Chapter Text
He’s sitting at the kitchen table in the old house. The clink of cutlery is drowned out by the sound of idle chatter around the table; his father talking about some new plot idea he has, his mother encouraging him; Dave ribbing on Linda about her many boyfriends no one can keep track of.
And Marty sits there in silence, not sure what to make of all this. It’s so… domestic. So nice. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.
It can’t be real.
“Marty?” his mother asks suddenly, prompting his head to shoot up. Instead of her usual red perm, her hair is dark and down, and her face isn’t slathered in makeup. She looks so much younger. “Are you feeling alright? You’re being very quiet.”
Marty opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He glances around, and realises that just like with his mother, he doesn’t recognise the versions of any of these people he’s sitting with.
Marty woke up suddenly with a spasm of muscles, eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling of Doc’s garage. He breathed hard and heavy, even though it was not exactly a nightmare he’d awoken from, and his heart pounded in his chest. His fingers curled tightly around the bedsheets as he attempted to ground himself.
For a month now, Marty had been having recurring dreams about a different place, a different life. These dreams always made him feel disoriented when he woke up because they seemed so real in the moment, and as the images faded, left him with an indescribable feeling of emptiness and longing. The dreams varied in what they were about, but they all followed a consistent theme: a happy life.
Marty almost preferred the nightmares.
A loud crash disrupted his thoughts. Marty shot upright and glanced around wildly, and after a few moments his eyes settled on Doc, who was crouched down in front of his workbench, picking up various metal tubules and gears that had apparently fallen off. The Doc was muttering words under his breath that sounded suspiciously like curse words. He finally picked up the last tubule and placed the items back on the workbench, before sensing he was being watched. Turning around, Doc’s eyes widened. “Marty! My apologies. I must’ve woken you, did I?”
“No, Doc, I was already awake.” Marty scrubbed a hand across his eyes and stretched the other arm above his head with a groan.
“I see. Well, I apologise for startling you, in any case. How did you sleep?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve invented something that can stop someone from dreaming, have you?” Marty shot him a rueful smile.
Doc sighed. “Another one of those dreams again?”
“Yeah,” Marty mumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Dreams are funny things,” Doc said with a smile and a shake of his head. “I remember a dream I once that that Einstein—and this was when he was but a puppy—could talk, but all he’d do is recite the parts of an atom! Utterly ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“But did you ever have the same kind of dreams over and over again?” Marty asked.
“Unfortunately, I can’t say that I have,” Doc said. He turned to face Marty. “Perhaps it is your brain conjuring up safe memories to combat your anxiety or otherwise negative moods-”
“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, Doc,” Marty interrupted. “Besides, they aren’t memories. At least not my memories,” he added under his breath.
Doc pressed his lips together before he turned back to whatever it was he was working on.
Marty got up from the cot and wandered over to the kitchenette, where he pulled out the nearly empty bread bag and popped two slices in the toaster. He leaned against the counter and waited for them to be toasted. As he waited, he watched Doc putter about the workbench, darting back and forth, picking up parts and shaking his head and dropping them again.
“Hey, Doc,” Marty called, “what’re you working on?”
“Hm? Oh, just something that’ll hopefully help stabilize the nuclear reactor on the DeLorean time machine.”
Marty blinked. “You mean, that thing out there, that nuclear powered time machine—it isn’t stable?”
“Not yet, anyway,” Doc said nonchalantly.
Marty blew out a huff of air. “Sounds pretty dangerous.”
“Only if you turn it on!” Doc pointed out. “Which I am reluctant to do yet, of course.”
“Of course,” Marty repeated under his breath.
The toast popped. Marty turned around and plucked it from the toaster, grabbing the butter and jam from the fridge and slathering the stuff on the slices. He ate standing up, plate in one hand, careful not to get crumbs all over his shirt.
“Doc?” Marty asked, mouth full.
“Yes, Marty?”
“When you’re finally finished that time machine… what are you gonna do with it?”
Maybe there was something in his voice, or maybe Doc could just read him easily, because when the scientist straightened up, there was a serious, solemn expression on his face. “I built this machine,” he said evenly, “to be able to observe humanity, to gain a clearer perception of where we’ve been, where we’re going.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s it,” Doc said, setting his jaw, then his gaze softened. “Marty, I’m no fool. I understand what you’re getting at-”
“What’s wrong with setting things straight, Doc?” Marty put down his now-empty plate. “What’s the matter with changing the world for the better?”
“The problem is, Marty,” Doc continued, “if we were to change the world, you would be coming back to a reality you’ve never experienced. And who’s to say that reality will truly be better? Why, you might end up erasing yourself! And that’s not even beginning to imagine the stress that would put on the space-time continuum.”
“The space what? Nevermind,” Marty held up a hand as Doc looked to be about to launch into a long-winded explanation.
“No matter how tempting it is, we must not meddle,” Doc said. “The consequences could be disastrous.”
Marty leaned back against the counter, both hands curling around the edge. He supposed it made sense, sort of. What if they ended up making things worse? Then again, things couldn’t possibly be worse than they were now. His life turned upside down by the time he was four thanks to a deranged stepfather, his mother an alcoholic shell of her former self and now in jail because of Marty’s actions. Marty himself a murderer, though Doc had assured him that self-defence did not count as murder, and with nowhere to go but Doc’s garage, no family left to care about him.
His mind wandered back to the dreams. No, he decided. If they could change the world, that was what his life would be like.
Happiness. How he craved it.
Maybe he could take the machine from under Doc’s nose when he was finished. Figure out how it worked, send himself back in time, and…
…And do what? Stop Biff from murdering his father? Stop him from marrying his mother? How would he do that? And besides, he couldn’t betray Doc’s trust like that. Doc was the only person in this world who actually cared about Marty, except for maybe his mother, but she was unreachable at the moment.
The power to change the world was right at his fingertips—and he couldn’t do it.
Marty sighed. He wished he could undo it all. He wished he could go back to the simpler time of when he was four years old and completely oblivious to the horrors of the world. But even with a time machine, that was impossible. He couldn’t relive moments the same way he’d lived them in the first place. All there was left to do now was go forward.
Who knew what the future would bring. Marty was almost apprehensive to find out.
The evening July air was warm on the exposed skin of Marty’s arms as he made his way down the street, hands shoved in his pockets. Doc had pestered him to go out for a walk, or at least do something that wasn’t holing himself up within the garage, and after a brief argument, Marty had conceded. Only a short walk, though, he’d told Doc. He wasn’t big on them in the first place. What was there to see in a place like Hill Valley?
He went in the opposite direction of Biff’s Tower, which had now been converted into a memorial luxury hotel. Just as Biff would have wanted, Marty thought bitterly.
Don’t get him wrong. He felt no guilt at the fate the bastard had received. He just wished it hadn’t been his own hands that had pushed him down those stairs. He wished his mother hadn’t been the one to take the blame, ignoring every protest that had come from Marty’s lips.
He just wished things could have been different in the first place.
But it was too late for that now. Besides, if things had been different, maybe he never would’ve met the one man he actually called a friend in this town.
No. Somehow Marty suspected they would’ve met a different way.
A prickly sensation erupted across the back of Marty’s neck all of a sudden and he turned around, and abruptly locked eyes with a rugged-looking man who was leaning against a nearby wall. The man cracked a grin. He was missing his front teeth. “Hey, kid!” he called. “You still hard for cash?”
“No,” Marty answered simply, knowing exactly what the man wanted.
“Aw, c’mon. Things can’t have turned around that fast for you. ‘sides, I can give you a good time.” He waggled his eyebrows. “What d’you say?”
“I said no,” Marty said more firmly. “Leave me alone.”
The man huffed. “Your loss, kid.”
“I don’t think so,” Marty mumbled as he sped on past.
But he couldn’t escape it. He’d wandered into the exact part of town that his most frequent past customers were from by complete accident, and suddenly it seemed like everyone was looking at him. Men whispering and chuckling to themselves. A woman brushed her hand down his arm and smiled coyly.
Marty jerked the limb away and turned on his heel and sprinted back down the street. He didn’t stop until he got back to Doc’s garage.
Doc looked up as he burst through the door. “Marty. Something the matter?”
“No,” Marty panted, not sounding convincing to his own ears. “Just… I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.” He closed the door behind him and wandered over to the couch, where he promptly collapsed.
He could feel Doc’s eyes linger on him for a moment, before the older man turned back to whatever experiment he was working on.
Marty held his breath for a moment, trying to get it back under control. He was fine. He was safe. He wasn’t part of that life anymore.
Lost in his thoughts, Marty didn’t notice Doc approaching until he was right in front of him, a frown on his lips.
“What?” Marty snapped.
“Nothing,” Doc said quickly. “I was just wondering what you wanted for dinner. I’m not much in the mood to make anything, so maybe we can get takeout.”
Marty leaned his head back against the couch. “Anything you want, Doc.”
Doc was clearly concerned about him, but wisely chose to say nothing. He announced he would be back in a bit, before putting on his coat and hat and leaving the garage, leaving Marty alone for fifteen minutes, which Marty spent just sitting on the couch staring at the ceiling. After these fifteen minutes, Doc returned with a plastic bag containing their dinner, a restaurant logo stamped on the side.
“I just went up the road to that little family-owned restaurant,” he said.
Marty shrugged. “Fine by me.”
They ate seated at the table in silence, Doc chowing down on his meal as if he hadn’t eaten in days and Marty picking at his own. He wasn’t particularly hungry. In fact, if anything, he felt a bit sick after his not-so-pleasant walk, but he wasn’t about to admit that.
Unfortunately, the few months he’d spend with Doc was enough for the old man to pick up on his mood cues. “Marty,” he asked, “did something happen during your walk?”
“No,” Marty answered.
Doc raised an eyebrow.
Marty ducked his head. “I may have… accidentally wandered into a bad part of town.” Not that there really was a good part of town, at least not under Biff’s reign.
“Oh. I understand.” Doc put down his plastic fork. “And are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Doc, okay? I got out of there.” Marty shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
“If you say so. Well, I should get back to my work.” He stood up. “You’ll want to finish your dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” Marty pushed back his white paper container.
“Alright. Well, don’t go rummaging through the cupboards at midnight,” Doc teased.
Marty didn’t laugh.
As Doc returned to his workstation, Marty packed away the leftovers and stuck them in the fridge. He sat down on the couch and flipped through TV channels. At some point, Einstein curled up on the couch next to him, his head resting on Marty’s lap.
After an hour, Marty’s eyelids began to grow heavy. He reluctantly got up, and didn’t bother to undress before falling into his cot and pulling up the covers.
He fell into a restless sleep to the sound of Doc puttering away at his workbench.
When Marty awoke, the sky was still dark. His sleep so far had been pleasantly dreamless, he didn’t need to use the bathroom, and he wasn’t hungry. So what had woken him up?
Marty rolled onto his back, releasing the arm that had been pinned beneath him. He closed his eyes again, and they were only shut for a few seconds before a soft thumping noise from outside caused them to abruptly fly open.
Something—or someone—was outside.
Marty sat up on his elbows and peered through the dark of the window, then shook his head. It was probably just a raccoon sifting through the garbage bins.
And then he heard the voice.
It was soft, the words indistinct, but it was unmistakably a man’s voice. And it was coming from just outside the door.
Marty sat up straighter. His heart pounded in his chest. “Doc?” he whispered through the darkness.
A soft snore was the only response he got.
Okay. So it wasn’t a raccoon. And it wasn’t Doc talking to himself. Which meant a stranger, some creep, was outside the garage skulking about. He glanced over in Einstein’s direction, but the dog hadn’t even reacted. Should Marty try to scare them off himself? Should he pretend to be asleep?
Before he could make a decision, however, the side door to the garage suddenly creaked open, and after a moment, the lights flicked on.
And Marty found himself looking into the eyes of… himself.