Chapter Text
It was with much concern later that Doc realized that Marty was not only still silent upon stirring from his light sleep, but his movements were rather listless.
“Marty…?” he asked, gently placing a hand on the boy’s forehead. His temperature felt normal, but he looked awful—like he had no energy at all.
Doc froze, fighting the urge to facepalm. Of course Marty had no energy—he had been hungry on the train last evening and still hadn't eaten anything well past noon of the next day.
Unfortunately, all Doc had with him were what was in his pockets—two chocolate bars and a small bottle of water.
Well, it was something for the moment—and only for the moment.
“Here, Marty,” Doc said, unwrapping one of the chocolate bars and holding it up to Marty’s face. “Have some of this.”
It was a moment before Marty finally took a bite—and then a few more. Doc breathed a sigh of relief as Marty, his appetite now jump-started, took the chocolate bar in both hands and began to wolf it down.
“Okay, you finish that up,” Doc said, gently placing Marty in a sitting position beside him. “You can have this second one later, but drink some of this water now, okay?”
Marty nodded, but then looked back at Doc, realizing that he wasn’t eating anything. Still silently, Marty held up the partially-eaten chocolate bar to him.
“No no no no,” Doc said, shaking his head. “That’s yours. You need that way more than I do.”
Marty didn’t seem convinced, but as it became clear that Doc was refusing to take any of the chocolate from him, the boy reluctantly continued to munch on it, still looking up at Doc with a sad expression.
“Alright, if you insist, I’m going to see if I can find something for myself…” He trailed off as he tried to get up, but couldn’t on account of his knee; once again, he had to grit his teeth to bite back a cry. “…On second thoughts, I’m just… going to rest some more…”
Dizzy from the pain, the thirst and hunger, and the altitude, Doc slumped against the boulder they had taken shelter behind and passed out, much to Marty’s alarm. The boy got up and ran to his side, gently placing a little hand on the scientist’s clammy face. And, finally, the first time since the scare on the train, Marty finally spoke—
“…Doc…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Of course, Doc was out cold and couldn’t respond; Marty could tell that Doc wasn’t feeling well, even if he didn’t know exactly what was wrong. But he could understand that one of Doc’s knees being considerably larger than the other seemed to be part of the problem.
What he didn’t know, however, was how to make anything better.
But maybe finding more food for the both of them would help…
Marty placed Doc’s suitjacket back on him as a comically tiny blanket.
“‘m gonna find food,” he whispered. Doc did so much for him—and if those men had been right last night about Marty slowing him down, then Marty was determined to earn his keep.
Full of determination, the three-year-old hobbled off in search of food.
And it quickly became clear that this was not going to be an easy quest—there didn’t seem to be any kind of convenience store or even a vending machine on this mountain.
Little Marty was scratching his head, not sure what to do, when a rustling nearby caught his attention; he turned in time to see a large rabbit scramble out of the shrubbery, stare at him for a second, and then run off.
The boy ran after the rabbit, his brain making the connection of rabbits loving carrots like in the cartoons he’d seen; the rabbit was fast, however, and had darted away rather quickly, seemingly vanishing right into a large cliff base.
Marty paused, blinking, and then, as he ventured towards the rock wall, pausing as he noticed a small hole in the rock—the entrance to a cave.
…Perhaps that’s where the rabbit stored the carrots?
The boy attempted to crawl into the cave—but he hadn't taken into account the width of his shoulders. After being unable to progress any further, he tried to back out instead—and found that he was stuck in that direction, as well.
Panic set in, and the boy found his full voice at last, screaming as he kicked and flailed his legs in a desperate attempt to get free.
He wasn’t sure for how long he had been stuck there, but, suddenly, he was pulled free and then wrapped in a tight hug; Doc, standing on his one good leg, had pulled him out—no doubt after waking up to Marty’s cries and realizing that he was missing, and somehow managing to hop to the cave—but the exertion had caused him to fall over again, and his face looked even more pale than before as he struggled to breathe.
“Doc!?”
Doc didn’t even seem to be responding to the fact that Marty was talking again—now he was the one who was stricken speechless, though mostly on account of him being unable to catch his breath.
“Doc!”
Doc didn’t just seem hurt now—now, he seemed like he was very sick, too. Marty didn’t know what it was, but it was clearly something terrible, and no longer just Doc’s leg; it was something that became eerily apparent when, upon burying his face into Doc’s chest, he could feel Doc’s heart beating very oddly—and somehow, very wrongly, as well.
But Doc’s arms still held him in a tight hug; that was the tiniest bit of comfort as an inexplicable fear welled up in the child’s core.
Hours passed, and Doc didn’t seem to be getting any better. It had taken him forever to come close to catching his breath, and even then, his face was still pale, and he hadn't been able to start lecturing Marty for running off unsupervised—oh, he had tried, but soon had to catch his breath all over again.
Now, he was just lying there, on the ground, not quite awake but not quite asleep, with one hand holding Marty’s arm to make sure that he wouldn’t run off again.
Not that Marty would’ve run off again; the toddler was terrified, unable to understand what had happened to Doc—only that something had happened.
“Doc…?” he asked, gently shaking his shoulder.
Doc’s gaze was out of focus, but he did, at least, look in Marty’s direction and attempted to give him a reassuring smile, which did nothing to reassure the boy.
“You don’t look so good…” Marty observed.
Doc gave Marty’s arm a gentle squeeze, shutting his eyes for a moment, clearly relieved that Marty was speaking again.
“I’ll… be okay…” Doc managed to say. “Just… need some rest…” He trailed off, wheezing again as he lost his breath yet again.
And Marty looked at him, tears springing to his eyes.
“Doc… please get better,” he begged.
He had a napkin in his pocket, which he used to try—in vain—to mop the sweat from Doc’s face. He continued to watch over Doc, but even with all the rest he was getting, Doc didn’t look like he was getting any better—if anything, he looked like he was getting worse as he passed out again.
Marty sniffled and cried some more, trying to shake him awake by the arm; this did not awaken Doc fully, but he did murmur something that sounded like he was still trying to reassure Marty, who was definitely not convinced. Memories of his family lying among the rubble of his home returned to him—lying just as still and unresponsive as Doc was becoming.
Despairing, the child buried his face in Doc’s chest again, getting more alarmed as Doc’s heartbeat was still not right.
It was then that the mountain started to shake.
Marty sat bolt upright; living in Northern California for his short life, he knew an earthquake when he felt it. Doc’s eyes shot open, too, though his face looked even more pale than before.
“Doc!” Marty cried, clinging to him.
But Doc, lying on his back, let out a strangled gasp as he saw the approaching rock slide from the cliff above them.
One last surge of adrenaline shot through him, granting him just enough strength to rise up enough to turn around and shield Marty with his own body, one arm wrapped around the boy and the other arm positioned so that he could protect the back of Marty’s head with his hand.
Even as he did so, a blossom of unbearable pain bloomed in his chest, radiating through his shoulder and arm; Marty let out another cry as Doc’s hold on him started to slip.
Just before the pain caused him to slip back into unconsciousness again, Doc regained his protective hold on the boy, hoping that, if nothing else, Marty would survive this and, somehow be rescued.
That was his last conscious thought—he was out before the rockfall had even reached him.