Work Text:
Marty tried to be as casual as possible as he headed into Doc’s garage.
“Hey, Doc!” he greeted.
“Afternoon, Marty,” Doc said, looking up from his workbench. He glanced at his many clocks, noting that Marty had gotten here later than usual.
“Yeah, sorry I’m late,” Marty said, dropping a bag and his backpack beside his bed. “I went home to get something after school let out, and Biff was stomping around, so I had to try to avoid him. He’s putting the bite on Dad to do his work again, and it looks like he’s going to stay til he’s finished. You mind if I crash here tonight?”
“You never have to ask me, Marty,” Doc reminded him, glancing over at him. Odd—Marty seemed to be keeping one side of his face away from him.
“Thanks, Doc; I’ll just—” Marty was cut off as Einstein bounded over to him, standing up on his hind legs and putting his front paws on Marty’s chest.
To Doc’s surprise and concern, Marty momentarily cringed before trying to cheer up, greeting Einstein like he usually did.
“…Marty, what happened?”
It was a calm and gentle inquiry—but one that made it clear that whatever Marty was attempting to hide was not going unnoticed.
Marty exhaled and now turned so that his face was fully visible—including the bruise on his cheek.
“Please don’t tell Mom or Dad…” he begged.
“Did Biff do that—!?”
“No!” Marty assured him. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it past him, but… he didn’t do this. I got in a brawl with Needles after school, on the way here—that’s why I was late. I never went home; I didn’t want Mom or Dad to know I’d been fighting.”
Doc got up with a sigh, crossing to the combination fridge-and-freezer to get a couple of ice packs to give to Marty. With a mumble of thanks, Marty placed one on his face and the other on his side.
“Marty, I’ve told you about that boy and how he’s nothing but trouble,” Doc lamented.
“I know, Doc—I’ve been hanging out with him less. That’s what the fight was about,” Marty sighed. “He asked if I was too chicken to hang out with him, and I just… lost it.”
Doc didn’t want to say what he was worried about—that Marty’s temper and pride were a volatile combination that was going to get him into major trouble one day. Marty didn’t need to hear that right now.
“You’re better than that, Marty,” he said instead.
“Am I, though?”
“Yes, you are,” Doc insisted. “I have a feeling that you’ll be capable of many amazing things—and then the Biffs and Needles of this world won’t matter once you’ve found your way.”
He knew that Marty didn’t get the encouragement he needed from most of the adults in his life—these words were ones the boy needed.
Indeed, Marty just gave him a grateful nod.
“Thanks, Doc,” he said again, his voice cracking.
Doc nodded in acknowledgement.
“Get some rest,” he instructed. “I’ll call out for takeout in a bit.”
Marty mumbled another thanks as Doc went back to his workbench.
Perhaps someday, Doc hoped, Marty would learn to control that temper of his. In the meantime, he’d do his best to guide him through all the obstacles in his life.