but appeared to go unheard by his young son.
“I finally got it all set up. You can see Jules's too. He’s probably up there reading or—“
“Vernie,” Doc interrupted, crouching down and taking the boy gently by the shoulders. “There will be plenty of time for you to spend with Marty once he gets settled. He's just had a long trip, and I'm sure he’s tired.”
Verne raised an eyebrow, turning to stare at Marty a moment.
“He doesn’t look tired to me.”
Marty was then met with Doc's gaze, and he worked to stifle a laugh at the expression that so clearly asked, Can you believe this kid?
“Verne, go upstairs, please.”
For a second, Marty wondered if he would have to stand by awkwardly and watch Doc deal with a tantruming kid, but Verne turned and trudged his way up the stairs, throwing only a forlorn sigh their way. And then it was quiet.
Marty took the opportunity to finally get his bearings, Doc seeming to do the same from the way he set his hands on his hips and sucked in a deep breath.
“Well, I see the welcoming committee has thoroughly done their job,” Doc said with a chuckle. “Einstein will calm down eventually. As for Verne, I can’t make any promises. He's…a rambunctious one.” A pause, then a smile. “Hello, Marty.”
He stepped forward then, grabbing Marty into a hug that the boy gladly returned. When they broke from it, Marty looked to Clara, who had entered the room. Though he had seen her that day a few weeks ago, the more modern style of dress she now sported still surprised him a little.
“Hi, Marty,” she greeted warmly, “we're so glad you could come to spend the weekend. Though I do hope you’ll be able to get a moment's peace between the dog and Verne.”
“Hey, no worries,” Marty assured her, giving a glance around the room. “This place really came together. Looks great.”
He hadn’t really been able to take it all in the other week, partly because the day had been busy and partly because things were still being unpacked, but the house really was impressive. Large and spacious, but cozy at the same time. A place Marty could easily see Clara feeling at home in while still having the modern touches one would expect of a current day country home. How had Doc described the design to him? Rustic?
“Well, thank you for all your help,” Clara replied. “It took a while, but it really does feel like home now.”
“That it does,” Doc agreed. “The start of a new adventure.” He wrapped an arm around Marty's shoulders, giving the boy a gentle shake. “Alright, now how about a grand tour?”