Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marty had always known that being stuck in the 1880s would absolutely suck.

But, unfortunately, that had been an understatement.

Because being trapped here was, in fact, a pure nightmare.

The boy wasn't sure what bothered him more: The lack of sanitation, the lack of proper music, the absence of his family, the absence of Jennifer, or the absence of, well…Doc.

Of course, the scientist was still there. There in the way that he was, just as Marty, stuck in the 19th century for now. But he was not very present, if one could say so.

Marty was happy that Doc had found himself a girlfriend. After so many years of social isolation and loneliness, the inventor deserved that much. The only thing Marty wasn't happy about was the fact that Emmett seemed to be completely tossing Marty aside for her sake.

Doc was almost never in the stable, spending his days at Clara's house, and his nights somewhere in the meadows, gazing at the bright stars with her. Marty wasn't sure if one could really describe this feeling as jealousy - after all, he was not, God forbid, in love with Clara or Doc. He was jealous of the dates because he wished he could do the same with Jennifer, and he was jealous because he wished he could spend a day or two with his best friend, Doc.

But maybe, it was time to seek out a new best friend.

One that wouldn't abandon him so quickly.

The saloon seemed like a logical place to go when wanting to make new acquaintances. Deep inside, Marty hoped that maybe, Seamus McFly would be present that evening. Not only was Seamus his relative, but he also was a friendly man to be around. But he wasn't there, unfortunately, and so the first thing Marty did upon entering the saloon was ordering himself a drink.

And then another.

And another.

Chester was in the clear that the boy was on the verge of a blackout after his tenth or so shot, and ordered him to go back to the stable. When Marty refused, the man took it upon himself to drag Marty to the livery and leave him on the bed.

But Marty wasn't happy with that - because Emmett was still not home

“I'm so done with this,” he whimpered, stumbling out of the building. “I'm gonna go look for him."

After walking around for a quarter of an hour, Marty began to regret ever getting drunk. His vision was blurry, and his legs wobbly. He had to stop and grab the bridge of his nose in order to not trip over his own feet.

He couldn't prevent it from eventually happening, however, and after he had collapsed on the ground, he didn't find the strength to get up again.

Whimpering, he curled up into a fetal position, not knowing what to do with himself anymore.

It was then that he heard voices behind him.

After the people came closer, it became clear that the voices did, in fact, belong to Doc and Clara. Had Marty been in his right mind, he would have immediately jumped up and ran away, not wanting Emmett to see him in such a pathetic state. But his heavy limbs wouldn't let him, and so he was forced to wait until Doc practically stumbled upon him.

“Marty?!”

“Hi, Doc,” Marty weakly said, sounding utterly miserable.

“What- Marty, what on earth happened to you?”

“Alcohol,” was all the kid managed to reply.

Emmett stared at him in sheer disbelief. “What?!”

“I know, I know,” Marty replied, defeated. “I can explain. Just…” The boy took a shaky breath. “Help me. Please, Doc. Don't leave me all over again.”

Clara made her way into the conversation. “Leave you?”

“Yeah. For you. Because I'm just a stupid kid who happens to be his best friend and you are the love of his life.”

It was a rather amusing sight; Marty laying in the dry grass, looking up at the two adults hovering over him. But for Emmett, this was not amusing at all. Marty had gotten himself drunk because the scientist had figured that a little dating wouldn't do any harm.

Without thinking twice, Emmett reached out to scoop Marty up.

“Let's go,” he said, “Clara's cabin is not far away. We can take care of the rest there.”

Clara nodded and led the two along, Marty slumped over in Doc's grip. She unlocked the door and stepped aside so her partner could haul Marty over to the sofa and lay him down.

The boy was now clutching his stomach, instantly returning into the fetal position. “Shit hurts…”

Doc wanted to scold him for being so irresponsible, but Clara's gentle gaze told him that this wasn't the right approach. Instead, he took the hot water bottle that Clara handed to him - a souvenir her parents had gotten her from Britain ten years ago - and went over to the couch.

Marty was lying with the back to him, and so Doc took the liberty to carefully turn the boy around, the sight of Marty's tear-filled, red eyes a stab to his heart.

“Hey, Marty,” Doc said, brushing a hand through the kid's hair. “It's alright. Here.” The scientist handed Marty the hot water bottle, getting him settled. Clara, a quick thinker, soon came over with a quilt in her hand, and the scientist covered his young friend with it.

Marty, however, appeared surprised at the gesture. “Why aren't you yelling?”

Doc sighed. “I would be in the wrong to yell at you, Marty. I don't wish to cause you further harm.”

Marty rolled back around, being too ashamed to look the man into his eyes. “I should've been more understanding.”

“No, I should have been more understanding,” Emmett corrected him, “You're trapped in a completely strange time period and I'm going out with a woman.”

“You deserve to go out with a woman,” Marty said.

Emmett crouched down beside him, placing a hand on Marty's arm, hoping to provide some silent comfort. “And you deserve your best friend being there for you in this trying time.”

“I promise I won't touch whiskey again,” Marty whispered.

“I know you won't, kid,” Doc said with a smile, squeezing his arm. “But for now, just get some rest. Got it?”

“Got it,” Marty replied, already drifting off.

As much as he regretted this event, maybe it was the catalyst for things finally getting better.

He'd find out in the morning, Marty figured, and fell into a restful sleep.

Chapter Text

The music was the loudest it had ever been.

Well, maybe that wasn’t the whole truth. Emmett had seen a comparable excitement back in May, when the war in Europe had finally been announced over. Probably it had been even louder than it was now, with trumpets and drums and any other instrument one could think of. Oh and, of course, his saxophone – amongst all the physics and chemistry he was involved in, the scientist had an easy time forgetting that he could play an instrument himself.

The major difference between now and May was that Emmett had joined the celebration three months ago. Now, he would never even think of doing so.

There was nothing to celebrate.

That, too, wasn’t the complete truth. After all with this, the war in the Pacific was over, too. American soldiers wouldn’t have to travel overseas and risk their young lives in an attempt to invade Japan’s main island, and parents of young men had every right to celebrate that.

Emmett was just of the opinion that the 200,000 lives lost instead weren’t a reason to march through the streets while singing victory songs.

Maybe it was just him. Maybe it was just him who was absolutely enraged, who did not want to be associated with these parties. Who’d rather commemorate the people who had died instead of cheering on the so-called “revenge” some of his colleagues were talking about.

But that wouldn't stop him from being enraged.

And so he refused to give in when the other scientist begged him to play some sax during their stupid celebration march.

But he lost it as soon as Groves wanted him to do the same.

“Oh, come on, Emmett,” the man said, “Our boys are safe! The war is over! Aren’t you happy about it?”

“Obviously,” the physicist stated, “Peace is always a beneficial situation for everyone.”

“Then why aren’t you out there? This is your invention we’re celebrating!”

“I wish it wasn’t my invention, General,” Emmett said, “I am not celebrating the death of 200,000 innocent citizens, and you, as a government official, probably shouldn’t either.”

“I’m not celebrating their death,” Groves scoffed, “What kind of person do you think I am? This is for an entirely different reason, Emmett.”

“Oh, but is it?,” the scientist inquired, “Because all I hear out there are the people screaming how happy they are about getting their “bloody revenge”.”

“Then that’s on them,” Groves said, shrugging his shoulders.

Emmett remained stern. “I am not playing my saxophone for this.”

“But you’re good at it!”

“I refuse.”

“Fine,” the general said, making it obvious that he was far from happy with Emmett’s decision, “But just so you know, the decision to drop the bomb was not made by me. And even if it was, I would have don’e it for the reason that this was the best decision for all of us. How long did you want the war to go on, Jesus?”

“Then drop it on a military base, for goodness’ sake!,” Emmett screamed, “It didn’t have to be this way, and you perfectly know it. I don’t want to hear anything.”

With that, Emmett shut the door in front of Groves’ face.

End of conversation.

Chapter Text

Being the social recluse, Emmett wasn't big on talking to other people.

In fact, he was, in a way, happy about that. This town was so messed up, so plain dangerous that one could never know what kind of intentions a person on the street carried with them, and thus, the scientist preferred to stay away.

When he spotted the kid, however, Emmett was more sure than he'd ever been before: That boy was in desperate need of help.

He showed up on the street in front of the lab, nervously looking behind him from time to time, as if he were being followed. Bruises and cuts were covering his face, and his front hair was matted by dry blood. His shirt was torn in a few places, as were his jeans.

The boy couldn't be older than 15, Emmett concluded. And any teen at the age of 15 or younger could not be expected to take care of themselves.

And so Emmett took this upon himself. “Hey, Kid!,” he yelled, “Everything alright? Can I help you?”

The boy instantly turned around and shushed the inventor. “Shhh! Don't be so loud! They're gonna find me!”

“Who?,” Emmett whispered.

“Biff's right hand men,” the kid murmured.

“What?!”

Not wanting to talk about it on an open street, the teenager ran up to Emmett’s window. “Listen, I'm not that big on trusting strangers, and especially not the town crackpot.”

Emmett flinched at that.

“But I need a place to hide. Even just for half an hour or so.”

“Of course,” was all the scientist replied. “You may come in. And let me reassure you; I'm not planning to conduct any kind of experiment on you, so don't you worry about that. But before I let you inside - what's your name?”

The boy's eyes seemed to sadden a little when he quietly answered the question. “Marty.”

“Marty?! Like the stepson of-”

“Psshh! Just let me in!”

Without asking any more, the inventor ran up to his front door and opened it, shutting it again after Marty had rushed inside the lab.

“So, you're Biff's stepson?,” Emmett asked after a pause.

Marty was busy petting Einstein, which is why his reply was a few seconds late. “Unfortunately.”

Emmett nodded in understanding. “I'm terribly sorry about that.”

Marty didn't say anything further. He rarely wanted to talk about his family situation, as it wasn't exactly one to be proud of. Not only was his stepfather America's biggest bully, but his mom was an alcoholic and his brother was a drug addict and his sister…Marty didn't even know anymore.

“Who did this to you, if I may ask?,” Emmett asked after a moment of silence.

Marty didn't have to ask to know that the man was referring to the bruises on his face. “Like I mentioned, Biff's gang. Stupid people, but unfortunately rather strong.”

“Will you…will you let me clean them for you?” When Marty didn't immediately reply, Emmett hastily added, “I know we just met but I can't a kid walk around like that. I'm sure it must hurt. And I wouldn't want you to risk infection.”

Marty carefully touched a bruise on his cheek. The man was right; it did hurt.

Maybe he could trust an adult for once in his life.

It felt better to trust the scientist than his own mother, if he was honest.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He took a deep breath. “And thank you.”

A smile purged Emmett's lips. “You're welcome.”

Chapter Text

“Jesus Christ- Doc!”

Marty sprinted out of the garage as fast as his legs could carry him. Doc was slowly standing up from the ground, holding his left arm and hissing in pain.

“Marty- hi,” the inventor pressed out, “Sorry for this, uh, greeting.”

“Don’t apologize,” Marty quickly insisted, “You did nothing wrong, and you know that. If I were to tell you how many times I’ve fallen from my skateboard-”

“I don’t wish to hear anything about the future, no matter how minor the details seems,” Emmett interrupted. Then he looked at his motorcycle sprawled on the ground. Luckily, the vehicle appeard to be intact – Doc didn’t think he wanted to spend a fortune on repairing his Harley.

“Fair enough,” Marty muttered. “How, uh, how did that happen, anyway?”

Emmett sighed. “Lost my balance. It’s ridiculous, Marty. One could think I don’t drive this thing every day.”

But the boy shook his head. “It happens.” Marty turned his attention to Doc holding his arms. “Does it hurt badly?”

Doc wanted to say no, but all he could do was nod through gritted teeth. “I’m afraid it does. The only thing I can do now is hope that it isn’t broken, but I have a feeling that the chances of that are rather slim. I’m glad I was going slow.”

“Oh, yeah, me too,” Marty concured. “And you better believe that I’m glad you decided to listen to me about that helmet.”

Doc couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna have to hear that for a while, huh?”

“Absolutely. Now, let me call an ambulance-”

“That’s unnecessary,” Emmett said, “You can just drive me to the hospital yourself. I’m not going to die from a broken arm, and defintely not in the first minutes after the inititial fracture.”

Marty took a shaky breath. “I suppose you have a point. Sorry. I just freak out internally whenever something happens to you.”

Doc smiled at the kid. “I’m honored, Marty, I truly am.”

“I know. And so you better don’t end up unconscious on the driveway someday, because I’m going to break your ribs doing CPR.” With those very uplifting words, Marty made his way to the lab to grab the keys to Doc’s current car. The boy drove it out of its garage and ushered his friend inside. “Let’s go. I’ll feel calmer once you’re taken care of.”

“What would I do without you,” Emmett sighed, gratitude in his voice.

“Calling an ambulance,” Marty concluded, and Doc, despite the sharp pain in his arm, burst out laughing.

“That is a very fair conclusion, my boy,” Doc said, still holding his arm as Marty started steering the car towards Hill Valley’s hospital. The drive was spent in silence, and soon enough, they arrived at the reception, where Marty and Doc briefly explained the situation to the lovely woman.

As Doc was taken away to get his X-Ray done, the impact of it all hit Marty. Doc was okay, and he would be okay after the examination, too. Most importantly, he would live. Technically, the boy had no reason to be panicking – and yet, he was.

I should stop that before I get to visit Doc. I wouldn’t want him to worry about me.

Not that Doc wouldn't worry about him either way.

Chapter Text

“Oh, fuck,” Marty moaned, rolling to his side on the cold asphalt. He was so screwed. His stomach hurt like hell, and any minute now, the door to the school gym would open and his younger parents would come out.

And then, they'd have a huge problem.

At a loss of what else to do, he reached for the walkie talkie in his pocket, pressing a button with his shaky hands. “Doc, please, come in.”

A second later, the device crackled and Emmett’s voice replied. “Marty? Where are you? I'm waiting on the school roof!”

“I can't- I can't get up,” Marty whined.

“What?!,” came the answer in a alarmed tone.

“It was Biff,” Marty explained, “He saw the almanac on me and grabbed it before kicking me in the guts. He- he's pretty strong, Doc.”

Oh, no.

“Give me a moment, kid, I'll be right there,” the scientist promised, leaving the DeLorean on the roof and making his way downstairs.

It wasn't hard to spot the boy lying sprawled out on the ground, clutching his stomach in misery. Emmett instantly felt a pang in his heart. What kind of person was Biff to do that to Marty?

Then again, they'd just come from an alternate reality where Biff had gone as far as murdering George McFly, so that question already had an answer.

“Marty!,” Doc exclaimed, reaching out to get Marty onto his feet. The man steadied his young friend, who was gritting his teeth in order not to yelp in pain.

“I'm sorry, Doc,” Marty muttered, “I wasn't able to fight back.”

Doc shook his head. “No, no. Don't worry about it. The most important thing we have to do now is to make sure you're okay.”

“Well, I don't think I am,” Marty said, a pathetic attempt at humor that unfortunately fell flat in this instant.

Emmett nodded in agreement. “Yes, that's likely.”

The man somehow hauled Marty to the school roof, getting him seated in the car before taking his own seat and shutting the doors. He let out a small sigh of relief - at least a paradox had been averted.

Marty was quiet, and that alone was cause for worry. Doc eyed his young best friend for a moment, and it felt like torture having to watch this brave teenager hug himself and sweat bullets from attempting to combat the pain.

They had to act.

Now.

“Alright, Marty, hold on,” Doc said before punching a date into the time circuits, “I’m getting you treatment in the future.”

“But Doc,” Marty protested weakly, “Biff’s still got the almanac. Aren’t we gonna come back to a future where he’s rich and corrupted?”

“Not if we travel to 2055,” Emmett countered, “The issue is likely to be cleared up by then.”

“Or there was a nuclear war and we’re gonna arrive to a wasteland,” Marty murmured.

Doc could only pray that that wasn’t the case. He could not wait too long - or Marty might actually die on him. He started up the motor of the car before getting it into flying position, accelerating to 88 as quickly as possible. Soon enough, the DeLorean broke the time barrier and landed them a hundred years in the future.

Luckily, the world seemed to still be intact, and it also was relatively easy to locate a hospital - thank God, because when Doc looked at Marty, the boy had already passed out. The scientist parked the time vehicle and rushed his young friend into the hospital, doing his absolute best to remain calm.

Marty was taken away and Doc was asked to stand by in the waiting room. To say that it was hell was an absolute understatement. Emmett’s heart pounded with anxiety, his mind already jumping to worst-case scenarios, coming up with ways to save the kid in case he didn’t make it.

“Mr Brown?,” one of the nurses suddenly said, tearing Emmett out of his thoughts. Instantly, Doc looked up, his eyes shining with curiosity and hope. He was relieved when the nurse didn’t shake her head upon seeing that.

“Yes?”

“Your nephew Michael is finished with the examination. You may follow me to see him.”

Doc got up and followed the nurse across the hospital to Marty’s room. During the walk, the woman provided him with details concerning Marty’s condition.

“You were lucky to have brought him here so fast,” she said, “The blunt force trauma to his abdomen has caused his appendix to burst, leading to internal bleeding. We were able to stop it, but his stomach is bound to be tender and swollen. He will have to stay here for a few days so we can make sure he makes a proper recovery.”

Emmett nodded in understanding, a weight being taken off his shoulders. Marty would be okay. “Thank you, ma’am.”

They arrived at the room, and the nurse left Emmett alone with his young friend. Marty was still asleep, knocked out from the drugs they had given him before the surgery. It almost broke Doc’s heart to see how peaceful the boy looked during his sleep.

A complete difference from what he had looked like at the height of their adventures.

I should stop dragging him through so much bullshit.

Doc sat next to the boy for an unknown amount of time. It felt like an eternity and like nothing all the same, but when Marty opened his eyes, it became clear to the inventor that it was all worth it.

“Doc?,” Marty’s voice came, weak and quiet.

Emmett immediately was at the kid’s side. “I’m here, Marty.” He took one of Marty’s hands and squeezed it. “How do you feel?”

“Crappy,” the boy said, with a small grin that made Doc’s heart jump with joy. How good it was to see Marty smile.

“I totally believe that. It’ll take a few days for you to recover.”

Marty only nodded, his eyes closing once more. “Doc?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

The older man squeezed Marty’s hand once more. “What makes you think I ever would?”

Chapter Text

Marty was excited. Today, for his tenth birthday, his parents had promised to get him a guitar.

The boy had expressed the desire to learn the instrument for some time now. Even his siblings, Dave and Linda, were fightting for him to actually be able to learn it, and tried convincing their parents to fulfill his wish. George and Lorraine had given in and said that Marty would receive a beginner’s guitar for his next birthday – which happened to be on June 12, 1978.

When Marty had gotten dressed that morning without getting a cake brought to his bed as per usual, he was a little puzzled, but stepped out of his room excited nontheless. Maybe his parents had overslept, or the cake had been finished late. Or they simply assumed it was too early for him to awake – despite it already being almost 10 in the morning.

“Mom? Dad?,” the young boy asked, peeking into the living room only to find it empty.

“Marty?,” Linda’s voice sounded out.

“Linda!”

“Happy birthday, little brother,” she said, wrapping him in a hug.

“Thanks!”

Dave joined them and also congratulated Marty with a hug, before awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Marty, I’m afraid...dad has been called to work unexpectedly. And Mom...she has had a few too many drinks, and is still sleeping it off. I’m so sorry. If we had known, we would’ve gotten you your cake ourselves, but-”

“It’s okay,” Marty interrupted, a sad smile on his face. “I should have guessed.”

Linda and Dave looked at each other. Lorraine had started actively drinking around six months ago, and it had been hard on all of them. But they couldn’t imagine how Marty felt, being the youngest and needing the most parental support. Linda, with 12, wasn’t left unfazed either, but she was still more mature than her younger brother.

“Hey, you wanna go get ice cream?,” Dave suggested to lift the mood. “Extra big sundae for the birthday boy.”

Marty’s face immediately lit up. “Sure!”

The siblings spent a fantastic day enjoying the summer sun, and yet, Marty couldn’t stop thinking about the guitar he was supposed to get. His brother got him a brand new helmet for his skating endavours, which Marty was overjoyed about. He was convinced that his siblings were the best siblings one could ever have.

He wished that would apply to his parents as well.

Because when they returned home after their trip, they found Lorraine yelling at her husband while the latter was in the middle of a confrontation with Biff, his supervisor.

“Come on,” Dave said, wanting to drag Marty to his room and out of that mess.

But the ten year old was crossing his arms. “I want to know whethere they got me a guitar. They promised!”

“Guitar?,” Lorraine’s slurred voice came, having heard Marty’s voice, “Haven’t we told you that a guitar is way too expensive?”

“You promised!,” Marty countered.

Biff watched the scene in amusement. “Promised? Butthead, you should know that you can’t count on your wimp of a father when he promises something.”

“I’m asking my mom,” Marty said.

“Well, don’t count on her, either. She went to that dance with this doormat rather than with the best looking guy in school, and look at where that got her!” Biff laughed, letting go of George’s tie.

“I’m sorry, son, but your mother is right,” George weakly said, “We can’t afford to buy you a guitar.”

“Yeah, well, I figured,” Marty grumbled, walking into his room and grabbing his skateboard, together with his new helmet. As he walked out the door, he was met by Biff, who was still laughing.

“They don’t care about you, kid,” the man said to him, “Face it.”

And although Marty tried everything in his power to ignore that statement, a part of him couldn't help but feel that it was true.

Chapter Text

The ticking of the clocks was almost deafening as Marty stood in the kitchen of Doc and Clara's house, holding a glass of water in his shaking hand.

It was late at night or early in the morning; Marty couldn't tell since he hadn't looked at a clock yet. What mattered was that it was pitch-black outside, and that meant that he probably wasn't supposed to be awake right now.

And yet, he wasn't surprised that he was.

Marty hadn't talked to Doc about the recurring nightmares he got every night. About the scientist being shot to death in that parking lot. About Doc being burned alive by that damn lightning strike in 1955 - be it the time he connected the cables or in the flying DeLorean. About Doc bleeding out on the festival's dance floor as Marty's pie plate flew one moment too late.

The kid knew that it probably would be better for both of them if he were honest about them, but he didn't have the heart to place that burden on Doc's shoulders - not when the inventor had to sort out so much himself.

Marty had been overjoyed when Emmett had announced that he and his family were going to permanently move back to the 1980s. But the process had taken a while, and only in February 1986, Emmett had been able to acquire a house. They had to find places in school for Jules and Verne, and make sure that the kids adjusted well. Marty also was aware of the fact that Doc was immensely worried about his wife and how she was coping with the big change.

The boy didn't wish to be an extra bother.

He should have known that he wouldn't get away with it for too long.

Because suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Marty?”

It was Doc. Of course it was. As useful it sometimes was, Marty wished he could somehow deactivate Doc's sixth sense the man had when it came to something being amiss with his teenage friend.

“Hi, Doc.” Marty placed the glass down and offered the scientist a friendly wave.

Doc's frown only deepened. “Marty, what happened? Why are you awake?”

“Nothing,” Marty was quick to reply, “Just, uh, got thirsty.”

Emmett sighed. “You know, this is the third time I've heard you awake at night out of the three times you've spent a night in my house.”

Shit.

Marty took a deep breath and swallowed. “Yeah, I know. I'm sorry.”

“No, don't apologize,” Emmett gently said. “Just tell me what's wrong. I want to help, Marty.”

“It's stupid,” Marty said, but Doc would be a fool to let it go.

“It's not. I can tell.”

Okay, maybe now's the time, Marty decided. But I'm not gonna look him into the eyes while saying it.

“I have, uh- bad dreams. About you, uh, dying in various time travel situations.” Marty took another shaky breath as his eyes welled up with tears. “They're also very vivid.”

Doc was stunned for a second. But the next moment he realized that he should have figured that.

Marty was only 17. Of course his brain wouldn't process those events easily.

“I'm so sorry, kid,” Emmett softly said. “You should have told me earlier. We could have worked through it together, you know?” The man placed a hand on Marty's shoulder. “We'll do it now, too, of course.”

“I don't think I want to actively talk through it, Doc,” Marty managed. “I wake up and look into your room to make sure you're still alive, and that usually helps. Sorry if that woke you up a few times.”

Doc's heart wasn't sure whether to melt or break in two. “It's alright, Marty. I promise.” He opened his arms. “Come here.”

Marty wiped his eyes and nodded, stepping into Emmett's embrace before closing his eyes. His muscles loosened up as he allowed himself to relax in Doc's arms.

Maybe this wasn't a bad thing to do after all.

Chapter Text

The air in the room felt suffocating as Emmett furrowed his eyebrows, doing his best to keep the furious look on his face.

He couldn’t believe this. All the months of hard work, all the late nights doing research, all the finished chalks to completely fill the chalkboard – they were all for the enemy.

Well, according to the authorities, anyway.

“Dr Brown,” one of the psychologists in front of him said, “We’ve received the information that your family originates from Germany. Is that correct?”

Well, that information isn’t that hard to dig up. “Yes, it is,” Emmett confirmed, aware that he was not helping his case. But what good would lying do? Exactly: None. He might even get in more trouble, being at risk for being accused of denying his actions when they found even more evidence that his father had emigrated from the western European country.

“There we got a possible motive,” a soldier, who was guarding the room, muttered to himself.

The scientist snapped his head around. “Like what? Do you seriously believe every person with German heritage you come across is a Nazi? When my father came here, Hitler’s party didn’t even exist. Hell, the first world war hadn’t even happened yet. Germany was a monarchy.”

The soldier rolled his eyes, but, to Emmett’s satisfaction, didn’t say any more. As much as the physician was not on great terms with his father, he would not toletarte this kind of insult towards his family.

There was such a thing as going too far.

“Just a question on the sidelines, Dr Brown,” the psychologist said, “If youn’t mind me asking, of course.”

“When have I ever,” Emmett said, making sure the sarcasm in his voice was audible.

“If one of your parents is from the enemy’s land, how come you are employed on this project?”

Emmett wanted to scream. Or tear his hair out. Or both.

How dense could these people be?

He took a deep breath and planted a fake smile onto his face. He was so tired of appearing as if he was completely unfazed by these constant questions that, for some reason, didn’t get the investigation team anywhere.

“As I’ve just said, my father emigrated over 20 years before the Nazi party came into power. Me and my family have absolutely nothing to do with the currect German govermnment. As for why I’m on the project, I suppose my knowledge and abilities as a physicist have convinced the directors of this whole thing to get me into the boat. And I’m only too happy to serve my country.”

With that, the man crossed his arms and leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair he was sitting in. What bullshit.

This was so ridiculous to him. Those people had no evidence in the slightest that would prove their claim right. He was not s spy, for goodness’ sakes! He had better things to do in his life than tarnish the country that made becoming a scientist more possible and easier for him.

“Alright, Dr Brown,” one of the psychologists said, “We’re going to run some tests, and then you’ll get a new round of questions. And this is your last chance to ever get out of this.”

Oh, my god, please, get me out of here!

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

“Say, Marty.”

Doc's voice came suddenly. After the moments of silence and tranquility that Marty had so dearly missed, he almost hadn't expected the man to talk anymore.

“Yeah?,” Marty said, looking up from the dried-up letter in his hands. It was still a little crumpled up from the rainwater, but Marty was so eternally grateful that the droplets hadn't smudged the ink because he'd exposed it to the elements for such an amount of time. He didn't need another thing added to his long list of regrettable actions of the past weeks.

"What exactly was it that brought you here for the second time?”

Oh. “Well, Doc,” Marty began, “I actually don't think I can tell you that without stirring up the continuum.”

“Right,” Emmett said after a moment of consideration. Of course. He should have figured that.

“Let's just say I, uh. I made a big and stupid mistake, and it resulted in our town looking like a hellhole. No, it was a hellhole. Had to come back here to fix it.”

“I hope you do realize that you've only made me more curious with this statement,” the scientist mused.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Marty said, sighing. “Sorry. Didn't mean to.”

But Doc shook his head. “Oh, no worries. I won't pry. I, well- I suppose I was also wondering what it was that has you looking so exhausted.”

Marty furrowed his eyebrows before meeting his friend's gaze. “I do?”

“Absolutely.”

There was no use in denying it: Marty was exhausted. If his mind would let him, he'd gladly plop down on the mattress of his bed in the guest room and sleep.

But he couldn't. Not after all that had happened. Not after he'd caused Hill Valley to be an absolute nightmare. Not after he'd essentially killed his father. Not after he'd gotten Doc committed.

Not after his recklessness and goddamn pride had ended with Doc getting struck by lightning while in the car and disappearing forever.

“Yeah, well- it's been a rough couple of weeks,” Marty sheepishly said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Emmett raised an eyebrow. “Weeks?”

“Or, well- maybe not weeks. It's been like one and a half,” Marty corrected himself. Then, he sighed. “But it sure does feel like weeks.”

Another few minutes of silence followed. Doc was studying the repair instructions for the DeLorean as Marty re-read that letter for the umpteenth time, tears coming to his eyes as he skimmed over the last lines. If he were Doc, stranded in the Old West, he'd probably hate his guts for causing the chain of events that got him there. And yet, Doc wasn't mad, writing that Marty had been a good friend instead.

It didn't take long for the current Doc to take note of Marty's moist eyes. “Hey, Kid, what's the matter?”

With a shaky hand, Marty attempted to rub the tears away. “God, Doc, I'm such an idiot,” he managed to say, sniffling as his emotions threatened to overtake him.

Emmett stood up and silently walked over to the couch, sitting down next to his young friend. He placed his big hand on Marty's back and awkwardly patted it. “Whatever happened, Marty, I can assure you you are not an idiot.”

“Jeez, how can you say that? You're stuck in 1885 because of me. You'll never get home to 1985 because of me. And I know your older self seems happy according to the letter, but I'll be damned if this doesn't bother me!”

Another minute of silence. The grandfather clock ticked on in the background as Marty did everything in his power to gather his composure, even if his efforts were fruitless.

“I know it bothers you, Marty, and this fact touches me greatly,” Emmett began, “But please, do not blame yourself, my friend. I have learned in our first week spent together that time travel is extremely dangerous, and I would never lash out at you for making mistakes that any inexperienced time traveler, probably even me, could and would have made.”

Marty didn't say a word, only continued sniffling.

Doc thought for a moment before speaking up again. “You're only 17 years old, for goodness’ sake. Nobody, and especially not me, should expect you not to make mistakes.”

Wiping another portion of tears from his face, Marty grinned lightly. “Your wisdom remains unfathomable. As always.”

“Oh, nonsense. I just hope it helped you some.”

Marty took a deep breath. Calm, McFly. You're okay.

“I think it did.”

Chapter Text

The music was drumming in Marty's ears, causing his head to throb.

He hated it here. He hated it so much that had he not been surrounded by so many people, he would have jumped straight out the window onto the street and ran off.

But he couldn't do that. And now, his vision was blurring as the disco lights danced over the floor, the college-aged girls and boys slowly taking advantage of the late hour and their drunkenness.

Marty hated it.

He should have trusted his heart with its rational decision to say “no” when Needles had invited him to this godforsaken party. But the boy had decided to trust his brain, which desperately craved recognition and respect. And his brain had said “yes”.

Now, Needles was nowhere to be seen, and Marty had a couple of spiked drinks intus.

He had to leave.

Blinking and trying to make out his surroundings, the teenager spotted a telephone hanging on the wall. His heart skipped a beat - he was so close to an escape!

But who would he call?

There was no way he could alert his parents if he didn't want to worden his headache tonight. They would rip his head off without thinking twice, probably convinced Marty was sleeping soundly in his room.

Not his uncle or aunt, either, because that was just an indirect way of calling his parents. Marty cursed inwardly, wishing he had some cool grandparents who would let him get away with anything. But Stella and Sam were both incredibly stoic and conservative, and Sylvia and Arthur lived in Grass Valley.

Doc.

The name shot through Marty's head like a landline being thrown in a raging storm.

Of course - he could call Doc! The scientist was the only adult Marty knew who'd likely still be awake at this time, and he was also the only adult Marty trusted unconditionally.

The boy was lucky that, after making his way through the crowds of dancing youth and getting a hold of the telephone, he managed to recall Doc's number despite his clouded brain.

“Dr Emmett Brown, at your service.”

“Doc,” Marty said, “You awake?”

“Marty? Is that you?”

Marty nodded, forgetting that he was on the phone.

“Marty? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's me,” Marty slurred, “Sorry. Uh, listen, Doc-”

“What's the matter, kid? You sound peaked.”

Marty sighed. He did not want to explain this. “Yeah, uh, you see- Needles dragged me to this party, and I'm sure they put some booze into the drinks…”

Marty could practically see Emmett's disappointed gaze through the phone line. “Marty, I thought I told you to stay away from that boy.”

“I know you did,” Marty replied in an almost pleading tone, “But I'm a chicken and easily give in to peer pressure.”

“You're not a chicken,” came Doc's voice, gentle and calming, “Alone the fact that you decided to call me proves that. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Please. The- the address is 3349 Madison Avenue.”

“Roger. Try to sneak out of the house, I'll meet you on the road in ten minutes max. Okay?”

“Got it,” Marty said, “And Doc?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Marty had expected his body to do anything, really. Anything to eventually make it show just how exhausted he was from all the time travel escapades. Maybe fall asleep in the middle of a trip through the fourth dimension. Maybe stay in the 1950s for a few more days, no matter how risky it was, because his mind needed a few days of nothing.

But not catch one of the deadliest diseases of the 1880s.

It had all started pretty harmlessly, really. Marty had attributed the sting in his throat and the rash on his neck to Buford Tannen's attempt to hang him, and thus had kept quiet about it.

The following fatigue on the evening of September 3 was also easy to overlook, it coming as no surprise considering everything the teenager had been through in the past few weeks.

But when Marty woke up the next morning almost unable to get out of the cot, he knew that something was wrong.

“Doc?,” he croaked, cheeks reddening even further at the realization about how pathetic he sounded, with his voice barely there.

As suspected, Emmett was instantly alarmed when he heard Marty's weak voice.

“Marty? Good lord, what's the matter?”

“I- I don't know,” Marty replied, taking all of his strength just to sit up. “I woke up like this.”

Immediately, a hand was on Marty's forehead, and when Doc let out a whistle, the kid knew it had to be bad.

“Stay right where you are,” the scientist said, “I'll be back in a mere minute.”

He went to rummage through his drawers in search for a simple glass thermometer. His cursing whenever he couldn't find it amused Marty, distracting him from the utter misery he was experiencing. He couldn't recall ever feeling so ill in his life.

“Alright, open up,” Doc instructed, inserting the device into Marty's mouth. The wait was the most anxious wait the two of them had sat out. When Doc finally, albeit visibly concerned, had taken the thermometer out, Marty's heart was racing.

“103.3,” Emmett announced, letting out a deep sigh. “This is not good.”

“I figured,” Marty mumbled. “Doc, what on earth is happening to me?”

“I'm not sure,” the inventor said, “Are you experiencing any other symptoms?”

Well, maybe now's the time to admit it.

“My throat hurts like hell,” Marty answered, “Which is why I can't really talk. And there's a weird rash on my neck.”

The boy did not like how Emmett's eyes instantly widened at the information. “A rash? Does it feel like sandpaper?”

“Yeah, that's exactly it,” the boy whispered, “Thanks. Didn't know how to describe that one.”

“Oh, no,” Doc muttered, “Those symptoms perfectly align with scarlet fever, Marty. Do you know what that is?”

“The old days disease that killed many kids?”

“Precisely that.” Emmett gulped. “Except we're in the old days right now. And you're a kid.”

The boy was at a loss on how to properly react to this. Screaming was out of the question, and while he did want to cry, his eyes remained dry. This was more annoying and frustrating rather than upsetting.

Instead, in a typical Marty-fashion, he croaked, “This is heavy.”

Which was good, because it got a laughter out of Doc. “Heavy indeed, my boy. If I can't keep your fever down, we might get a serious problem.” Emmett took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I remember contracting this disease as a seven year old. It was horrendous. But maybe the memory will let me help you.”

“Aren't you gonna get infected?,” Marty inquired, but to the teen's relief, the scientist shook his head.

“The rejuvenation procedures I had in the 21st century have made me immune to a number of illnesses, this one included. So you don't need to fret.”

Doc was right: He didn't get infected and the disease was horrendous. Marty couldn't do anything but sleep through the entire day, and when September 7 rolled around, the anxiety about Doc's supposed death had him even more on edge.

Emmett, after realizing that cold rags might not be enough to hinder the illness from…well, doing things he didn't want to think about (when Marty had asked, Emmett had replied “We're out of time, kid,” leaving Marty's jaw wide open) to try and locate some herbs that might help him, and Marty's stomach was turning with worry. What if, by going back in time and falling ill, he was the reason that the scientist went outside now and got himself shot?

Marty attempted to close his eyes and not think about that possibility, but it was soon evident that it was a hopeless case. 30 minutes into Doc's absence, he managed to sit up, swing his legs over the edge of the bed, and slowly stand up, leaning against the wall.

His face was dripping with sweat, but the teen pushed through, almost making it to Doc's ice machine, when-

Two things at once happened: The door to the stable opened, and Marty's legs couldn't hold him up anymore, the kid collapsing to the floor.

“Marty, what-” Doc immediately set the herbs aside and rushed to his friend, scooping him up and carrying him straight back to bed. “What were you thinking?!”

“Had to look for you,” Marty mumbled, “What if you had gotten shot?”

“Huh? What do you- oh, right.” Doc sighed. “It's alright, Marty. I'm alright. I'm not going anywhere today and risking the spread of that bacteria even further.”

“Right.”

“I'll make you some tea with willow bark; it should help your fever.”

Doc patted Marty's blanketed knee. “Hang in there for a bit.”

Marty grinned. “Bad choice of words, Doc.

Chapter Text

Doc had known that touring as a band was a dangerous endavour. He had had multiple pep talks with Marty, cautioning him not to walk around alone late at night (especially in major metropolian areas) and be careful while in the tour bus. He had warmed him about overly obsessed fans who would go as far as harrass their idols just for a photo or an autograph.

But he had never thought to warn him about planes.

Being a scientist, airplans had always fascinated Emmett in a way. He had never really flown before, and he had been very excited when Marty had announced he and The Pinheads would use it as a method of transportation between opposite sides of the country. Doc knew plans were convenient and fast – so why worry?

Well, because everything that flies always stands a risk of crashing down.

It was a comparibly short distance – Minneapolis to Boston. And yet, the aircraft that was supposed to carry Marty and his band members to their next concert venue had given up on thrm, crashlanding in a forest adjacent to the Niagara Falls.

A few lives were cut short, and while that, obviously, was a tragedy, Doc had almost cried with relief when The Pinheads all had been announced alive.

This feeling, however, had vanished when he found out that Marty was in a coma.

The boy (well, he was 23 now, but for Emmett, he would always be a boy) had suffered an injury to the head. While it wasn’t assessed to be severe enough to cause permanent damage, he was still being monitored in a hospital in Buffalo.

The minute Doc had heard the news, he had rushed to book train tickets before informing even his wife. Clara had, naturally, understood completely, and told him to call as soon as there were any news.

The journey took Emmett five days – the man refused to risk traveling by air after what had happened to his best friend; not out of fear of crashing himself, but rather wanting to more or less ensure he would be fine to visit Marty. When he arrived, Marty still hadn’t shown any signs of responsiveness. Doc’s heart had sunken at the news, but he had gathered all his courage and followed the nurse into the room Marty was located in.

And so, here he was, sitting in a chair next to Marty’s hospital bed, and holding the boy’s hand as if his life depended on it.

Marty’s parents had been here before, too. Emmett had been close to tearing up himself when he had watched George escorting a sobbing Lorraine out of the room, her husband murmuring that he’d get her some coffee, aware that the scientist wanted some time with Marty by himself.

Doc wasn’t sure what to say or do.

He cleared his throat. “Hi, Marty.”

No response. The monitoring machines would drive him crazy at some point, Doc was sure.

“I’d love to ask you about your day, but that would be stupid, wouldn’t it?”

Nothing.

Maybe I should tell him about my day.

Emmett started talking. Even with Marty unable to say anything, the words flowed freely from his tongue, his brain automatically comfortable sharing everything in Marty’s presence. Doc talked about some modifications for the DeLorean he was working on (“I truly hope you will recover so we can test them together, kid”) and how Jules was adjusting to high school. He spoke for what felt like hours.

And Marty still didn’t respond.

God, Emmett, what did you expect? He’s in a coma. He won’t just randomly wake up.

The man couldn’t keep himself together anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he squeezed Marty’s hands.

“I can’t stand seeing you like this,” he murmured, a droplet of water rolling down his right cheek. He quickly wiped it off. Crying wouldn’t help.

Sighing, he stood up, swallowing the knot of tears in his throat. I promised to call Clara.

A nurse appeared in the doorway, and Emmett, after giving her a polite smile, left the hospital room.

Not even a second later, her voice rang out.

“He’s stirring!”

Doc’s eyes went wide open. Immediately, he stumbled back into the room. “What?!”

“Look!” The nurse pointed at Marty, who was slowly opening his eyes.

Oh, my god.

Doc didn’t care what the nurse would say. He sat down right next to Marty on the bed, got hold of his hands once more, and took a deep breath. The tears now fell freely after seeing Marty opening his oh so bright, blue eyes for the first time in almost a week.

Jesus Christ, Marty…

“Marty,” Doc whispered, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

The young man wasn’t back yet – not completely, that is. But Emmett had the feeling that all would be alright.

And it was.

Chapter Text

He never thought he would ever think this, but Marty was sick of listening to the Beatles.

Not because their music was bad or boring, no, not at all. It was just that their music was usually put on by Doc whenever he was trying to distract himself.

That usually meant that the man was tripping on LSD, by the way.

Marty had never imagined his friend doing drugs. Sure, it had been a common rumor in Hill Valley, but a lot of things were rumors about Doc, and Marty had proved them all wrong to himself. It stung that this one was (or at least had been) true. It hurt the boy seeing his best friend under influence.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more; the fact that Doc was taking this substance at all or the fact that he was still doing it despite Marty having moved into the garage until Doc would be able to get him out of 1967.

The boy needed his best friend to cope with his situation, and seeing Emmett just...not care hurt him. Very much so.

As “Help!” played from the record player, Marty couldn’t help but feel how oddly fitting this song seemed to be. It certainly was as if Doc was crying out for help by doing drugs, but what on Earth did he need help with? If Emmett were only to tell Marty, then the boy would be able to do something about it, but like this?

Marty was afraid the situation was out of his hands, no matter how much he wanted to have it under control.

“Doc, jeez,” he groaned out loud.

Loud enough to get Doc’s attention, evidently. “Yes, Marty?”

Emmett giggled and Marty grimaced. It sounded so fake. Yes, because it was, but Marty would likely never get used to it.

“Why the heck do you keep inhaling these?”

“Inhaling what?,” Doc asked, and Marty wanted to slap his forehead. No one was able to lead a conversation like this.

“Drugs, Doc,” Marty tried, “The LSD. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds? Yeah.”

“Oh, that one’s a good song!,” Emmett cheered, and Marty closed his eyes. How exhausting.

“No, that’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Marty said, a hint of anger in his voice. They’d had this talk before, but Doc was either forgetting it or just not giving a shit. Which was fair if one was addicted, but last time Marty checked LSD wasn’t a very addictive drug.

The boy probably would have to wait until Doc was himself again to yell him into reason.

He was sick of waiting.

“Look, Doc, if you don’t quit, I legit am going to throw out your entire supply of LSD and won’t let you get out of the house until you’ve properly quit to make sure you don’t purchase any more. I don’t want you to be like this, don’t you get it?”

Emmett didn’t talk back. Marty sighed.

How was he going to get through this man?

“That’s it,” Marty said, marching to the bathroom and opening the shelf where Doc kept his drugs. Emmett didn’t even notice at first – not that Marty really cared whether he did or not. He had to put an end to this.

“Marty?” Doc appeared in the doorway. “Before you do anything, wait-”

“Wait for what? Jesus, Doc,” Marty snapped, “I feel like I’m lecturing a child on drug safety! Are you offering to take care of me while I’m stranded or is it the other way round? This is gonna drive me insane! If you really want to help me out, you’ve gotta make that sacrifice.”

Emmett looked at his young friend, eyes wide. He couldn’t do anything but watch as his drugs were dumped into the trash can. Marty took out the bag and tied a knot before leaving Doc in the bathroom by himself to throw the bag out for good.

Maybe that will get him back down to Earth.

Chapter Text

It felt insane to Marty just how fast an event could go down the drain.

Just a minute earlier, Doc, Clara and other couples had been twirling on the dancefloor, hopping to the beat of the banjo music (played by musicians who suspiciously looked like the members of ZZ Top). And now, Buford was standing straight in front of Marty’s best friend – pointing a gun at his head.

Marty hadn’t really followed the chain of events. He could make out that Buford had harrassed Clara, and Doc, naturally, had gotten angry with him for it. And all while Marty had been standing on the sidelines, enjoying himself and eating cake.

“Damn you, Tannen!,” Doc yelled, attempting to break free from the grip of Buford’s goons.

The arlam bells rang out in Marty’s head. It wasn’t looking good for his best friend, and his job now was to think quick. What can I do, oh my god, I need to do something-

Tannen’s voice rang out once more. “No, I damn you – I damn you to hell!”

Buford fired.

“No!”

Before Marty himself could even realize what he was doing, his body did the work for him and he threw himself right in the lane of the bullet, taking the hit.

The hit to his upper arm.

“Not now, Tannen,” he hissed under his breath, his hand pressing down on the bleeding gunshot wound.

“Oh, are you fucking kidding me?,” the outlaw yelled, “I wasted my only bullet on this goddamn kid! And he ain’t even dead!”

Marty’s vision blackened, and he didn’t even realize how the crowd dissolved around him – and with them Tannen and his goons.

In an instant, Doc was at is side, steadying him and using his coat to press down on the wound, attempting to stop the bleeding. “Marty, what the hell were you thinking?!,” was all the man could say in the spur of the moment.

“Couldn’t...couldnt let you die,” the teenager muttered.

It was then that the pain set in. It was almost unbearbale, and Marty had to do everything in his power as to not to pass out right in front of Doc and Clara, not to mention all the other festival visitors.

“Shh, don’t say anything,” Doc said, more so to try to keep himself from freaking out rather than Marty himself. They watched in the corned of his eye as Buford Tannan got into trouble for injuring a guest at the festival, and both Doc and Marty seemed extremely relieved when they heard that the man was sentenced to some time in jail.

Doc had been applying pressure to the wound for so long that he hadn’t even realized that the bleeding had slowed down to a mere trickle. A weight lifted off his shoulders – at least Marty bleeding out wasn’t much of a threat anymore.

Emmett didn’t think he would be able to forgive himself if Marty had died protecting him.

Speaking of…

“Do you have any clue how lucky you got, Marty?,” the scientist hissed as they waited for the town doctor to arrive, who definitely had more experience treating these sort of things.

“Yeah,” was all that Marty said.

“I don’t think you understand. You could have died.”

Marty looked up at his best friend. “I know.”

A pause.

“And it would have been worth it.”

Chapter Text

The last time Marty had seen Hill Valley as such a crime ridden town was in 1985A, and back then the circumstances had been a result of his meddling with the timeline.

He had never imagined that the Californian shall town had been a dangerous town on its own, but 1931 proved him wrong.

Marty had known about prohibition, of course, and the rise of crime gangs during that period. In retrospect, the teenager could have guessed that a Tannen would be a representative of this kind of crime in Hill Valley - it was always a Tannen when it came to illegal business.

But in reality, well…it was probably worse than just smuggling.

No, McFly, it's definitely worse than just smuggling.

After all, Marty was now trapped in a speakeasy below the ground.

Kid Tannen's goons had, angry at him for fooling him with his stupid mustache and golden revolver, captured the teen and yanked him into a cellar adjacent to Tannen's secret bar. They had tied Marty's hands together and closed the door on him, and the boy knew that Doc would either sense something amiss and come rescue him or he'd simply suffocate.

He felt pretty helpless. With tied hands, there wasn't much he could do, and on top of that, he was sick of wondering whether he had rescued his grandfather and ensured his existence or not. With every passing second, his heart seemed to beat faster and the anxiety in him grew.

That was until he heard a faint voice.

“Michael! Michael!”

The boy perked up. “Emmett! Emmett, I'm behind that door!”

Doc's 17 year old self walked towards Marty with fast steps. “What are you doing in here? Didn't you want to go on an undercover mission?”

“Yeah, well,” Marty sheepishly said, “The mission may or may have not miserably failed.”

“I can see that.”

Suddenly, there was rumbling upstairs. Marty's heart skipped a beat - they couldn't catch Emmett, too!

“Emmett?”

“Yes?”

“Get me out of here!”

The teen could hear the other scoffing. “And how do you expect me to do that? The door's completely locked!”

“I don't know!,” Marty pleaded, “But you're a scientist! Surely you can figure something out!”

“I am not a-” Emmett sighed. Sure, Michael had already seen his mess of a lab. Of course he was a scientist; getting defensive would be useless. “Alright. I'll figure something out.”

Marty's anxiety kept climbing as Emmett fumbled with the lock. Then, all of a sudden, Marty was free again, the light from the hallway almost blinding him.

“Oh my God, thank you so much,” he panted, “How did you…”

Emmett held up a slim, black hair clip which he had formed to fit the key hole and grinned. “My mom used to tell me that she always carried one of these in case of emergency, and I, being young, decided to do the same. Never broke that habit.”

“In case of emergency indeed!,” Marty said. “Cmon, let's get out of here.”

He dragged Emmett towards the door. “The hair clip won't do us any good if we're both trapped.”

Chapter Text

1866.

After the week or so spent in 1885, Marty hadn’t been keen on revisiting the 19th century. Doc, naturally, was partial to it, but even he hadn’t planned to return there anytime soon.

But the DeLorean had have other plans.

All that the two of tham had wanted to do was get the Mr Fusion an upgrade. Emmett, although repeating multiple times that Marty had full freedom of choice, had offered to take the teenager with him – to take a look at the 21st century without ranning around to accomplish some sort of mission and save his family. Marty, craving a new adventure with his best friend, had instantly said yes. And so, the two of them had started up the time machine and travelled straight to 2024.

Everything had gone well. The Mr Fusion now could generate even more energy – almost double the original amount. This was some sort of a weight lifted off Doc’s shoulders, since they could have a safe trip back guaranteed with just one complete filling of the device. The conversion hadn’t been too costly, either, and so, after getting a drink at the cafe 80s, the duo had gotten back to the DeLorean and punched the date in 1986 they had departed from right back into the time circuits.

However, as it often was the case with technology, the circuits weren’t really on their side this time. Instead of transporting them to 1986, they landed 120 years earlier – in 1866.

And, oh boy, was Marty pissed. He had not taken it out on Doc, naturally, but internally, he wished Doc had gone through with his initial plan to destroy this wretched machine once and for all. Of course, he knew that as soon as they would be back in their own time, he would take that back.

But for now, his point stood.

“Jesus Christ,” he let out, “Doc, let’s just get our asses out of here. Or are the time circuits too broken for that?”

Emmett was inspecting the defect. The two of them had been lucky that they had eneded up in a vacant area, otherwise the silver automobile and their strange clothes would have caused a lot of suspicion.

“The time circuits don’t appear to be the main problem,” the inventor muttered, “It seems to be an interconnected issue coming from the nuclear power source.”

“Huh?!” Marty was shocked. “There’s no way. We literally just had this thing upgraded. How can it be broken?!”

“Don’t ask me,” Doc said with a sigh, getting out of the car to take a closer look at the fusion generator. He fumbled around with the device a little bit, trying to gauge all its corners and spaces. After a short while of Marty sitting in the passenger seat and moping, Doc’s voice rang out once more. “Good news: The defect appears to be fixable, even with the technology of this day and age. I’m just going to need some metals.”

Marty raised an eyebrow. “And where are we going to get them?”

Emmett pointed to a town in the distance. “Hill Valley.”

Marty let out a deep sigh. “Well, at least things can’t get any worse.”

He could have predicted it, really. Anyone could have predicted it. But he had, in fact, been wrong with that statement.

Doc needed a few days in order to get the time machine up and running. Being no stranger to these kinds of situations, Emmett had managed to sneak into a blacksmith shop which had been left mostly empty with only a few pieces of furniture and tools left behind. When he had asked, he had been told that the owner of it had left town. The man began to think that Hill Valley just didn’t have any luck with blacksmithts, but at least he could put the skills which he had obtained in 1885 to good use.

Marty tried to help out as best as he could, but the boy tended to get unlucky with time travel – whether it being endangering his own existence or accidentally creating hellish alternate timelines. And this time, his body decided to keep up his streak of misfortune by catching a rather nasty and resistant illness.

It wasn’t that Marty wasnt vaccinated against measles, no. However, the 1866 strain seemed to be unlike anything else his body had ever seen, and it left the boy lying flat on his back the next evening as Doc worked on the Mr Fusion.

He was unbelievably exhausted, freezing and his limbs felt like lead. He could tell he was ill – he was no stranger to sickness, having been cursed with a weak immune system.

And he could also tell that he shouldn’t have gone into town the other day.

The boy curled up on the floor. “Doc?”

Emmett instantly shot up at the weak voice, instantly alarmed. “Marty? What-”

“We may have a problem,” the boy managed to say before being sent into a coughing fit.

“You don’t say,” Emmett said after putting a hand on Marty’s forehead and letting out a whistle upon feeling the heat.

There’s no way I’m having get into the DeLorean in this state.

“First things first, we’re getting you to bed,” Doc said, being his ever so rational self. He helped Marty get up and half-carried, half-dragged him to the bed in the workshop. Marty, upon plopping down on the mattress, passed out in an instant.

So much for getting him to drink some water.

The next morning, the rash appeared. It was then that Doc became seriously alarmed – after all, a mere fever and cough could mean anything. The man quickly outruled scarlet fever; Marty wasn’t complaining about throat pain at all. And that left him with measles.

He knew he wouldn’t get infected, but that wasn’t his main worry.

“Marty, I’m afraid we’ll have to stay here until you get better,” the inventor said with a heavy sigh.

“Oh, come on. We don’t have Tylenol or literally anything.”

“I’m aware,” Doc said, “But measles is, first of all, contagious as hell. And second of all, I’m not having you go on time travel joyrides feelingthe way you do.”

Marty hated to admit that Doc had a point.

The teen sighed before sneezing and coughing once more. “You know, Doc, I lied.”

“Huh?”

“It could get any worse.”

Chapter Text

Marty couldn't remember the last time he felt so utterly helpless.

Sure, the occasions on which he'd clashed with Biff and his gang had been rather unfortunate, as well as his encounters with Buford. Maybe even the moment when he'd woken up in his teenage mother's bed had been worse than that.

But now, Marty was strapped to a chair that awfully reminded him of the one he'd sit in at the dentist.

In a utopian version of his hometown.

Edna Strickland was walking around him, the clicking of her heels driving Marty insane.

“Don't you worry, Mr McFly,” she spoke, her tone a fake, almost sickly type of friendly, “You'll be taken care of in just a moment. A few rounds of this procedure, and you'll stop talking about silly time machines and fit right back into society.”

Marty had been strapped of the ability to speak due to the tube in his mouth, otherwise, he would have said many not nice words to this woman. Who the hell did she think she was? She couldn't just control him like that! She couldn't just reprogram his entire personality to her liking!

She turned this whole town into a clean nightmare, Marty reminded himself, Of course she can reprogram you.

Marty tried to get out of the chair, but e knew it was useless. The belts keeping him in place wouldn’t simply snap, and he was struggling to even move.

His personality couldn’t just be overwritten! If it was, he’d likely never remember the timeline he came from, and not only would that cause two Martys to exist in this place - he’d also never be able to fix all this!

“Let me go!”, he attempted to shout, but all that left his mouth was a pathetic mumbling sound.

I should give up on this.

But suddenly, he heard a familiar voice.

“Edna! What do you think you’re doing here?”

Edna walked over to her husband. “Oh, don’t you worry, darling. I’m just helping poor Marty here restore his mind.”

Marty stared up at Doc - uh, Citizen Brown with pleading eyes. Doc, get me out of here!

“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” the man said, sternly.

“Of course I do!”, Edna replied, “And you should want it, too! This is our life’s work we’re talking about! You’re not going to risk this town and let it be ruined by a few delinquents we just let run around free?”

“This was never supposed to be a prison,” Citizen Brown shot back, “And, Edna, I have done some thinking. This town would be much better off without this entire system.” The man’s voice was full of regret and guilt and, for a moment, Marty felt somewhat sorry for him.

Edna, naturally, did not like that statement. “How dare you say that! We’ve worked so hard on this!”

“I never consented to straight up brainwashing,” Citizen Brown said, “Robbing the world of the unique people and personalities it has to offer was just plain wrong.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I have realized that far too late.”

Edna glared at her husband before turning to her guards. “Turn on the machine!”

Marty’s heart skipped a beat. She was going to go through with this after all!

“You turn that off right now!,” Citizen Brown’s voice rang trough the room.

Marty was extremely lucky that Edna was only the second citizen Brown - otherwise, the guards would have never listened to this version of Doc. The machine was shut down and Citizen Brown, calmly, walked over to the chair Marty was strapped to and freed he teen while Edna watched, too shocked to act.

“Come on, Martin,” Citizen Brown said, offering the boy a hand and helping him get up. “We’ve got some talking to do.”

Chapter Text

The summer in Hill Valley had started out colder than usual. Temperatures barely rose over 60 degrees, and, worst of all - it couldn't stop raining.

For Marty, this perfectly reflected his mood. In the past weeks, his parents had seemingly completely fallen out with each other, and his mother had grabbed a bottle of Vodka to deal with George's emotional absence. Marty had attempted to talk her out of it; mentioning over and over that there were better ways of dealing with the situation, but Lorraine wouldn't hear it.

And her youngest son had to pay the price.

The teenager hadn't been able to wait for the end of the school year. All his mother had been doing for the last weeks of his junior year was to complain about his grades and call him lazy; telling him to give up his dreams of becoming a musician and focus on studying instead. The more Marty listened, the more he understood that this was a reflection of her own aspirations and how society in the 1950s and 60s cut them short, but Marty still didn't wish to go to college.

But now that the end was here, it didn't feel better. Not at all. Due to the rain, Marty was unable to go out and take his skateboard for a spin, and sitting around in the house would sooner or later drive him absolutely nuts.

So today, he decided to not let the rain stop him.

It wasn't just rain, technically. Today, a full blown thunderstorm was hitting the town, and the flashes of lightning were very well visible in the dark night sky. But Marty braved the storm and quietly opened the window, sneaking out without making a single noise.

He soon regretted not bringing an umbrella. The raindrops were falling fast and sharp on his face, and the wind left his bare arms freezing. His red shirt was soon completely drenched and water had collected itself in his Nikes.

But the comfortable silence outweighed his discomfort, and the kid was finally able to breathe again. Now all that his body had left to do was to rid itself of the headache that had developed in the very noisy environment that was his home.

Eventually, though, the chilly night air started getting to Marty. Going back home wasn't an option, at least not yet.

But maybe he could find refuge in Doc Brown's lab.

Marty hated to bother the man; he really did. He was around basically the entire week, and he didn't wish to subject Emmett to his presence even during the night.

But that was part of the package if he was going to be the only adult capable of understanding the boy.

And so, at 11:32 PM, Marty, drenched in rainwater, knocked on the door of Doc's garage.

The man opened not even ten seconds later, his already wide eyes widening even further at the sight of his young friend soaked and freezing.

“Great Scott! Marty- what on Earth-”

“Hi, Doc,” Marty interrupted him, “Would it be okay if I, uh, just go inside? I can't lie, it's kinda cold.”

“Why, yes, of course,” Doc hastily said, stepping aside to allow his friend to enter.

Marty took off his wet shoes, grimacing at the sight of his dripping socks.

Emmett caught sight of it, too. He shook his head. “The first thing you'll do before you explain anything is get out of these clothes. You're gonna catch your death of a cold.”

The scientist ushered Marty into the bathroom, telling him to take his clothes off and change into the fleece pajamas he handed him. Marty hung his garments over the bathtub before stepping out in the way too big pajamas.

He grinned slightly, amused.

The second he sat down on the couch, Doc pushed a mug of hot chocolate into his hands.

“Now tell me, kid - what brings you here at this hour and in this weather? Is anything in particular troubling you?”

Marty, at first, was reluctant. “I'm fine, Doc.”

“Marty, please be honest with me. I just want to help.”

The teen took the liberty of taking a sip of his drink before answering. “My, uh, family is busy hating each other again and the noise was unbearable.”

Emmett nodded in understanding. “I'm sorry, Marty. I can't even imagine how difficult that must be for you.”

Marty looked down. “I don't wanna play the victim here, Doc. My mom is probably going through much worse, and I'm only adding to her trouble. Of course she'd reach for the bottle.”

“She should find better ways to cope, then. It's only mentally straining everyone, including you.”

“God, Doc…I'm just so annoying. My mom keeps pointing out every single thing that's wrong with me, and my dad doesn't care at all. I think he legitimately forgets he has children.” Marty sighed, putting his head in his hands.

Doc looked at him with deep sympathy in his eyes. “Marty, nobody is perfect. I can assure you you have plenty of things going for you, even if you don't realize it.”

“Which things? The ability to play a melody by pulling some strings?”

Emmett smiled. “Not just that. You are smart, resourceful, and very clever. You're also incredibly kind and polite, not to mention loyal. I couldn't have asked for a better friend.”

The teenager didn't say anything in response, only whimpered a little.

“You are loved, Marty. By your parents, I'm sure. And even if not - which I highly, highly doubt - you are very much loved by Einie and me.”

A small smile purged at Marty's lips. “You're too nice for your own good.”

“Nonsense. I've been around for long enough to be able to assess people.” Doc stood up and took Marty's now empty mug. “Now, what you need is a warm bed and Tylenol.”

“How do you know I have a head-”

“Just a hunch.” Emmett smiled at the boy, then gestured for him to go over to Doc's bed. “I'm seriously considering getting you a cot in here, but for now, feel free to use my bed. It's bound to be more comfortable than this stiff couch.”

“Hey Doc, doesn't a stiff couch do more damage to old bones like yours?,” Marty mused.

“My bones may be old, but they are certainly not frail,” the inventor countered. “Now hush, off with you. Go lie down.”

Marty did as he was told, making himself comfortable on the soft mattress. Soon enough, he had a pill of the painkiller intus and curled up in a thick blanket.

“Doc?”

“Yes, my dear boy?”

Marty yawned, putting his hand in front of his mouth. “Thanks a lot. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing,” was Emmett's reply.

He went over to the kid and adjusted the blanket a little, making sure Marty was tucked in properly. “Seeing you safe and healthy is all I'll ever need.”

Chapter Text

Black and white.

Two colors; very simple and rather nothing compared to the colors the outside world usually had to offer. While people enjoyed taking photographs and watching movies in cinemas, it remained rather trist in contrast to when one looked out the window at a green meadow with flowers or a beatutiful blue beach.

And yet, black and white were able to provoke so many emotions at once. Whether it was a corny romance movie, a tragedy or murder mystery. Or maybe a black and white photograph of a deceased loved one or pet.

And as Emmett stared at those pictures in his hands, he felt his body shaking with emotions.

The colors not displayed in the printed photographs were very much vivid in Emmett’s head. He was not there himself, no, but he could imagine the bright yellow and orange in the sky, the brown, dusty rubble on the street, the red bleeding wounds. The black ashes and black stains on buildings. The green leafs turned a crisp yellow or even vanished completely.

How a colorful city turned into a gray and black wasteland.

This was more powerful than any dumb movie.

Because it was real.

With trembling hands, Emmett forced himself to put the images away. He buried his face in his palms, taking a deep breath, telling himself not to panic or it may end in another meltdown.

The scientist had to keep himself together. It was not his place to mourn, not when he was responsible for all this in the first place. What had he thought when he had signed the contact about a project that literally said “I am signing this paper to agree that I am going to help make a massive, destructive bomb”?

That the thing would never be used?

No. That was so incredibly naive to think, but unfortunately, by the time of his realization, it was way too late.

A fellow colleague had approached him earlier that day, handing him an envelope. The man had proudly stated that those were photographs taken the day the bomb had been dropped, and that every scientist would receive a bunch to assess the consequences themselves.

Emmett had already read about the casualty numbers in the paper, and thus already made every assessment he could have possibly made, but he wanted to see nevertheless. When the first thing he had seen upon openeing the envelope was a photo of a huge mushroom cloud, his heart had sunken into his stomach.

And now, as he was sitting on his chair and flipping through the photographs once more, he was not feeling any better.

A teardrop fell on top of the photo with the mushroom cloud, as if trying to put out the hellish flames it had caused.

But one waterdrop wouldn't be enough.

“This can’t be happening,” Emmett whispered, holding back his sobs.

But he knew it was. And it was this realization that, inevitably, caused his dam to break and sobs to flow over.

Putting out the fire.

In his mind, at least.

Chapter Text

Doc was humming a song to himself when all of a sudden, his phone rang.

Dropping everything, the scientist made his way across the entire laboratory and found the device buried beneath mountains of papers. He scrambled for the receiver and held it to his ear. “Hello, Dr Emmett Brown speaking?”

“Hi, Doc,” Marty’s voice sounded out from the other end of the line.

“Marty!,” Doc exclaimed, “What’s going on? I thought you weren’t going to work here today. It’s Sunday.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I’m not gonna,” Marty said, “Can’t anyway. I’m in Grass Valley right now.”

“Grass Valley?,” Doc repeated, “Anything in particular that you’re doing there?”

“I was at an audition,” Marty replied.

“Oh! Did it go well?”

“We don’t know yet. The band and I will get mail in a few days.”

“Still, Im happy for you, Marty,” the scientist tutted. An awkward pause set in before Doc spoke up again. “You called me to tell me that?”

“Uh- that too, yeah,” Marty said, “But- I actually wanted to ask if you could come pick me up? My parents kinda forgot.”

What?!

“What?! Forgot?”

“Yes,” the boy confirmed, “I tried calling home. Mom picked up. She was obviously drunk as hell and in no state to drive. And dad is at work right now. And Dave and Linda don’t have licenses yet.”

Oh, great Scott.

“Just out of curiosity – they told you they’d be there?”

“Yeah,” Marty replied, the disappointment evident in his tone. “I’ve been waiting for like half an hour and no one’s showed up yet.”

Doc was already hurrying around the garage, gathering his coat and keys. “I’ll be as quick as possible, Marty,” the man assured his young friend, “Where are you right now?”

“In front of the Grass Valley High School.”

“Alright. Try not to move too much, I’ll be right there.”

Doc heard Marty hear a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Doc. Thanks a lot.”

“Of course,” the inventor gently said before setting his phone down and rushing outside to get into his van.

He got lucky. The traffic situation was in his favor, and in less than twenty minutes, the scientist had arrived in the neighboring town. Silently, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, Marty’s parents had come to their senses and the kid had been picked up by now, but when he turned into the street on which the high school was located on, he saw Marty sitting on a rock, bending down to pick some grass.

The boy instantly perked up upon seeing the van park in front of him. He swung his guitar over his shoulder and jogged towards the vehicle, letting himself in in the passenger side. “Hi, Doc. Thanks for coming over.”

“You’re quite welcome, kid,” Emmett said, starting up the motor once again and ruling back out onto the main street, “Altough it does puzzle me why your parents didn’t come themselves.”

Marty shrugged. “That’s a difficult question to answer. Better not dwell on it.”

Doc chose to dwell on it, however – even if silently.

Marty noticed that. “Yo, Doc, I could handle it. You’re here now, right? The payphone saved my ass, but I could handle it.”

Emmett sighed. That doesn’t mean I like this.

“I know, Marty. I know.”

Chapter Text

During the past few months Marty had come to a clear conclusion: He had severely underestimated college.

Even his music program was quite exhausted. In between practice and rehearsals, he had to learn theory and do his assignments. Not to forget the exam periods, one of which was now: December 1989.

Marty truly wished he could enjoy Christmas just like everyone did. He got envious watching the kids going to visit Santa at the mall with a sugar cone in their hand. He wished he and Jennifer could be the couple skating on the ice rink.

Instead, he was confined to the desk, with his books in front of him.

And a very nasty cold.

“Who on Earth comes up with the idea of putting a huge exam phase into the middle of winter?,” he muttered, taking his tissue and blowing his nose. The young man hated how goddamn congested he was. If not for that, he would be studying like a breeze and be done with it by now.

He could Jules and Verne helping Clara make dinner in the kitchen and had to smile. At least he was studying af Doc's house for a change.

It wasn't aiding his concentration, but it was a change.

“Marty.”

The young man looked up. Doc was standing in front of him, shaking his head.

“Why are you doing this to yourself? You won't be able to absorb any information, sick as you are.”

“I feel better pretending like I'm observing information than not doing anything at all, Doc,” Marty countered, once again blowing his nose. “Ugh.”

“I can understand that, but you're not doing your body any favors.”

“Doc, please,” Marty whined, “I can't just call it quits for today. It's only 5, and I still got plenty of stuff to learn. If my constant sniffling is annoying you, I can go to my room, but I really have to do this.”

“No, you don't,” Emmett insisted, “Nothing justifies not giving your body the rest it so clearly needs. Look at you. You were just sniffly when you came in here, and now you can't even keep your eyes open. I wouldn't be surprised if you're running a low-grade fever, too. Your cheeks seem rosy.”

“It's okay,” Marty tried again, but Doc wouldn't have it.

“Oh no, absolutely not,” the scientist said. “You're going upstairs and taking a nap before dinner. Studying can wait until you feel like yourself again.”

Marty sighed. He was very reluctant towards all this. But then again, he did want to sleep. The gloomy weather outside only intensified that wish.

“Fine.”

The college student closed his books and stood up, stretching himself before making his way upstairs. Doc followed him, almost like a worried parent making sure their sick child got into bed without collapsing.

“Doc, I'm 21, not 10,” Marty teased as he climbed under the blankets.

“Oh, I'm well aware, my dear boy,” Emmett scoffed, “But that doesn't mean I can't pamper you anymore, so shush.”

Marty too scoffed in response.

“You better take a rest every time you have a cold now, got it?,” the inventor warned.

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

Doc (jokingly, more or less) lifted a finger. “Don't make me say it again.”

With that, he closed the door, allowing Marty to fall into a much-needed slumber.

Chapter Text

On November 15th, the sky was still gray and dark. In one way, that was a good thing - Marty wasn't too disappointed that he wasn't in shape to help Doc fix up the DeLorean and then take off for 1885. Then again, Marty would really rather spend his days here doing anything else than being sick.

The boy lay in bed in his room at Doc's mansion, wrapped in a bundle of blankets. It had all started last night when he and Doc had driven home from the mine via the library, the DeLorean in tow. The teenager had had a headache, which he hadn't thought much of at first, but which had quickly developed into fatigue and a fever.

To say that he was annoyed was an understatement. He had also made this clear to Doc, who hadn't found the phrase “annoyed to death” funny at all in this case. Marty could have been so much more helpful right now - why did he have to be confined to bed with a cold or the flu or whatever the heck this was?

“Your immune system is probably weakened from all the things you've been through in the last few weeks,” Doc had theorized, “I'm not too surprised, so don't worry about it, Marty.”

But Marty was logically worried, that much was clear. At first he had even made the effort to help Emmett clean up a bit and generally not be completely mentally absent. However, he had now reached a state where he couldn't even do that.

And he was incredibly sorry for this.

The guilt was still gnawing at him when the door to his room opened and Doc stepped in, a tray with several items in his hand. Among other things, he had brought a steaming cup of tea, a thermometer and some pills, and if it were up to Marty, he would start crying with raw emotion.

“Hey, Marty,” the scientist said in a friendly voice. He sat down on the edge of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside cabinet.

“Hi, Doc,” Marty replied, his voice raspy and weak. What a load of crap.

“How are you doing? Sorry I didn't get around to visiting you in the first half of the day. This stupid car is pretty exhausting.”

“It's okay,” Marty mumbled, “I'm sorry I can't help you.”

“I already told you it's nothing bad, my boy,” Emmett waved it off and grabbed the thermometer from the tray. Before he put the device in Marty's mouth, he placed his palm on Marty's forehead. “Hmm.”

Marty let the procedure wash over him, and when Doc pulled the thing back out and said nothing, he gave a sly smile. “Well, what's the bad news?”

“The bad news,” Doc began, “is that your fever is still there. The good news is that it's down from last night.”

Marty had to grimace. Yeah, last night had been really embarrassing - where he'd almost keeled over in the driveway because his pride was too big for him to ask for help like a normal person would.

“Well, that's something,” he grumbled.

“I wouldn't get my hopes up too much - it could spike again tonight. But you'll be fine, don't worry.”

“I'd rather you didn't worry,” the boy muttered.

A smile crept onto Emmett's face. “No way, Marty.”

Chapter Text

The night sky was clearing up as Doc packed his things, including the video camera, into his van. Marty occasionally handed him something, but he barely found the strength to even just idly stand by and watch.

What an adrenaline trip. A week in 1955? Accidentally messing up his parents’ first meeting? Having to spend that entire week trying to get those two together just so he could exist?

Never again, Marty swore to himself, only over my dead body.

Strangely, though, those events - albeit definitely out of ordinary and nothing an average teenager had to deal with in a lifetime - were not the reason Marty was so extremely shaken up.

Before he had made the time jump, Doc had been struck down by Libyan terrorists. Marty had watched him be shot; it had happened in front of his eyes and the heartache had been unmatched. It had felt as if his entire world had crumbled, fallen apart beyond repair. And he had to see that twice, and the boy wasn't sure whether the close up or panorama view of this whole scene was worse.

Yes, Doc had read the letter Marty had left him in 1955.

But that didn't change that Doc originally probably died that moment.

And there was no way Marty would just cope with that.

“Come on, kid.” Doc's gentle voice tore the teen out of his thoughts. “Get in. We're getting the DeLorean from the town square and then I'll get you home so you can get some sleep. I can see how tired you are.”

“Hey, Doc, I'm not the one who just got shot, bulletproof vest or not,” Marty countered as he climbed into the passenger seat, “I think I can take a few more minutes.”

“I know you do, but that doesn't mean you have to,” Emmett said, shaking his head. “This never should have happened in the first place.” The man started the engine and began stirring towards Hill Valley's town center.

They loaded the DeLorean in silence aside from one occasion in which Doc asked how its engine died. Marty replied with a shrug, but seeing that that had likely saved his ass during the lightning plot - Doc's alarm had gone off a bit too early for the lightning - he didn't particularly mind it at the moment.

Since Marty kept insisting that he was “not that tired”, Emmett agreed on taking him to the garage to help him unload. Marty took care of the smaller equipment as well as Einstein. Marty fed the dog, consciously ignoring the mess of an automated feeding machine and pouring some dog food into a bowl the boy gathered from the lab's small kitchen.

It was then that he noticed that his hands were shaking. He balled them into fists and let go again, but it didn't really help.

Oh, boy.

Marty took a glance at his best friend who, unbothered, hummed a song to himself as he hid away the plutonium. Sure, that man had just fulfilled his life's work.

Calm down, McFly. He's right there. Nobody's bleeding out in the parking lot.

Marty attempted to focus on the task at hand: Feed Einie and help Doc tidy up a little. But his mind was racing at 88 miles per hour, to the point when he didn't even listen to Doc's voice anymore.

“-Marty?”

Marty spun around. “Huh?”

A small smile appeared on Emmett’s face. “I asked when you had the time to blow up the amp.”

“Oh, that was,” Marty hid at least one of his trembling hands behind his neck, “Last morning. Before you called. Sorry about the mess, by the way.”

But Emmett shook his head. “Oh, no, that's alright.” He raised an eyebrow at his young friend. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just-” Marty swallowed. “A little shaken up.”

Doc's gaze instantly softened up. “Of course.” He laid his hands on Marty's shoulders. “You're doing great, you know that? I would've snapped.”

“I probably just don't have the energy to snap,” Marty said with a small, tired chuckle.

"Fair enough. But please…” The inventor squeezed the youth's shoulder. “Let out what you need to. You just saw me gunned down.”

Marty nodded as fresh tears pooled in his eyes. He covered them with his hands before Doc gently removed them and pulled the boy into his arms, who immediately reciprocated the embrace.

I saw that twice. But even one is one too many.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here?”

That was not the reaction Marty had expected upon locating Doc and getting his attention after the successful lightning experiment. The boy had almost whined when he had realized he needed to get here once more - he had literally just been able to leave this year behind, and now he was stuck in the same situation all over again.

Marty supposed he was lucky that Doc hadn't passed out or anything likewise. When the kid has run up to him, Emmett had very much looked like he was a fraction away from fainting.

But how was Marty going to answer his question?

“It's a long story,” he settled for, the anxiety and adrenaline obvious in his voice. “But I need your help. Uh, again.”

“What year are you coming from?,” Emmett shrieked, “I don't understand. Didn't I just send you back-”

“You did, you did,” Marty interrupted him, “The experiment worked and I owe you one. But we got into more time travel shenanigans, and they led us from the 1980s to the 20th century to…a weird alternate timeline and eventually here.”

“That does have some logic to it,” Doc said, finally calming down. Marty was relieved. He didn't even know how to deal with his own internal panic attack, and he for sure wouldn't have been able to handle Doc's.

The teenager ran a hand through this rain-soaked hair. “Is this a bad time to ask if we could go, uh, home? I have something to show you and I can't have it getting even more wet than it already is,” he said after glancing up at the dark clouds, visible even though the sky itself was black.

“Why, yes, of course,” Doc replied, “I'll just quickly pack away all the equipment, if you don't mind.”

“Yeah, sure. Do that.”

Marty wondered whether he should offer a hand, but the scientist seemed to precisely know what he was doing and Marty didn't want to interrupt him or, as he so often did, break a piece. He stood, leaned against the car, his arms crossed over his chest. The cold wind was seeping through his wet clothes, and all Marty could think of was a warm shower and the pajamas still sitting on the back of the chair in Doc's 1955 mansion.

After a solid 30 minutes, Emmett was finally finished. He packed the cable into the now full trunk and shut it. “Alright, let's go,” he said, taking a look at Marty. “You must be freezing,” he added in a sympathetic tone.

“Mhm,” the boy let out, stepping inside the passenger side of the vehicle as Doc started the motor.

The drive to the mansion was spent in complete silence, both occupants of the Packard too busy with their own thoughts to engage in a conversation. They were lucky the ride wasn't long - otherwise, Marty might as well just have fallen asleep in the car seat.

The rain had reached 1640 Riverside Drive by the time the Packard rolled into the driveway. Emmett shut the motor down, and glanced at his young friend in the passenger seat.

“Marty?”

The teen looked up. “Hm?”

A pause.

“Are you alright?”

Marty turned his gaze to the raindrops rolling down the front window. “Alright as I can be.” He took a deep breath. “We should get inside.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Doc agreed, grimacing for some reason when Marty opened up the passenger door and stepped out to let himself be covered in rainwater.

They decided to leave the equipment in the car for now, Emmett urging his young friend to get out of his wet garments ans exchange them for something dry and more comfortable. Even though Marty felt like a child doing so, the boy was soon dressed in a pair of pajamas, sitting on the couch and watching Copernicus eat his dinner.

The rain continued to pour as lightning sounded in the distance. Doc rummaged in one of his cabinets and returned, carrying a plaid, thick, wooly quilt in his hands.

“Here, you poor thing,” he muttered, “No sense of self-preservation.”

“It's just rainwater,” Marty countered, but the blanket did provide him with undeniable warmth and comfort.

Emmett watched, amused, when Marty curled up in it. The scientist encouraged the kid to lie down - anyone could see in his face just how exhausted he was.

“Rainwater or not, you were still cold. And you need rest. Whatever happened, we'll take care of it tomorrow. Got it?”

Marty bad, in complete honesty, pushed the letter in his jacket out of his mind, it being overtaken by fatigue as the emotional and physical stress caught up to him.

“Okay,” he said, yawning. His eyelids were drooping. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

When Doc ripped off the calendar this morning, the sigh he sighed was the deepest he’d ever let out.

The 6th. A normal August day; skies clear. The sunrays were hitting Hill Valley’s roofs, and despite it being only 9 AM, the voices of kids and teenagers were audible right outside of Doc’s garage, the students enjoying their last few weeks of summer break.

Emmett tried his best not to get distracted by them.

The scientist had a few things to prepare. In about half an hour, his assistant and best friend Marty would show up at his doorstep, since they had agreed to work on Marty’s big amplifier today. The kid had asked for a few modifications to aid the sound, and Emmett had immediately said yes. He’d need anything to take his mind off his memories for today.

Pouring himself a mug of coffee, the inventor went to gather his supplies and various toolboxes. It was only too unfortunate that he was finished with his preperations way earlier than he had intended, and now had twenty more minutes to kill.

So he fed Einstein, gave him a bowl of water. He turned the radio on.

Which proved to be a mistake.

“Oh, to hell with the radio,“ Doc muttered as soon as he heard the words “Today, our nation is commemorating…“.

Yes, he was commemorating too. Bet his ass he was commemorating.

As much as the man just wanted to make his damn coffee in peace, he couldn’t.

40 years. 40 years was a long time, indeed. Emmett couldn’t believe that four decades had passed ever since that fateful day; the day changing his life forever. The day that had tainted his reputaion for the rest of his life. The day that had made him doubt his scientific skills and gifts more than his father had ever made him doubt them.

And that was saying something.

Doc considered his work on the Manhattan Project highly unethical and regretted it deeply. After the two atomic bombs had been dropped on Japan, the inventor had been plagued by sleepless night, nightmares and visions of a dystopian future. The ongoing Cold War was not helping his case, and every day, he lived with the reminder that if the world was ever to be annahilated, he was one of the people to blame for that.

Emmett forced himself to get his mind off those thoughts. He had to focus – focus on preparing the drink and the tools he and Marty would need later. But on his way to the kitchen, he stopped in front of a mirror.

He stared at is reflection. He was not the man he had been 40 years ago, not by any means. His hair had gained length and his face had gained wrinkles. He was wiser, less naive, and aware of his actions. He had stopped dreaming about those events so often, his mind slowly but surely freeing him from this trap of self-blame and remorse.

But sometimes, even that didn’t keep him from wanting to rip his hair out of his head whenever he thought about this.

“The attacks have claimed the lives of approximately 200,000 people…”

And then he saw it.

Their blood, dripping from his hands.

His hands, stained with machine oil, with blisters from writing so much. His hands, connecting cables and metal shells to make sure the weapon worked. His hands, now shaking, balled into a fist as the droplets of red liquid hit the floor of the garage.

“Oh, goodness,” he hissed at his brain, “Why can’t you just-”

His fists flew into the mirror, shattering it with the sheer force of his punch.

“-Shut up!…”

Shards were scattered around the carpet. Emmett at first didn’t even register the burning pain in his palms, too busy watching the real, warm blood run over them in streams, like a dozen little rivers, until-

“Now you actually have blood on your hands,” came the boyish voice, “Except it’s your own.”

Emmett shot around. Marty stood in the doorway, obviously having let himself in with the spare key under the mat. He had dropped his skateboard to the floor, petting Einstein who had already run up to him. But the most striking feature of his was the look of empathy on his face – and it was a look that made Emmett want to curse himself. How often had he sworn to never cause the boy any worry?

“Marty,” Doc quickly said, “I- I, uh, apologize.” The man stared down onto his bleeding hands, a shard of glass still stuck in his palm.

“Let me remove that,” Marty said, walking up to his best friend and carefully taking the shard out of the skin.

The scientist sighed; a deep, long sigh, indicating just how frustrated with himself he was.

“You smashed your mirror?,” Marty asked after a short pause, seeming almost amused.

“I’m afraid so,” Doc replied, unable to do anything as his young friend rushed to grab a first aid kit. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know what got into me. It’s like-”

“- Like you let your emotions take over for one second, how tragic, “Marty commented, sarcasm in his voice. “It’s alright. I was just confused. But hey, it’s okay. That thing was old as hell anyway.”

Emmett stood idly by as Marty wrapped his palms up in bandages, tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration. “It was no excuse to break it.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Funny. You’d think after 40 years I’d be over this.”

“Not gonna lie to ya, Doc, I had forgotten what date it was before I came in here and saw you like this,” Marty sheepishly admitted after finishing wrapping up the inventor’s hands. “But it all made sense to me the second I heard the radio running.”

“There are still days on which I wish I had never told you about this, Marty,” Doc sighed, gauging his bandaged hands. “I assume that means no work today, huh?”

“You could always give me instructions and let me handle the stuff for you, but I’d strongly advise against that,” Marty shrugged, “And as for the first point – I am very glad you told me about this, actually. It would kill me to see you upset and having no idea why.”

Emmett smiled softly as Marty put the first aid kit away. “You’re too kind for your own good, Marty.”

“Oh, don’t come at me with the “I’m a murderer and war criminal” talk again,” Marty scoffed, crossing his arms, “And now, how about we get a soda?”

Chapter Text

“Dammit, Doc,” Marty said after the DeLorean had, once again, crash landed. “We’re stuck again, aren’t we?”

“Well…” The scientist bit his lower lip. “I wouldn’t say stuck, but-”

“Don’t lie to me, Doc.”

“Alright. Yes, we’re stuck. And the car is likely not in the best shape.”

“But hey, at least we’re stuck in the future,” Marty said, “So replacement parts shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Correct, at least there’s that,” the inventor said with a sigh. “I really need to modify this thing. It’s becoming more and more unreliable.”

Marty opened the gullwing door and stepped out of the vehicle. “It’s a DeLorean. Shouldn’t be news that it’s unreliable.” The teen leaned against the door. “But at least it looks cool.”

“That, my boy, is indeed true. I did tell you that it has some style, am I right?”

Doc was indeed right. And after they had parked (and locked) the car in proximity to Oak Park cemetary, Doc went to Hill Valley to purchase the necessary replacement parts while Marty stood and watched the time machine – just in case. Locked or not, neither of them wanted a repeat of 1985A.

The boy’s attention was suddenly drawn to a group of people, dressed in black, moving towards a new grave.

Damn, someone’s died, and I’m watching from afar while wondering when Doc will return with stuff to repair our time machine.

Out of respect, Marty turned away. Doc was quick to come back and instantly started working on the car to get them back to the 1980s as soon as possible.

Out of the corner of his eye, the teen still could see the silhouettes of the funeral guests. One of them oddly reminded him of Jennifer...

“He was always a father figure to me,” a familiar voice suddenly spoke. Marty quickly hid behind some bushes, not wanting to be seen. “He believed in me when no one else did, made sure I was supported and encouraged and never hesitated to believe in my dreams.”

A funeral speech. Marty hated those. They made him feel dread, especially since he remembered a few of those from having been to several funerals. His heart was throbbing. What was this all about?

“His inventions were the most clever contraptions I had ever seen in my life, and I was impressed by everything he built. I will make sure he won’t get forgotten, not ever.” The person speaking wiped his eyes, and Marty was slowly but surely filled with an increasing feeling of uneasiness.

He didn’t like this.

Those were the words he’d say about Doc.

“I will let the name Emmett L. Brown live on, no matter what it takes.”

Those were the words he was saying about Doc.

That voice – that was his.

Oh, holy shit.

Why do all my father figures get buried in the same cemetary?

“Marty?” Doc’s very much alive voice tore him out of his now spinning thoughts. “Come on. We can go home.”

Marty nodded silently. He shot Doc a smile, not wanting the man to know that he would die sometime in October 2055 (rejuvination clinics were truly a miracle) and got into the DeLorean.

The minute the pair was back in the correct year, Marty bolted.

“I, uh, I gotta go,” Marty nervously muttered, “Sorry, got a meeting with Jennifer and forgot. See you later, Doc!”

Confused, Emmett waved his friend goodbye and watched him take off running.

How odd.

When Marty stumbled back into the lab after having calmed down, Doc could immediately tell something was wrong.

The scientist jumped up from his armchair. “Marty- Ah, there you are. I missed you. Everything alright? Why did you run of-”

Marty took a shaky breath, eyes still wide from the aftershock. Doc was sitting right then and there, alive and well, looking at him with concern in his eyes. So why was he still lingering on what he had seen? It was in the far future, still so many years ahead.

But it was in the future.

And to the boy, it felt like this future was far too close for comfort.

“Look, Doc-” Marty didn’t know whether he really wanted to talk about it. But what choice did he have? Doc would want to know what he had seen. Marty didn’t like leaving Doc in a void of unawareness, wondering what had terrified his friend so much.

“While you were busy installing the parts in the DeLorean, I listened to the funeral going on, and- It was me making the speech.” He inhaled deeply. “And the speech was about you.”

Emmett blinked for a moment. It took him a while to register Marty’s words, but when he did, all he could do was blink.

“Me? Those people were burying me?”

“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, now you know your death date and all-”

“Marty,” Doc shook his head, having quickly collected himsefl after that shocker of a sentence. “The future is not and will never be set in stone. What we have seen – what you have seen – is a mere possibility. Think of it as one of bazillion altrernate timelines.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Marty pressed the heel of his palm to his eye. He shouldn’t be crying. Like Doc had said – it was just a possibility. One out of many.

No reason to be upset.

“Hey, Marty,” Emmett calmly said. The man was taking this far less seriously than he should. “It’s alright. I’m here, I promise. I’m not going anywhere, not for a long time.” The man crossed the room and took Marty into his arms. The boy instantly squeezed his best friend, the tears uncontrollably flowing out of his eye.

“You know, Doc, seeing you get shot in the parking lot wasn’t fun,” the teen began, “But I think this one takes the cake – because I couldn’t do anything about it. You were already in that stupid wooden box, and-”

“Shhh,” Doc soothed his young friend, “I’m not dying. I’m here.”

Those were just the same words he had said before.

But they were all Marty needed, honestly.

Chapter Text

“You’re quite the rebel, I see.”

The words sounded cold coming from her mouth as Edna walked down the hallway of the Hill Valley courthouse, her heels clinking each time her foot made contact with the floor.

It was irritating, Marty realized, and he knew that it was because this sound reminded him too much of his teachers at school, only waiting to give him another lecture on whatever he had done wrong this time around.

And he also realized that this was no different, except he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Not in his reality, at least.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that being rebellious will get you further than being obedient, Ma’am,” was the only thing that the boy replied.

“Took your girlfriend as an example, I suppose?,” Edna scoffed, not bothering to look at Marty.

“Oh, hell yeah I did,” Marty said, way too proudly than the woman would have probably liked. Not that Marty cared what she thought.

“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Edna snapped, and Marty laughed. That was the moment the woman turned around, glaring at him with her green eyes.

If it were for Marty, honestly, the kid just wanted to run up to her and punch her in the face. She had messed up Hill Valley, messed up his family, messed up his girlfriend, and, most importantly, messed up his best friend.

How was Marty supposed to manage all this without Doc? He had barely found it in him to go around and break all the rules without having a complete meltdown. Even in 1985A it hadn’t felt so bad – at least Doc had been with him, the same as ever. But here? Citizen Brown?

Who the hell was that and what had he done to the real Emmett Brown?

Marty was torn out of his thoughts when he and Edna arrived at a big door that almost resembled the entrance to a prison.

“Alright,” the woman said, “Let’s go inside. You’ll be taken care of shortly, don’t you worry.”

Marty’s eyes widened. “What? What do you mean?”

Edna laughed. “Where did you think I was taking you?”

“I don’t know!,” Marty burst out, his heart dropping. He had a bad feeling about this. “Outside?”

“Ha! Outside!” Edna had never been so amused in her life. “A rascal like you? Oh, no, dear boy, you are in desperate need of a complete overhaul. Welcome to Citizen Plus!”

“Citizen Plus?!”

“Obviously. Now, get in.”

No, absolutely not.

Marty had zero intentions to get in there, and he would show that.

“Excuse me? No, I don’t think I will.”

That quickly wiped the fake smile from Edna’s face. “You don’t have the right to refuse me, citizen. Allow me to remind you that you stand under my reign, and in order for this society to work, you have to obey.”

“Reign?! What is this, a dictatorship? On second thought, obviously, yeah it is,” Marty yelled.

“What happened to you, Martin? You were a perfect candidate for my Ivy school, but I’m afraid…”

“I don’t give a damn about your Ivy school,” Marty spit out, “And I am not going to let myself be brainwashed.”

“You are going to be withdrawn from your AP classes and all my special programs if you dare to walk out of here-”

“So what?”

“Excuse me?”

Marty looked her dead in the eye.

“I asked, so what?”

The obsessed (or possessed, who knew?) glow in Edna’s intensified.

“I suppose we’ll have to do this the hard way, then.”

Chapter Text

It probably had been a foolish thing to to; powering up the DeLorean time machine while its time circuits were still under repair and Doc had given him clear instructions not to touch them. But Marty, rebellious and a teen, had…well, forgotten.

And now here he was, in the middle of a warm September day in 1945, and pondering over how the heck he would approach this.

He knew he wasn't completely lost - Doc would likely take the time train and track him down. It was only a matter of waiting. But in order to do that, Marty had to give his best friend a memory of him in this year. Otherwise, Doc would spend ages gallavanting through the space-time-continuum without any trace of him, and that would get Marty into even more trouble than he already was in.

The boy had hidden the time machine behind another billboard. It was funny to him how these always seemed to appear whenever he needed them, and Marty had gained a lot of trust in them. Don't let me down, he had thought after leaving the DeLorean behind the advertisement, and wandered to town.

Thanks to his trip to 1955, Marty knew exactly where Emmett's mansion was located. It remained to hope that the man would be home, but there was only one way to find out. And so, Marty knocked on the door.

After waiting for around three minutes, Marty had already wanted to give up, assuming that his friend (could he even call him that in this time period?) was out, but a moment later, the door creaked open. “How can I help you?”

Marty's heart dropped at the sound of Doc's voice. It was quiet, lacking any of the energy that the teenager was used to. And Emmett himself was quite the sight, too: His hair was disheveled, his eyes sunken in, dark circles surrounded them. The man looked like he hadn't showered in days, his clothes creased up and with coffee stains all over.

Jesus Christ, Doc! What the hell happened?!

“Uh, my name is Martin. I need to- oh, screw it. You remember me from 1931? Michael Corleone?”

“There is no way that is you,” Emmett snapped. “You haven't aged a day.”

Marty shot his friend a sad smile. “And you've aged too much.”

That seemed to strike a chord in Doc. He lifted a hand and set it on top of his graying roots. “I-”

“May I come in?”

Doc looked at the ground, and, somewhat shamefully, nodded. “Yes, you may.”

A quarter of an hour later, the two of them were sitting on the huge, red sofa in Emmett's living room, sipping from glasses of lemonade. Marty was the first one to break the awkward silence.

“So, uh, what have you been up to?”

Doc had expected this question. Yes, he had spent the past 15 minutes mentally preparing himself for it. And yet, when it actually came, he did not know what to reply.

The man didn't want to tell the truth. It was far too horrifying; way too shameful to admit, especially to the person who had ensured he could follow his dreams of becoming a scientist.

He didn't want to tell Marty how much this had backfired, even if the young man wasn't at fault for it.

Doc didn't wish to hurt him that way.

“Oh, just- a few projects here and there.”

Marty nodded, although very much sensing that there was more to it. “Science, right?”

The scientist still didn’t dare to meet his eyes. “Yes…science indeed.”

Well, this conversation didn’t solve the awkwardness issue, Marty thought to himself, before clearing his throat. He wasn’t sure what to say next, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let this talk stop here. he had to know the truth - otherwise, he’d go insane from lack of knowledge.

“Doc, please,” Marty continued. “Just tell me. I won’t judge.”

But Emmett only gave a chuckle. “Again with that nickname?”

“I’m not having it,” Marty scoffed, not appreciating the change of topic.

“I can’t. It would make you hate me.”

Marty sighed. He had known that Doc was a stubborn guy, but he had imagined this to be far easier.

“Okay, look,” the teen said, “I would never hate you. I could never hate you. Understand me?”

The boy didn’t get a reply. Emmett was staring into space, seemingly completely numb to the question at hand.

Marty gently nudged him in the upper arm. “Doc, say something. Come on.”

Emmett kneaded his shaky hands, finally lifting his head upwards to meet Marty’s gaze. Marty allowed the man to take his time, siletnly bracing himself for whatever answer Doc was about to give. The teen’s heart was pounding with anticipation and anxiety when Emmett opened his mouth to speak.

“I was involved in the Manhattan Project.”

Chapter Text

Emmett had been concerned about the scrapes that Marty had sustained long before the night of the festival.

Marty had explained that when Buford had dragged him around town hanging on that rope - which was worrying enough - the teenager had been thrown against a pile of wood. He'd scraped his knees, hands and back, of course telling Doc that they would heal on their own. The scientist has done all the could - sterilized the wounds and wrapped then up.

But, as they would find out that night, that hadn't been enough.

The Hill Valley festival was in full swing. Marty and Emmett were awkwardly standing aside, watching the couples dance and swirl each other on the dance floor. The kid had a hunch - Doc was probably waiting for Clara. After all, she'd told him that she'd be there. She wasn't yet in sight, however, and thus Doc had to retreat to trying to memorize some dance moves.

The air was chilly, Marty realized. He'd put on his thickest cowboy jacket, but he was still freezing. He rubbed his arms when Doc looked away.

The boy didn't want his best friend to get concerned. The scientist was worried enough as it was.

After another minute, though, the cold was almost too much to bear. Marty tugged at Doc's sleeve. “Doc?”

The inventor had been clearly distracted. “Hmm? What's up, Marty?”

He took one glance and the youngster and immer frowned. Marty's anxiety rose. What was that for?

“Uh, I'm kinda cold. Do you have another jacket in the stable I could grab,perhaps?”

Emmett blinked. “I'm afraid not. They would all be way too big on you. It's not that cold, Marty. Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” Marty tried giving his mentor a reassuring smile. “No worries.”

There was no way Doc would give this “no worries”, though. Marty appeared flushed and some perspiration had collected itself on his forehead. Something was definitely off, and Emmett would get to the bottom of it.

The scientist frowned at the boy. “You don't look too good, Marty. Are you sure you're okay?”

Marty was about to instantly say yes, but he stopped himself. Was he okay?

“Doc, I- I have absolutely no clue what's wrong,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in a bit of shame. “It's probably nothing bad though, so just pay it no mind and enjoy yourself-”

“Marty.” Doc's stern voice interrupted him. “Who do you think I am to enjoy myself while my friend is visibly experiencing some sort of discomfort?”

The teenager looked down to the floor. Of course, what else had he expected?

“I guess you wouldn't do that,” he said, sounding defeated.

“You are correct about that,” Emmett confirmed and reached out to lay the back of his hand to Marty's cheek.

His frown instantly deepened. “You appear to be running a fever. Do you feel ill otherwise?”

“I- no, it's just-” Marty bit his lower lip, suddenly realizing what could be amiss. “My leg stings. The scrape on my leg stings, I mean.”

It didn't take too long for Doc to understand. “Damn! And I thought I'd cleaned it well enough.” He grabbed Marty by the arm. “Well then, let's go. We can't waste another minute.”

“But- what about Clara?,” Marty inquired as Emmett started leading him back towards the livery stable.

The inventor stopped. “Hm. Alright, here's what we'll do: You go ahead to the stable; lay down. And I'll fetch Clara and explain the situation.”

Marty nodded - the plan seemed solid. And he did have to admit that laying down was the only thing he desired to do right now.

So that's exactly what he did upon entering the stable - collapsing on his little cot. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard the door open, but it snapped him out of his doze.

“Marty, what are you doing on that uncomfortable cot? Go on, take my proper bed,” was the first thing the kid registered.

“But that means I'll have to get up…”

“I could carry you over, of course,” Emmett said with a grin, removing Marty's hat. The boy could get so forgetful at times, but Doc wouldn't blame him for not feeling well.

Marty, who didn't want to embarrass himself in Clara's presents, found the strength to get up and move over to the master's bed. Emmett was right - it was indeed a hundred times more comfortable, and allowed him to keep his eyes closed while Emmett tended to his infected wound, cleaning it with rags and tightly wrapping it up with bandages.

Another, cool, wet rag landed on his forehead, and that caused Marty to finally squeeze his eyes open. “You're done?”

Emmett nodded. “Yes. You're lucky, the infection doesn't seem too bad. But we still need to take care of that elevated temperature of yours, so don't touch the rag.”

How did he know I was about to remove it?

“Fine,” Marty mumbled.

“I suspect your immune system is weakened due to our recent experiences, which is why it reacts to this extent even to a minor infection. But you'll just have to sleep it off,” Emmett continued.

It wasn't like Marty wasn't falling asleep anyway. As the kid drifted off, the last thing he heard was Clara's voice, asking Emmett to tell her about their “recent experiences”.

Marty could only hope Doc gave the right answer.

Chapter Text

An innocent summer day.

Marty was at Doc's lab, doing his usual job seeing that it was a Wednesday. They chatted, laughed, played with Einstein whenever they needed a break and, at the same time, worked very efficiently, as they always did.

And that's when it happened.

Emmett was a man of safety, mostly. Especially ever since Marty had started hanging around - the scientist would never risk Marty's health or even life for any of his experiments, and he swore that nothing would ever happen to the boy in his presence.

But Doc occasionally had to mess with dangerous stuff.

Even if it was something as simple as electricity.

Marty was pouring food into Einstein’s bowl when his best friend and employer suddenly dropped to the floor, motionless.

The teenager's eyes instantly widened and his heart did a backflip. “Doc!”

He rushed to Emmett’s side and almost fell into a panic when he couldn't see the man's chest rising with breaths.

Almost.

As quickly as possible, Marty got hold of a nearby telephone, dialed 9-1-1, getting the phone settled in the crook of his neck and instantly beginning the process of CPR as he waited for someone to pick up.

He was no stranger to the process, both fortunately and unfortunately. When he had been 11, his mother had once collapsed, likely from the overconsumption of alcohol. The lady at the emergency line had walked him through the process, and it's been engraved in his mind ever since. He'd done it at an event in school when a student had collapsed from the intense heat, and he'd done it for a stranger on the street.

And he'd do it for his best friend, too.

“9-1-1, what's your emergency?”

“Uh, yeah, hi,” Marty said, “My friend received an electrical shock and isn't breathing anymore. The address is 1646 JFK Drive, and I'm Marty McFly.”

“Alright, Marty,” the woman on the other end of the line said, “A team is on the way. I need you to perform CPR; can you do that for me?”

“Already on it,” Marty replied.

“Thank you. Just wait a few minutes, and continue with the compressions!”

The conversation ended and Marty leaned down to give Doc the required two breaths before beginning to press down on the man's chest again. “Breathe, damn you!,” he cursed.

I'm gonna break his damn rips.

The time passed quickly. The medical staff arrived shortly after the phone call, and Marty watched as they loaded Doc into the ambulance. The boy was allowed to join them on their drive to the ER, and was told to wait as they handled the situation.

It was then that the panic set in. What if Doc had died? What if Marty had only made things worse?

All of a sudden, beads of sweat began to roll down Marty's forehead. With a shaky hand, he wiped them away as the clock ticked in the background. Tears trickled down his cheeks as the minutes passed, each second leaving him in more and more agony.

I can't do this anymore. Did or did I not just lose my best friend?

A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Well, congratulations, young man!,” she said, sincerity in her tone. “You've just saved that man's life.”

Marty rose up from his chair. “I- I did?”

The nurse nodded. “Yes. He's awake and will make a steady recovery. He owes his life to your quick action.”

Oh, my God.

A sigh of relief escaped Marty. “Thank goodness. He won't touch those cables for another year at last!”