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The encounter with Biff left far more of an impact on Marty than Doc had realized at first. Marty had been so brave, so determined in the moment, but seeing this familiar figure has caused him to think.
Even with how young he is, Marty could the injustice of it all, and it was gnawing on his mind, even as he tried to sleep in the DeLorean’s passenger seat.
“Doc?”
“Yes, Marty?” Doc was more attentive than usual; he’d sensed that Marty was more agitated than usual, and had expected something had to give.
“It’s not fair.”
Doc sighed in sympathy.
“A lot of this isn’t fair,” he agreed. “What were you referring to specifically?”
“Mom and Dad and Dave and Linda are all gone…” Marty said, his voice cracking. “But Biff…”
He was still too young to fully voice what he was feeling—but he was feeling it, and he knew he was feeling it.
Doc sighed, reaching over to gently adjust Marty’s long hair to go behind his ears.
“I know, Kid. I know. If I could change anything so that they’d still be with you, I would.”
Marty sniffled, and Doc winced, knowing that he was crying again, not because of any nightmare, but because he was a scared toddler who just wanted his family back—something that he could never have.
Marty deserved to be warm and safe in his home with his family, and Doc knew that nothing he could give him could possibly measure up—especially when they were on the run like this…
“I know I’ll never be able to make up for what you lost,” he sighed. “And I’m sorry about that, Marty. Biff was right about it being my fault.”
Marty sniffled again, but then rolled over so that he was facing Doc, and then proceeded to hug his arm tightly.
“Marty…” Doc sighed. He tried to pull his arm away, but Marty’s hug tightened. “Marty, can I have my arm back, please?”
“No.”
“Marty…”
“You’re getting sad again,” Marty observed. “And you try to leave me when you’re sad.” He continued crying as he talked. “Don’t go away, too…!”
Marty had learned to pick up on Doc’s guilt—and the ramifications of it—with startling swiftness.
“…Make it make sense to me, Kid,” Doc said. “Why do you care so much about me—why do you keep saying that I’m your best friend?”
“Aren’t you?”
Doc sighed.
“You could’ve picked far better friends than me,” he said.
“You need me,” Marty said, quietly.
Doc was about to protest how ridiculous that notion was—how he could go into hiding better if he was alone. Hadn’t it been mere obligation that Doc had adopted him?
“I don’t know what’s happening anymore—or why it’s happening,” Doc sighed.
“Me either,” Marty added.
Doc glanced back at him.
“But you just said…”
“I dunno how I know—I just know,” Marty declared.
“…This makes no sense,” Doc said.
“Does it gotta?”
“…I guess not,” Doc admitted. “I can understand the basic situation, at least. We’re both here, and somehow, you want that to stay the same.”
“Don’t you?” Marty asked.
Doc wasn’t sure how to answer that; he wanted Marty to be somewhere safe—and it was looking more and more that the safest place was away from him. But Marty couldn’t stand the thought of it—hadn't that been the only reason why Doc had conceded and allowed him to stay?
…No, it hadn't been; there had been that unexplained realization that, in spite of how wrong everything was, that this, at least, was going right.
“Yeah, Kid,” he said, honestly. “I can’t say why—but I guess I do want it to stay the same.”
“So, there.”
Pleased that he won the argument, Marty now relaxed, still holding on to Doc’s arm, still sniffling, but still somehow calm; it had been a tumultuous existence for the boy, but at least he had a rock to hold onto—in this case, literally.
“Ok, fine—you win again,” Doc sighed.
And yet, losing didn’t feel so bad.