Work Text:
Doc couldn’t even manage to fall asleep even for a few minutes that night. Not only was it cold, but his knee was in agony.
Worst of all, Marty wasn’t sleeping well, either; even wrapped up in Doc’s suitjacket and being held close, he was trembling, and Doc wasn’t sure if it was from fright or from the cold—or both.
As bad as he felt about his own state, hearing Marty’s sad whimpers made him feel even worse. They were stranded on a mountain with not supplies other than whatever he had in his pockets, namely a few candy bars and a small bottle of water—and that wasn’t going to go far.
More than that, Marty had been traumatized by getting separated in the darkened dining car—he still hadn't uttered one word, not even any sound other than whimpers and sniffles, and Doc was almost wishing he’d start bawling if it meant that he’d be vocal again.
But, no—the three-year-old hadn't uttered any other sounds. Even when he’d had a returning night terror during his brief time asleep—something Doc had sadly expected—Marty had only thrashed around silently, and had still resumed his trembling, even when Doc had tried to reassure him as always that he was right there for him.
…Why should he believe me after what happened back there? Doc realized. I lost him in the dark—after he’d confided in me that being alone in the dark was his greatest fear. He could’ve been trampled in that crowd—and all because I wasn’t able to hold onto him.
He tightened his hug, but as Marty continued to tremble, Doc knew it was too little, too late.
I’m sorry, Marty—I’m so sorry I failed you.
He was suddenly jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps and voices coming from the railroad tunnel they had exited.
Doc paled—the feds were taking no chances in making sure that he hadn't gotten away.
Still holding Marty close to him, Doc forced himself to his knees—and promptly collapsed as his wounded leg gave out under his weight.
Once again, he had to suppress the growing cry of pain in his throat; hoping that the rock formation and shrubbery would be concealing enough, he curled up as best as he could as Marty still trembled in his arms.
It was all Doc could do to stop himself from shaking with the sobs he was trying to hold in as he lay there in the dirt.
Marty doesn’t deserve this—I do, but he doesn’t, he realized. He deserves to be warm and safe and happy—not paying for my mistakes…
“Are we sure that Brown was even on that train?” one of the feds grumbled as they walked by Doc’s hiding spot.
“That witness said they saw a man matching his description with a fussy toddler,” another said.
“Yeah, that’s the other thing,” the first fed said. “If Brown is as smart as they say he is, he’d have ditched that McFly kid by now—months ago, in fact. He’d have figured out instantly that the kid would slow him down.”
Doc had already been frozen, not daring to move the moment the feds had first exited the tunnel. But now, he could feel Marty in his arms suddenly freezing up, no longer trembling—no longer moving a muscle upon hearing what the fed had just said.
Oh no. Oh no no no no… Marty, no…
Every time Doc had asked if Marty would accept staying in U.N.C.L.E. custody, he had always deliberately framed it as for Marty’s own protection. Logically, Doc had known all this time that having Marty with him would lead to his travel being inefficient—but he’d never intended Marty to find out that part of it.
Well, Marty had found out now—and from how rigid he now felt in Doc’s hold, he was horrified by what he had just heard.
“Look, it’s cold and dark on this godforsaken mountain,” the fed continued. “If Brown is here somehow, he’s never finding his way back to civilization without help. Let’s get out of here.”
The other feds grumbled in agreement, and soon, they had left Doc and Marty behind.
…The fed wasn’t wrong—Doc knew that there was no way he’d make it off the mountain, especially with his knee in such a state.
But there was one chance—the U.N.C.L.E. communicator that Napoleon and Illya had given him. It was a long shot, however—there was every chance that they were in too isolated a spot.
But, for Marty’s sake, once he was sure the feds wouldn’t be doubling back, he would try until the batteries died…
…After he had a talk with Marty. The boy still hadn't moved a muscle since hearing the fed’s declaration.
Some time had passed before Doc had dared to sit up, once again making an agonized expression as his knee surged in pain due to the effort.
Gently, he pulled back from the protective hug he had been maintaining, but still held on to Marty securely.
Immediately, he wished he’d hadn't—the toddler’s face had an absolutely broken expression as he stared back at him, silent tears slipping down his cheeks. He glanced down at Doc’s swollen knee, and then looked back at him, looking even sadder—but still not saying a word.
“Oh, Marty…” Doc said, blinking back tears of his own. “Marty, you need to understand something. Everything—everything that’s happened since I took you with me was my choice. I chose to take you with me. And I chose to have you stay with me, even though I wanted you to be safe.” He managed a wan smile. “You’re so little—do you think you could’ve stopped me if I’d wanted to leave you with those men from U.N.C.L.E.?”
Marty’s expression still didn’t change, and Doc’s heart sunk further.
“…I’m so sorry I let you down,” Doc said. “I’m so sorry, Marty. You were counting on me to keep you safe, and I failed you. But don’t ever think that any of this was your fault—it was always mine, and mine alone. I’m just sorry that you have to suffer for my mistakes.” He glanced at the ground for a moment. “But I never regretted taking you with me, Marty. I just hope that you can believe that…”
His voice cracked with emotion, and his tears were silent no longer—but Marty, still silent, hugged him now, tightly.
And Doc just hugged him again, just as tightly.
Doc had waited for Marty to slip into some semblance of sleep before trying the U.N.C.L.E. communicator.
“Hello? This is Dr. Emmett L. Brown, contacting Solo and Kuryakin—do you read me?”
He was met with a lot of static, and his heart sank.
“Solo and Kuryakin—do you read me!?” he repeated. “This is an SOS from Dr. Emmett L. Brown!” The helpless feeling grew stronger. “Marty and I are stranded somewhere in the Cascades—my leg is too injured to walk, and we have limited provisions!”
There was still no response, and Doc gripped at the communicator in despair.
“Please… please, if someone can hear me… get Marty out of here, at least…!”
Despairing, he put the communicator away, and as the mountain breeze blew again, went back to holding Marty in a protective hug.
If nothing else, he would, at least, give his all to ensure Marty’s survival—no matter the cost.