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Marty clutched his skateboard in one hand, a pep in his step as he took in the breezy spring air. After spending most of his Saturday at Jennifer’s, he had decided to take the scenic route home.
Well, about as scenic as you could get in Hill Valley- passing the line of shops and restaurants skirted about the streets of the square. Marty could claim he was walking instead of cruising behind a passing car on his skateboard for the pretty dusk skyline. He tried to imagine if the town were bigger, whether or not the view might actually improve at nightfall, all lit up and bright. It’d be quite the tourist trap.
He was amused by the thought. Would anyone ever travel here for vacation? Not a chance. To visit a relative, he supposed. What else did they have to offer?
He probably wasn’t focusing on the right aspects. The local rock scene was pretty great, but he couldn’t mention that without tooting his own horn. Marty wholeheartedly believed that his band brought something special to the table. He loved his music more than anything else, the Pinheads were everything to him. If only they could get an actual audition, then-
“How’s it hanging, Mcfly?”
Train of thought instantly interrupted, Marty swiveled around just in time to see Hill Valley High’s worst, Douglass Needles and two of his obnoxious accomplices grinning at him from a shabby alley beside the sidewalk.
Marty frowned. He could tell by the way they held themselves they had been drinking. That, and the bottles scattered loosely around the dumpster.
“Hey Needles!” He shot back. He really wasn’t in the mood to bother with them today. “You look like you’re having a ball.”
“It’d be more fun if you joined the party!” He barked with a harsh laugh, the others immediately mimicking the notion.
“Can’t, sorry pal. Gotta get home before dinner.” He tried to move along, but Needles continued his begging.
“C’mon, Mcfly… things were just about to get interesting. You’d love it! Twenty bucks you can’t sock me clean in the eye.”
Marty had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “Hard pass!”
Marty almost continued his stride, prepared to keep moving. Facing away, he hadn’t witnessed the furious look that crossed Needles’ complexion after the second rejection. He only heard the boom of his next taunt:
“You gonna fight, or are you too scared, chicken?”
Marty froze.
Turning around with a slow precision driven by anger, he met Needles’ gaze once more. He was staring Marty down with wild eyes and a hungry grin. It was clear he had gotten what he wanted out of the comment, he had Marty’s full attention now, because Marty knew he had to prove him wrong. Nobody called him chicken.
Marty clenched a fist, letting his skateboard fall to the ground as he took a few quick steps into the alley to face the asshole- a new rage enveloping him and emboldening his actions.
Marty quickly developed his tactic, pointing vaguely beyond Needles’ head. “Wait, what’s that?”
Needles and his crew took a split second to turn, and Marty seized the opportunity by punching him square in the jaw in a quick dash. Needles instantly recoiled from the blow and spat out a curse.
“You’re dead, Mcfly!” He hissed, and his two lackey’s eyes locked onto him expectantly. They began approaching with haste as Marty adjusted his position, brows furrowed, prepared to stand his ground.
Needles’ lunge was unexpected, catching Marty off-guard as they tumbled to the ground. Needles pinned him down with one hand, the other agressively smothering his face. He was bigger, but that gave Marty the agility advantage. He kneed Needles in the stomach as hard as he could, scrambling out from under him while Needles’ gripped his abdomen, racked with a fit of coughs.
He had barely taken two steps from the fray whenever one of Needles’ cronies gripped his shoulder and flung him around. Before he could react, something heavy smacked against his torso, instantly knocking all the air from his lungs. He sputtered, trying to grasp onto his attacker, until another object struck near his ankles from behind. His legs gave way immediately, sending Marty to the ground. The pipe, it had to be a pipe, came down harder, this time onto his head. Marty was unprepared to protect himself, and he felt the reverberation bounce around his skull. He groaned from the impact, reaching up to touch his head gingerly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of the minions clutching onto a pipe, and rapidly formulated a plan. Marty pretended to be down and out to buy more time, stalling while they caught their breaths and snickered remarks about Marty’s stupidity. Then, in a flash, he snatched the rod from the boy’s hands with full force. He stumbled back onto his feet, holding out the pipe in front of him as a warning. If they were going to play dirty, he could too.
“Back off! This one’s mine!” Needles roared, who was now back on his feet. He was making his way towards Marty with a large, jagged shard of glass from a beer bottle his hand. Marty swallowed.
He was so focused on Needles’ weapon of choice that he couldn’t stop the pipe from being seized from him by the girl. In rapid succession, the boy took a step in front of him and pulled him up by his shirt, shoving him against the wall behind them. They worked like a unit, just one thing after another. It was all happening so fast, and Marty was too uncoordinated. Maybe the head injury was catching up to him. Uh oh.
He tried to regain his balance before Needles pushed his arm against Marty’s neck, holding him into place against the brick. Needles brought the glass up to Marty’s face and made a rough cut, drawing a red line across his cheek. Marty winced, trying to wiggle his way out of the struggle.
“Fight me with your fists like a real man!” Marty tried to sound tough, but it came out more like a plea. Where had he heard that line? TV, probably? Sweat trickled down his front.
Regardless, it worked. Needles, now furious, dropped the glass and promptly socked him in the face.
Marty gasped, unsuccessfully attempting to grasp the wall for support, when the lackey’s grabbed his arms and held against the brick. He was being pent up like a scarecrow.
Marty was suddenly overcome with a sense of helplessness. He could now see that this had been a very stupid idea. There were too many of them, and only one of him.
He tried to shimmy his way to freedom, slip away and escape any way he could. Needles was clearly getting annoyed by this, as he then shoved the side of Marty’s face against the wall and began pressing it there firmly. Marty yelped, but the sound came out a bit weird. He could taste blood in his mouth.
He was so focused on trying to counter the compression of his head between Needles’ hand and the wall, fury adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins, he barely registered the laughter coming from the other two. He was struggling against Needles to no success, and he was only shoving harder, and Marty was seriously starting to worry that- that-
A siren began wailing from a distance, its cry carrying through the alley. Needles came to a sudden halt, his partners following suit.
“…Hey, Needles?” One whispered nervously.
Needles momentarily hesitated, then clearly thought better of it, relaxing his grip on Marty’s head. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”
Marty let out a shaky breath as the hand fully retreated, watching the gang bolt away. They could at least try not to look suspicious, Marty thought with a weary sort of amusement. The police car ran past the street without even the slightest acknowledgment towards Marty’s existence.
Marty took a step forward, instantly stumbling. He was suddenly very dizzy, and struck with a fear that he wouldn’t be able to get home. It was pretty dark by now.
I’ll hitch a ride, he thought numbly, taking a few unsteady steps towards the street. He raised a hand up, yelling to any stray car that passed. After a minute of this, Marty realized he was being stupid. Didn’t he come with his skateboard? A pressed a hand to his temple, trying to remember. When he drew it back, there was blood on his hand.
Shit. He grimaced. If he got blood anywhere on the new couch, his mom would kill him.
Right! His parents. He should call them for a pick up, obviously. He started towards the nearest booth about a block away, though he couldn’t help but notice he was becoming increasingly unstable with each step he took. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore this.
In all honesty, it wasn’t exactly a new couch. His mom had picked up it from a garage sale last week, and sure, it was pretty nice for being surrounded by a bunch of lousy junk. The price wasn’t half bad either, Marty was sure that’s why she held it at such high value. There was some stain- God knows what- on the left armrest, which she claimed gave the couch more character. But if Marty or his siblings were to contribute to the mess, they would be considered vandals.
He suddenly tripped over his foot and hit the ground. Shit.
Maybe he shouldn’t call his parents. He knew his old man would be disappointed, and it wasn’t like Marty felt compelled to care much for his opinion whenever no one else he knew did, but it was still hard to endure the looks sometimes. If Marty did something good, he would be congratulated, but reminded not to shoot too high for fear of failure. If he did something bad… his dad would simply stare at him sadly. Almost as if he viewed Marty as a reflection of himself. Marty despised that more than anything.
And his mother. He loved her, but she had a problem. He knew she drunk more on weekends, especially after dinner. By that point, everyone usually dispersed to their rooms or elsewhere, and had a silent understanding not to mess with her until the morning.
He would never be hit. His mother wasn’t like that, Marty knew this. But he also knew that if he came home all banged up, she wouldn’t refrain from spitting the remarks she might’ve kept in while sober.
All of sudden, Marty sort of felt like crying.
He stood up slowly, taking his time as to not fall over again. He resorted to leaning against the buildings he passed for support. When he finally reached the booth, he opened the door and slipped inside, letting out a tremulous sigh.
He stood in front of the phone, scavenging some coins from his pocket then placing one in the slot, willing himself to pick up the phone. He had to call them. He had no other choice. His head throbbed, and he felt like shutting his eyes and taking a long nap, but even in his discombobulated state he knew that wasn’t a good idea. He just had to pick up the phone.
Marty bit his lip. Dial a number, damn it. Don’t think, just do it.
He reached for the keypad with an outstretched, shaky hand, and punched in a number. He brought the phone close to his chest, breathing heavy.
The line rang twice before anyone picked up.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
“Doc,” Marty begun, then pulled a face at how raspy his voice sounded. He cleared his throat. “Hey. It’s Marty. I was just-“
“Marty? What’s wrong?” Doc interrupted, concern evident in his tone. “Where are you?”
“Uh…” He narrowed his eyes, glancing around to no avail. It was really dark outside. He knew the name of this street, but it wasn’t coming to mind…
“Are you outside or inside?”
“Outside,” Marty replied, that he could answer, “In a booth.”
“Any familiar shops around?”
He tried to concentrate. He knew there were many shops around, local and chain stores he had frequented throughout his life, but he kept coming up short. He couldn’t put a damper on the panic rising inside of him.
“Yes. But I can’t remember what,” He confessed, trembling. Shit.
Doc didn’t miss a beat, his voice steady as ever. “Consider the Clock Tower as your point of reference. Are you close to it, or farther away?”
The Clock Tower… Marty took a moment to visualize it in his mind, and-
“Yes!” He gripped the phone tighter. “Down the left street. Just past the broken streetlight.”
“I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Doc hung up immediately after, not wasting a second.
Marty listened to the hum of the dead line for a few moments after Doc ended the call, the gesture providing him a sense of comfort. He wasn’t sure why. His head was too messy to sort through anything at the moment.
He stood in the booth, the dim light flickering above him as he tried to stay awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep now, not before Doc came to his rescue.
He suddenly felt a stab of guilt. Doc. Marty had interrupted his night, no doubt about that. Whatever he was doing… inventing the next great thing to change the world, probably. He had better things to do than assist Marty in his plight. Maybe if it hadn’t been his own fault, Marty would be more inclined to take Doc’s help. But it was his stupidity that landed him here, no matter how much it annoyed him.
Marty sighed. He should try to call Doc back. Apologize, tell him he could walk home. He probably could, if he just manned up a bit.
He reached for another quarter from his pocket, then fumbled- sending the rest of his coins scattered about the floor. He scowled, bending down to pick them up.
He wasn’t prepared for the wave of dizziness that hit him the second he crouched, and Marty had to clutch the ground to stop himself from faceplanting. His whole head felt like deadweight, and the world was slightly spinning. Oh God. Marty squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe. He was vaguely aware of the door to the booth opening in front of him.
“Marty?” The voice was urgent.
He relaxed, knowing it was Doc, but refused to move from his current alignment. His top priority was not passing out.
“Hi,” He answered hoarsely.
“Use my arm to stand up, and shift your weight onto me,” Doc instructed. Marty slowly opened his eyes to see Doc’s hand outstretched as an offering. Marty took it carefully, and tried to do as he had been ordered. He almost fell, but Doc caught him, and promptly started dragging him back to the car. This was some project he had recently begun tinkering with… a DeLorean, maybe? Marty groaned as he was placed into the passenger seat, adjusting himself to face forward. Then he put on his seatbelt. It’d be a shame if he were to get hurt, right?
Doc shut his own door, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Marty allowed his eyes to flutter shut in attempt to ease the pounding in his head, before Doc snapped his fingers in front of him.
“Don’t sleep. It’s very likely you have a concussion, and I must evaluate your condition first.”
Marty mumbled back in incredulity. Football players got concussions. Marty didn’t. He just hurt his head. He missed the Doc who had sounded so caring on the phone. This one was just speaking nonsense.
They drove back like that, with Doc snapping Marty awake every time he closed his eyes for more than five seconds. Marty was so disoriented that it felt like mere moments before they pulled into Doc’s small lot. Doc helped him out of the car, and with his friend’s assistance Marty begun limping towards the fence.
“I have,” Doc started, voice gruff, “A lot of questions.”
Marty laughed a little, despite himself. The effort made his chest ache.
Once inside, Doc helped him onto a table and Marty sat obligingly, though he was a bit worried he might fall over. He prayed he wouldn’t. While Marty attempted to steady himself with his palms, Einie trotted up excitedly, greeting him with a little nuzzle of his snout against Marty’s hand. He smiled, and scratched behind Einie’s ear, right in the spot he liked it.
Doc rushed back with some bandages, and instantly went to work on his face. “Now I’m no doctor, but I’ll do what I can. If it’s worse than it looks, you may still have to go to a hospital.”
“Pretty sure you are a doc, Doc!” Marty joked with no real humor. He didn’t really want to go to a hospital.
Doc narrowed his eyes. “You can’t remember the difference between a medical doctor and a doctoral degree? Now I’m sure you have a concussion.”
Marty scoffed, but Doc continued, sounding a bit more worried. “What happened, Marty?”
Marty hesitated. He didn’t want to get in trouble. But he did owe Doc an explanation, right?
He fiddled with his fingers expectantly. “…I saw Needles and his friends down some alley a bit ago, and they wanted a fight. So I gave them one.” At least it sounded cool to say.
Doc stared on in disbelief. “Well, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard all week! Why’d you give in to them?”
Marty couldn’t help but feel offended. Doc made it sound like he had let them win just by accepting the offer. “I did it so I wouldn’t look stupid! They never would’ve let me hear the end of it if I hadn’t fought them.”
“Will they let you hear the end of it now that you have?”
He had a point. Marty’s face grew warm with embarrassment, and he dropped his gaze.
After a moment, Doc’s hand came up to his forehead, brushing back his bangs. Dried blood had stained his hairline red.
“I don’t like them, Marty, any of them.” Doc affirmed, though his voice was gentler. “They’re all bullies. The whole crew.”
“I know,” Marty replied quietly.
“You cannot let them get to you. It’s not an option, not if it ends like this.”
On one hand, Marty knew he was right. He had gotten into serious trouble today, all on his own accord. But on the other hand… Doc had absolutely no clue what it was like to live with the legacy of his father. He didn’t want to be branded a coward. He couldn’t afford to be.
Marty clenched his fists, willing himself not to cry. That would be stupid. It was just the concussion. He had to man up. He had to-
Doc suddenly pulled him into a little hug.
“I’m prone to worrying, Marty,” He murmered. “Stay safe. If for nothing else, then an old man who cares a great deal.”
Marty sniffled, gripping onto Doc’s coat as he buried his face into his shoulder.
“I don’t want to go home tonight,” He blurted abruptly.
Doc pulled back, appearing confused… maybe it was the look on Marty’s face, but he didn’t push.
“I’ll grab a sleeping bag. Wait until I get back, then you can call up your parents and tell them you’ll be away for the night.” He started his retreat, before pausing and turning back to Marty with a pointed finger. “Careful with that concussion, but you’re coherent enough. You should be safe to sleep.”
He nodded. Thank God. He was exhausted, and still pretty woozy. He wrapped his arms around himself, patiently awaiting Doc’s return.
He did end up informing his parents of his location with Doc’s help, though the message was taken up by the answering machine. Truthfully, he was very thankful for this, as to not get into the whole fight thing with them tonight. He could tomorrow, but for now he was going to sleep on the floor of Doc’s garage, soaking up the familiarity and comfort of the space. He was here with Doc and Einstein, and he figured that was the best outcome. Maybe in some ways, it didn’t matter where he was, it was the people who made it home.
With Einie curled up next to him, Marty snuggled deeper into his sleeping bag, peeping one eye open. “Night, Doc.”
Though he was facing away from Marty, Doc still waved a hand. “Goodnight, Marty.”
Marty smiled as he fell asleep. It was good to be home.