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Right there, standing in the parking lot, Marty meets his own familiar blue eyes.
He sways a little as he stares, trying to process, until the spell is abruptly broken by three sonic booms and a flash of white light.
"Doc!"
Marty calls out one last time, a futile attempt to rouse his friend from his final sleep.
Doctor Emmett L. Brown is dead.
Doc's little stunt with ripping up the letter is going to cost Marty a lot of sleep, but at least the man is alive.
“So, you didn’t end up looking me up in the future?” Marty asks, sitting on a box in Doc’s garage as the scientist in question drags in a chalkboard. He can barely believe it's technically been less than 12 hours since he went back to 1955.
”I nearly did. But I’ve done a lot of thinking over these past 30 years, Marty, and it’s always bothered me how you already knew about your actions when you were in 1955.”
Marty frowns in thought. Yes, it’s true, he’d known about the strange boy that came out of nowhere to help get his parents together; they loved to tell that story. He didn’t immediately put two and two together when he’d woken up to his mother calling him “Calvin Klein”, though- still reeling from seeing his mother young and time travel being real. Then, seeing what a beaten down shell of a kid his father had been and how awful Biff was in the 50s had further shaken him and distracted him from connecting the dots.
No, he didn’t actually figure it out until he’d found Doc and told him about everything and it clicked.
Realising that he was Calvin Klein was... weird. A little scary, but mostly just weird. Because how could that be, if he hadn't done it yet? How could he possibly be a person he grew up hearing stories about?
The pressure of fulfilling that role had nearly been too much. He managed, though.
Apparently, he was always going to.
Doc scribbles jumping lines that stop and start and cross each other all over the chalkboard as he talks. One timeline. One version of events. So, then, everything that happened both had to and had already. Although Marty had gone back and gotten his dirty 80s fingerprints all over a hundred and one things in the past, nothing had changed because his fingerprints had always been there.
Doc says it’s called the bootstrap paradox- named from that idiom, to pull yourself up by your bootstraps- where an event causes itself. And, as a result, information or objects may appear to have no beginning.
"Was there an original timeline?" Marty asks.
"Perhaps. No way to know. But that is not what is concerning.”
Doc slashes through the lines with his eraser and starts writing equations, some of which Marty recognises and many others that he does not, the unfamiliar Greek letters and numbers and calculations and math symbols sprawling from the chalk across the board. Doc eventually reintroduces a strange looking variable from nowhere. It looks a bit like psi with a little subscript 'M'.
”You can’t do that,” Marty says, with about 65% confidence.
”Yes,” Doc gives a grim smile. “Except I can, and you already have. That’s what time travel does, Marty. And this is why I didn’t stay long in the future; the risk is simply too great.”
“Uh, the risk of… is that psi? Doing what exactly, in that equation?"
“Not psi, that’s one I made up.” The chalk makes an awful squeak as Doc looks to him, forlorn. “I fear I’ve created a machine capable of tearing apart the universe as we know it.”
“What?! How?”
Doc points at him.
”We can’t change the past. At least, not in any meaningful way- you’ve proven that yourself. You had influence, but ultimately everything you did, you had already done in some capacity.” Doc then points at the symbol that Marty still doesn’t know the name of. “That’s not to say we don’t have free will. That’s this variable here, quantified, real. Your decisions and choices are still your own, there’s no master plan you have to follow.”
“…Then why can’t anything be changed?”
”Because even if you have infinite choices, Marty, you’re still only going to pick one. And that’s where the danger comes in.” he continues to manipulate the long-winded equation with the extra version of the variable he added, deriving something new.
"Where are you going with this?"
“Marty, I want you to imagine that you intentionally use the time machine to meet your past self. And then, your past self resolves to never do such a thing- perhaps, he purposely destroys the time machine so that he cannot, even accidentally, complete the loop.” Doc divides the variable by 0 and underlines it twice. “Same variable, two different values at once. Non-functional.”
Marty blinks. “Wouldn’t you have already met your future self, though, if you chose to go to the past?”
“Yes, that’s right. You meet your future self and you decide you will never do what they did,” Doc says, staring, a little intensely, into Marty’s eyes, wild brown meeting bewildered blue, “which means that your future self never goes back to meet your past self and therefore you still decide to meet yourself… and so on, and so forth. A conditional decision. Mutually exclusive outcomes that depend on each other to exist.”
Marty’s heart sinks a little. He’s not entirely sure why, but there’s something akin to dread clawing up his throat.
“And so, with one paradoxical choice, you collapse that future and subsequently the present and the past altogether.” Doc finishes, and the air shifts like something solid clicking into place.
”…Heavy.”
The image of himself running from the Libyans floats through his head. He’d been close enough to see his own face, meet his own gaze. If only his past self had seen him…
Doc watches Marty’s expression change as he sifts through the different thoughts and ideas, taking in and evaluating the information. He gives him time.
Marty usually loves Doc’s talks and explanations of reality-breaking physics. Nothing is without stakes, they’ve always expertly floundered their way through problems and got things to go right. But now, he’s not entirely sure why this time it feels like impending doom.
Eventually, Doc leads him outside to the DeLorean.
"Even though there are risks that come with time travel, as long as you don’t directly interact with yourself and then specifically choose to do something different when it was your turn to be on the other end, it will probably be fine.”
”’Probably’ sounds like a key word there.”
”Yes, well,” Doc grabs Marty’s hand, shoving his thumb against the lock on the driver-side door, “let’s not test it.”
Marty frowns at that. The DeLorean makes a beep as Doc continues to hold Marty’s thumb against the lock.
“You could have just asked me to put my thumb on it, you know.” Marty says, in lieu of a statement of agreement. The DeLorean makes a final beep, and Doc pulls Marty’s hand away from the door and releases it.
“I went ahead and made the machine a bit more secure with technology from the future.” Doc gestures to the lock. “That’s a thumbprint lock. Still hackable, I suppose, but an extra layer of protection, as long as you don’t go around leaving the door wide open.” he says, a little pointedly.
”One time, Doc.” Marty grumbles.
”Still, doing that added you to the system, so now you may unlock it, too.” Doc squints a little.
Other changes from the future that Doc made to the DeLorean include a fusion reactor named 'Mr. Fusion', 'hover conversions' the name of which alone leaves Marty shaking with excitement to try out, more minor security features, and improvements for efficiency and reliability.
This also includes a failsafe for the power supply so that what happened to Marty can't happen again: no matter what happens to the power source, there is always enough power stored for one more jump.
Marty appreciates that.
Doc spends an hour explaining everything and Marty marvels over it for much longer than he would like to admit. They're going to test all- or, at least, most of- the modifications tonight, so Doc says.
"And if they fail?" Marty asks, running a finger along the sleek edges of the Mr. Fusion. He can feel a faint thrum coming from within.
"Failure is the most important aspect of the scientific process! It gives rise to a wealth of new information, and it keeps us learning, keeps us asking questions!" Doc gives Marty a side-eye and smirks. "Granted you survive, of course."
Marty snorts and rolls his eyes. "Ha-ha."
The rest of Marty's weekend, in his professional opinion, goes pretty well.
He eats a somewhat late lunch with his parents, they chat, and Marty tries not to think too hard about how they'd react to their son being an actual time traveller. His mind conjures up images of giddy excitement on his dad’s face and dawning horror on his mom’s.
His dad’s novel came in that morning. He says that old line again, about how you can do anything if you put your mind to it. While they discuss how many alterations and rounds of editing that had to be done until both he and the publishers were satisfied with the state of his new book, Marty thinks briefly of how sometimes his experiments with Doc can be a bit like that. Though, sometimes, they’re high stakes one-and-done tests, no second chances. Those ones are always the most stressful.
When his mother changes the topic to ask how his most recent history test went, Marty shoves the rest of the food in his mouth and stands, cheeks bulging like a squirrel’s, plate in hand. He gestures vaguely at his mouth in a non verbal proclamation of “can’t respond, mouth full!”. His parents share a look.
Egad! To his rescue, Jennifer arrives, and Marty McFly is a busy guy, things to do, places to be, and so he’s off before the real questioning can begin.
They each let out little sighs at his behaviour, half-fond half-exasperated, and let him leave. His mother gives him an embarrassing send-off as he leaves with Jennifer, the hug and kiss on his cheek uncomfortable for more reasons than simply being seventeen and above that (he really must never tell them about 1955).
That evening, Marty takes Jennifer up to the lake.
It goes just as planned. Marty manages to tell Jennifer about his week in 1955 under the guise of a hypothetical, and she gives some thought and real response to it while teasing him for having his father's imagination. The sky that night is clear and vast and a dark that mirrors the depths of the lake. The light pollution is next to nothing, and the Milky Way is just about visible, dusty wonders of space stretching out above them. Not that Marty's looking. He's too preoccupied with Jennifer; what good is the distant sight of stars compared to the boundless beauty beside him?
On their way home on Sunday, Needles nearly crashes into a Rolls Royce after challenging him to a race.
Which is funny, mostly because no one got hurt, but then Jennifer points out that had Marty gave in to Needles' derision, they would have actually crashed. That fact is a little disquieting, as he envisions the ensuing accident and possible injuries, because once upon a time he may have actually risen to the ridicule.
While it has never been personal- there's nothing wrong with being a chicken when being a chicken is the smart thing to do- it took a fair bit of learning to get to the point where he could say no, because he, like most anyone, didn't particularly enjoy being teased. But at the end of the day, it's not like he has anything to prove. Everyone knows McFlys are confident.
At home, later that evening, he’s still so love-drunk that he misses his glass when he goes to pour himself some water to go with dinner. Linda mocks him relentlessly for it, but he doesn’t care. Jennifer’s smile and laugh are etched into his mind, flashes of last night and earlier that morning still replaying like fragments of a dream, wispy, floaty scenes and emotions he desperately clings on to.
Dave waves a hand in front of his face. "Hellooo? Earth to Marty!"
Marty bats him away.
Everything is perfect.
Long after everyone on a reasonable sleep schedule has gone to bed, Marty receives a phone call that startles him from his slumber (though he claims to the man on the other end to have been awake and waiting for their agreed-upon time).
"So, we're testing out all of those new features?" Marty asks, heart beating a little faster. Hover conversions. This is going to be so rad.
"Correct," Doc replies, giving Marty a small smile, "hopefully, everything should be in working order. But it is always pertinent to test these modifications before their use becomes critical."
Sirens approach from behind, getting louder, as Doc pulls over to the side of the road.
"Also, what you said before about failure and learning and all that." Marty adds. The edges of Doc's lips quirk downwards, but he doesn't add anything further.
Three ambulances followed by four police cars zoom by, barrelling straight through the red light ahead of them. The ear-piercing whine of sirens bends with the doppler effect as they pass. Off in the distance, way down the road near the turn off for the mall, Marty can see more flashing lights, but it's too far away to make out what's going on. His mind unwittingly brings forth possible images that make him wince.
"Must be a crash or something." Marty says. Doc grips the steering wheel tighter as they pull away from the curb and back into the road, approaching the intersection the emergency vehicles just sped through.
"Perhaps." Doc mumbles, brow furrowing. He flips on the left indicator light. "We'll just... turn here. Go to these shops here.” he says, making an entirely illegal maneuver and turning from the wrong lane.
Marty thinks for half a second that “shops” is kind of a funny way to refer to the strip mall, but okay. It’s definitely shops.
He hopes whoever is involved in that crash is alright; a crash with that many emergency vehicles going to it is likely major. Car accidents suck for just how quickly things can go hurtling downwards from perfectly fine to terrible, with little warning and no do-overs.
Marty glances over at Doc, who seems a little off. That’s not unusual, though. He gets like this just before experiments, always lost in his head, going over the exact parameters of what they're about to attempt or test. He wonders if the different location is making it worse.
The strip mall itself is the same as it ever was, if a little sad looking with a few of its shops missing and relocated to the mall. It's a small bit strange being here so late, but its desertion is good for what Doc and he are going to do here. The less witnesses, the better.
"Hopefully, here is fine." Doc says, staring out at the lineup of storefronts. Marty hums in thought. Maybe this place is unfamiliar to Doc. Sometimes, it seems his friend's head is still stuck in the 50s, and doesn't always seem to keep up with the ever-changing local infrastructure.
"I mean, why wouldn't it be? Sure, parking lot's smaller than the mall's,” Marty shrugs, “but, hey, if something goes wrong, we can just put it down as human error! Anything to avoid going through whatever detour they're setting up down the road, right?"
"Yes, yes." Doc doesn't look at him as he stops the van. "Go get the DeLorean out?"
Marty nods and hops out, rushing to the back. When he opens it up, however, he encounters an immediate problem and runs around to the driver side window.
"Doc, the gull wing doors won't open in there! How the hell did you get it in there and get out?"
Doc grins and hands him the remote controller that he demonstrated just a few nights ago. Or a week ago. Both?
"Ohhhh..." Marty holds the remote in his hands, buttons and lights galore staring back up at him. "Woah..."
It… is not without a few close calls (and by close he means the DeLorean did in fact make contact a couple times) that Marty manages to steer the car out of the back of the van.
Doc appears behind him partway through the maneuvering of the car-turned-time-machine, hovering just over Marty’s shoulder, and Marty can almost feel the stress radiating off of him in waves every time he moves it too quickly, pushes too far on the control sticks, or has the car set in the wrong gear. It stalls once or twice. Still, Doc doesn’t say a word as Marty figures out the controls, never takes the remote out of his hands, doesn’t even reach for it as Marty repeatedly plows his poor beloved machine into the walls of his van.
By the end of it, there are a few new dents in the walls and a few new scratches on the DeLorean. It adds character.
“…Well done, Marty.” Doc congratulates once the DeLorean is finally out, moonlight gleaming off of the stainless steel and highlighting Marty’s new additions.
”You can tell me I sucked.” Marty says. “I did.”
”It was most certainly a valiant first attempt.” Doc says slowly. Marty laughs.
”Okay, okay, what’s first?” Marty asks.
”Diagnostics.” Doc says, opening the door to the DeLorean and moving to better access the dashboard.
Marty tries to position himself to see over Doc’s shoulder as he turns systems on and off, but a flash of light in one of the stores catches his eye.
Whipping his head up, he scans the storefronts. Some are vacant, having moved to the Lone Pine Mall. That said, some chain stores are still here but have better locations at the mall (the Dairy Queen here always messes up his order, the other one is much better). The Mervyn’s, which is right next to the Chess King, still hasn’t had its sign replaced from when someone stole it a few months back.
That was an impressive heist; one day it was there, the next morning- gone. Whoever did it was in and out fast and had the equipment needed to reach and remove the sign, and then whatever else was necessary to whisk it away, never to be seen again.
.
There!
Another flash, streaking downwards, seeming to come from within the Dairy Queen, a stark contrast to the dark insides of the stores and generally abandoned appearance of afterhours.
”Doc, there’s light coming from inside the DQ.” Marty says, not taking his eyes off the window, waiting for the light to flash again. Doc sticks his head up and to the side to see over the DeLorean.
”Where?”
”Well, not now, but there was!”
Doc lets out a ‘hrm’. “Well. Are you prepared to come face to face with whatever burglar may be breaking in?”
”It could just be a worker who forgot something.”
”You can go check, if you’d like. Always good to cover our bases.” Doc says, looking away and going back to fiddle with the car.
Marty stares a little longer at the Dairy Queen. Maybe it’s just a worker. Maybe it’s a thief.
The DeLorean makes a beeping sound and Marty hesitantly tears his gaze away from the store. It’s okay. He resolves to think about how to deal with any unwanted witnesses to their science experiment. How to explain what he and Doc are doing without actually explaining it. Or a backup plan for how to deal with a burglar. No one wants a repeat of what happened with the Libyans.
The DeLorean beeps again.
”What’s that?” Marty asks.
Doc is poking around in some wiring, a small panel peeled back to reveal the engineering beneath. A light labelled T. Circuits flashes once and turns off.
”That is that sensor for the time circuits that I told you about.” Doc replies, still messing with the wires. “It should detect if the time circuits have sustained damage enough to make time travel imprecise or dangerous to attempt, and signal such damage with a warning light.”
Across the whole dashboard is an array of new switches and buttons and flashing, blinking lights that draw Marty’s attention like jangling keys in front of a baby.
“If major enough damage is detected, then there is a mechanism within that will throttle the flux capacitor and limit the control panel to only select times within a minute forwards or backwards.”
Oh ho hoooo… Marty can see the steering wheel has also been modified in such a way that it looks like it could be pulled forwards and maybe moved around like a joystick or something. Maybe. That’s just his speculation but holy shit, that would be so cool if that was what it actually did.
”I’m aware this may seem inconvenient and possibly a risk to getting stuck in the wrong time, yet again, however I’ve deemed it necessary. To travel with the time circuits damaged would be gambling on when you even travel to, which could be disastrous. It could send you to any point in time. No calibration. No control.”
Good god, the gearstick’s had some major modifications too. It looks more like one of those overly complicated tractor gearsticks instead. Marty can see numbers that go up to 7. He can only imagine what kind of beautiful abomination the gearbox has been turned into. Is that for when the car is hovering? Or- flying?
“Marty, are you listening to me?”
”What?” Marty turns to look at him, sheepish. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Definitely.”
Doc raises an eyebrow.
“…As I was saying, we need to…”
Marty puts aside the irresistible allure of the “hover conversions” and actually listens. For the most part.
He is paying extra special attention every time Doc’s hands drift towards the switches.
But, no. He understands that you have to do the boring part of science before you do the fun bit.
So, they run through the rest of the diagnostics. And Marty, if a little begrudgingly, listens the whole time.
The sensor that detects if the time circuits are damaged- check. The power storage for energy enough for one extra trip in case the Mr. Fusion gets damaged- check. All eight of the new security features- check. Hover conversions-
Doc is just about finishing up on that when light in Marty’s periphery draws his focus once more.
Someone is definitely inside the Dairy Queen. A light within is fully on now, its soft yellow glow a beacon that betrays its occupancy.
As though it were beckoning them towards it, Doc and he both pull away from the DeLorean and stand poised to move towards the restaurant.
”Do we have a plan for if that’s a burglar or an employee?”
”Uh,” Marty stammers, “if it’s a break-in, then we run like hell. If it’s an employee, then we’re just concerned good samaritans who aren’t doing anything strange in the parking lot?”
Doc shrugs as if to say “good enough” and starts making his way towards the DQ. Marty jogs a second to catch up, walking alongside Doc when he finally does.
Every single one of those carefully thought out ideas that he had to deal with this person slips from his grasp as he tries to reach for them.
It feels a little impulsive as they walk over without a plan. It’ll work out, though.
.
They make it about three-quarters of the way across the parking lot before the DQ alights.
The resulting boom is a wave that nearly knocks Marty off his feet, so loud he can already hear the ringing that’ll result from standing so close to the explosion, and he clamps his hands over his ears as though they could retroactively save him from the deafening blast.
He screws his eyes shut as he backpedals a few feet and curls into a ball. He can feel the heat of the flames searing his skin even with a quarter of the parking lot’s distance between him and the DQ.
Marty spends a good few seconds in that position, his heart thumping in his chest and the ringing in his ears the only thing that persists as heat surrounds him.
Slowly, carefully, he peels his hands from his ears and peeks his eyes open. The DQ- or, what’s left of it- is fully on fire, a blazing pyre that seems almost in protest of the fast food chain’s newest menu item.
“Jesus Christ, Doc.” Marty says, stunned, as he stares at the dancing flames. He can barely hear his own voice, though the ringing is gradually receding. “Shit- do you think the person in there-“
Marty looks to his side, and his heart drops.
No.
”..Doc?”
Tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing.
Tell me this is some kind of sick joke.
Doc is on his knees, holding a hand to his stomach. Or, holding it there as much as he can with the massive piece of rebar in the way.
“It appears as though,” Doc says, a little meekly, “this experiment is over.”
Marty near stumbles as he moves to stand in front of him.
”No, no, Doc,” he insists, “I’ll call 911, we’ll get you help!”
”I’m afraid I don’t have long, Marty. I am losing far too much blood, even with this thing blocking up most of the wound.” Doc gestures vaguely to the rebar. “And, given the exact coordinates of my impaling, even if I survive to make it to the hospital, which is highly unlikely, I am likely to succumb to my internal injuries anyways. And then you take into account the factors of my age and general fitness…”
Marty just stares.
”No.” he shakes his head again. “Absolutely not. You’re going to be okay. We can- I can fix this! For Christ’s sake, we have a time machine, Doc!”
Doc gives him a small smile. There’s something a little off about it, more than just the bright red at the edges of his lips that Marty is trying to ignore. It feels like Doc is accepting this too easily.
"You must remember what I told you before. This is it, Marty. Everything you do will simply-" Doc takes in a short breath that sounds more like a rattle, coughing immediately after, "-lead back here."
Marty refuses to believe this is final. It can't be, not after everything. Didn't he save him the first time?
"There has to be a way- something I can do, come on, Doc!" Marty drops to his knees with him. "There has to be something."
"There isn't." Doc looks into his eyes and it frightens Marty how quickly they're dimming. Marty straightens up as his resolve hardens.
"I'm going to try, Doc. I saved you once. I'll change it. I promise.”
Shooting to his feet, he sprints back across the parking lot to the DeLorean, wasting no time as he shoves his thumb against the lock and throws the gull wing door upwards.
He’s in such a rush to get in that he hits his head on the upper edge of the car’s frame- which, ouch, but there’s no time for that so he ignores the new ache that makes its home alongside the now-faint ringing in his ears.
Marty inserts the key into the ignition the moment he’s in the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him. He grips the steering wheel hard to steady the shaking in his hands.
Okay. Okay. He'll just go back a small while, stop whatever caused the Dairy Queen to blow up in the first place. How hard could that be?
Ten minutes. Long enough ago that he shouldn't be in the building if it still goes up, but not too long because whatever the problem is needs to be at least starting. He can do this.
He saved Doc once. He'll do it again.
Ten minutes.
He comes to a stop a little too quickly, wheels skidding slightly and the seatbelt Marty just barely remembered to put on locking to keep him in his seat. He carefully parks just outside of the light produced by a streetlamp in the lot over from the strip mall, a smaller area designated exclusively for the RadioShack there.
He all but launches himself out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him and runs like a loon over the grass-covered partition between the lots, tripping in the dark.
The door at the back of the DQ, demarcated “employees only”, is unlocked.
That's... unusual, but it saves him having to pick the lock, so whatever. The door swings open with ease and Marty steps in.
As soon as he steps in, his nose wrinkles in disgust, a smell like rotten eggs hitting him full force. His eyes sting.
Gross, he thinks, what did they leave out?
He continues in, and as the door shuts behind him, he is plunged into complete darkness.
”Shit.” he says.
He did not think this through.
He didn’t think any of this through.
He’s in way over his head.
Stuck in the middle of a cross section, and somehow torn between all the time in the world yet not enough time at all.
Time is ticking. He has to keep pushing forwards.
He stumbles around until he finds a wall to use as a guide. Once he makes his way out into the main part of the restaurant, there are windows that let in light, allowing him to actually see.
From there, Marty checks just about anything he can find that is visible and could theoretically cause a fire- fryers, stoves, freezers.
That acrid smell is starting to make his head hurt.
There’s a delay to his thoughts, his mind frazzled by panic. After he checks each plug and switch and wire he has to check it again. He’s going too fast, and it’s slowing him down.
An unknown amount of time passes, and he thinks he really should have used a timer or a stopwatch. Or kept an eye on the time on his watch. Or anything that involved a second more of planning.
This place could blow at any moment.
It occurs to him that maybe he should dip out and use the DeLorean and think something out. But he’s here already, so instead he persists.
One door, labelled as the manager’s office, is locked. He moves on.
Down the hall from there, near where the bathrooms are, he finds a closet. And, fed up with the pitch blackness, he gives up on discreetness and feels around for a light switch.
There’s a bump on the wall and a crinkle of plastic like tape over the switch, but Marty’s in too much of a hurry to care. He struggles for a few seconds to push through the tape until it works, and in an instant he is doused with golden light.
Above the switch is a sign that reads: DO NOT TURN ON.
And, suddenly, he becomes accompanied in the silence by the signature crackling of faulty wiring.
Clarity hits as he realises what he’s just done.
He needs to leave.
Bolting out of the room and out of the building, the same way he came, he scrambles through the darkness once more until he’s out in the open, fresh, air.
Only one thought cuts through the buzzing rush of adrenaline, small and quiet and terrifying.
The light, the spark.
I did that.
Behind him, the DQ explodes.
Marty has a time machine. He has all the time in the world.
What he just did didn’t work well at all. He went in there with no plan. No idea what he was supposed to be doing. No way to achieve his goal.
He sits in the DeLorean, now 40 minutes before the DQ is set to explode, parked on the other side of the RadioShack.
He can’t do that again. That was so, unbelievably stupid. He has time to think about this, he doesn’t need to run around like a chicken with its head cut off.
At its simplest, his plan comes down to this: find the breaker box, shut off the electricity to the place, and boom- no boom.
Here we go again.
He took five minutes to figure out what he’s doing and how to do it. So he has 25 minutes to get in and fix everything and get out before his past self shows up.
Get in-
The door is locked.
He jiggles the handle harder as though that will magically make it open, or perhaps make the door remember that it’s supposed to be unlocked.
This door was unlocked when he went in it before (in the future?), he knows that.
He doesn’t have time to have a crisis over this. He gives the handle a last hopeful push before he pulls out the tools he had brought with him to break into the locked manager’s office and starts to pick the lock.
Thank goodness Dave was a little teenage delinquent and taught him how to do this before he became a perfectionist workaholic. Marty loathes the day he loses his teenage delinquency. He is not becoming a yuppie. He’s gonna be a rockstar, and he’s going to commit so many extremely minor crimes.
Starting with breaking into this DQ to save his best friend’s life.
It takes way longer than he would have liked it to- about five minutes he did not have to spare- but the door opens, and Marty wastes no time in entering and making his way towards the office, now with a flashlight in hand to illuminate the way. Something seems different this time around, something missing, but that’s probably just the fact that he can see.
As he goes back through the main restaurant area, he accidentally shines the flashlight right out the window. He turns it off immediately, but the damage is done. He takes a second to look outside.
His past self is looking up at the store, and Marty can see Doc and the DeLorean next to him.
He stands still, frozen.
Focus.
Marty turns the flashlight back on, illuminating the room again, and proceeds forwards.
The time on his watch says he has 18 minutes left when he finally gets to the manager’s office.
Luckily, it takes a bit less time to pick this lock, having done it before just a couple minutes prior.
The manager was not a particularly organised person, and this becomes clear as he rifles through their desk and file cabinet. There are paper stacks upon paper stacks. At some point, he knocks over a framed picture of a dog and only props it back up when the guilt gets to him.
Glance down at his watch. Ten minutes left.
And finally, though it’s coffee and grease and sauce stained, he finds the floor plan in the middle of a pile of typed complaints.
There is no breaker box or circuit panel on the floor plan.
He is sure of this because he studies it for a full two minutes. There is no breaker box.
He did not plan for this.
Calm down- take a deep breath, all is not yet lost.
Eight minutes to find the breaker box on his own.
While he hunts it down, he finds a boiler room and within it he comes across a water heater. At first, he ignores it, because this is surely the place where an electrical panel would be, right? But it’s not.
As he leaves, he spares the water heater a second glance- it’s old looking and rusted. And, upon a second further of inspection, appears to be gas powered.
God, he could hit himself- that’s what’s missing! The smell-
That was gas!
He surges forwards and shuts the valve on the heater. It creaks as he turns it, making incredibly unhealthy noises that indicate this valve is not often used. It tightens, falling into place with a scary sounding snap.
Alright, even if he doesn’t find the breaker, he’s just closed the gas off, so that should fix, well, everything.
Three more minutes.
He exits back out through the back entrance to look to see if the breaker box is outside the building.
While he’s searching, he hears the back door open. That’s his cue to vacate the area- Marty does not stick around to break Doc's golden rule.
Giving the building one last once-over for the breaker box, he makes his way towards the payphone with the intention to preemptively call in the gas leak.
Hopefully tightening the valve shut did the trick, but just in case it doesn't, emergency services have ten minutes to get here and change this.
He waits by the payphone for the full ten minutes, tracking the movements of both his previous selves.
Though he pushes the thought away, it keeps coming back into his head while he waits, that sickening crack as he closed off the gas valve replaying over and over.
…Was it me the whole time?
Did I cause the gas leak?
The DQ explodes.
Talking to past Doc probably won't destroy the universe, Marty figures.
He could try to prevent the DQ from blowing up again, but he’s a little disheartened from the previous two failed attempts.
That, and it’s just too many variables. No matter what he does there, it’s all too much out of his control. He can’t tell the DQ not to blow up. But he can tell Doc not to be there when it does.
So, here he is, early that afternoon, knocking on Doc’s door because it feels wrong to just enter as he always does when he’s already intruding on the wrong time.
Doc opens the door.
”Marty!” Doc exclaims, eyes wide. “I thought you and your girlfriend had your date today?”
”Ah, that was last night, Doc. And, uh.” Marty can’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m from the future.”
Doc’s eyes widen even further, somehow. He moves to the side to let Marty in, and Marty enters.
”What brings you to the past?” Doc asks, clearly apprehensive. Marty grimaces.
“Can we sit down?”
They do.
Marty tells Doc what happened- tonight, the tests will go perfectly fine and everything else will go horribly wrong.
”I tried to prevent the DQ from blowing, but that didn’t work, so, here I am… you just said not to meet myself, so talking to you should be fine, right?”
Doc winces. “Should be. Mostly because it’s all going to play out the same no matter what.”
Marty’s heart stutters. “What?”
”Everything that is going to happen has already happened, Marty. I thought we went through this?”
”But- you have no reason not to listen to me. I’m going to say it: whatever you do, do not go to the strip mall. Anywhere else. Go literally anywhere else. Not the strip mall."
"...Understood."
”And there is no way you were warned before. Because if you were, you wouldn’t have been there.”
Doc nods hesitantly, but does not argue.
”Seriously. No strip mall. If that is unclear in some way-“
”It’s clear, Marty. It’s clear.”
He squints. “Crystal?”
Doc just gives him a look, and asks him what exactly he did to prevent the explosion.
Marty tells him, and as he explains it, his frustration and fear and grief begin to leak into his words.
“Well, blindly running in there didn’t work, obviously. But I also tried planning it out, and it would have worked, but nothing went the way it was supposed to!” he throws his hands into the air at the end, emphasizing how upsetting this all is.
Doc takes a second to think, and Marty knows he’s about to comment on his questionable methods.
”You shouldn’t be so surprised. It is much like how planning a perfect experiment can ironically cause it to fail, because if you’re only planning for what goes right, then you aren’t planning for what can go wrong. Tests deviate. Life likes to throw a wrench into things.”
”Not everything is an experiment, Doc.” Marty mutters.
”My point stands regardless. Rushing things, not having a clear plan- you already know that doesn’t work well. But conversely, having a ‘perfect’ plan that does not account for natural variations will cause failure as well. And further causes include faulty equipment, plain human error…”
Human error.
Marty looks at Doc.
”You’re not gonna, like, ignore me and go to the strip mall anyways, right? You’re going to listen?”
”Considering it is in my interest to do so,” Doc replies, “I should think I would heed your warning. I am not exactly keen on dying.”
And, thus ends Marty’s intervention.
Doc pulls him in for a hug just before he leaves- which… is strange, Doc isn’t usually a hugger, normally it’s Marty who hugs him, but Marty will take it.
He thinks he understands it. The unspoken Just in case.
But, no, not just in case.
This is going to work.
It has to.
Returning to his own time, he drives from Doc’s back to the strip mall.
Seeing the smoke in the distance, he presses harder on the gas. Warning Doc should have worked. It should have.
Something in his gut is churning, though, and he needs to check. Just to make sure.
He turns into the RadioShack parking lot, once again, and as he approaches he sees-
He sees himself and Doc.
Nothing has changed.
Part of him is devastated, but another, smaller part whispers that he knew it.
His own voice- disorienting, and giving him awful déjà vu- gets louder as Marty gets closer, hiding just around the edge of the Mervyn’s (without the sign). The DQ blazes hot while he listens.
"I'm going to try, Doc. I saved you once. I'll change it. I promise."
As soon as his past self leaves, promising that which he may never deliver, Marty bolts around the corner and skids to a stop in front of Doc. There’s a pitying look on his face that Marty missed the first time around.
"I told you not to come here! Why would you come here?!" Marty cries out, damn near hysterical. Doc's eyebrows furrow, then relax.
"I fear there's been a predestined miscommunication, Marty. You told me not to go to the mall. I didn't."
"What? What?! No, I said don't go to the strip mall-" Marty repeats, frantic. "That's here!"
"This... is a mall?" the edges of Doc's mouth quirk upwards in the ghost of a smile. "I didn't know the difference."
"I'll go back and tell you the difference, then!"
He’s off again.
How many times has he done this, now? How does it keep circling back on itself?
…Is it all him?
No. No.
He has to keep going.
He’s not going to just let Doc die.
When, Doc, Marty thinks as his head rests against the steering wheel, have I ever referred to the Lone Pine Mall as a strip mall? That didn't raise a single eyebrow?
88 miles an hour is very fast, and it seems he chose the wrong stretch of road to do it on. It’s late at night, but there are still a lot of cars here.
All the time in the world at his fingertips, yet still not enough.
He appears suddenly and in a flash of light, and there is no time for anyone to react.
Horns blare as he slams on the brakes, immediately losing traction and control as the car spins out and-
Everything goes black.
.
Flashing lights paint the world red and blue.
When he comes to, someone's arms are around him and they're trying to carefully maneuver him out of the seat of the DeLorean. His head pounds and his whole body hurts rather non-specifically. He pushes the arms away.
"Sir, please stop moving, we're trying to help- you're hurt, sir-" Marty shoves harder and the guy- some paramedic- stumbles away and holds his hands up in a placating manner. "Sir, stay still. You could be aggravating your injuries. Please stop moving. You've been in a pretty bad car accident."
Marty, heart pounding and vision swimming, stares at the man as he heaves in breaths that come too short and too shallow. He takes in the scene behind the paramedic; a massive multiple car pile-up. He can count at least five other cars.
Many other people are being attended to, though, thankfully, everyone he sees carted off on a gurney at least seems alive. There are no body bags.
(Yet.)
On the ground, in the middle of the road a few feet from the paramedic, the Mr. Fusion lies, dented, and Marty realises with horror that the infinite time he had available to him has just been squandered entirely.
The DeLorean has power now for just one final trip.
There's no time for this. He steels himself, reaches up, and shuts the door. The paramedic realises what he's doing and starts towards him, panic evident on his face, but Marty is already starting the DeLorean and shifting into 1st gear, the poorly-optimized sports car stuttering a little as the revs shoot up near red and Marty floors it. The car-turned-time machine had started without issue, for once, even with the damage.
It was still too late.
As he drives, a little haphazardly, swerving from one side of the road to the other, he sees a kaleidoscope of orange and red and yellow through the cracked windshield.
"NO!" he screams, pushing harder on the acceleration. The shockwave rattles the car when it finally reaches him.
He rolls to a stop right before the turn off to the strip mall. He'd failed. Again. He looks down to the keypad and his hand hovers to punch in another, earlier date, and-
The date on the dashboard for Destination Time is flashing, exactly a minute before the time and date displayed for Present Time. The failsafe. Marty's heart drops into his stomach.
Time, ironically, seems to slow around him, the world falling silent except for his shallow breathing and the low rumble of the DeLorean's engine. The faint sound of sirens rings in the distance.
He drags his gaze over to the new gauge Doc installed, the little red light next to T. CIRCUITS blinking, its soft beeping tolling through the quiet like a death knell.
No more do-overs.
"Damn it," Marty breathes, the words coming out high-pitched and shaky. "Damn it!"
Because there is very little he can do with a minute back in time, he instead turns the car off and throws himself out the door, pain shooting up his legs the second he hits the ground running. He wobbles, knees nearly buckling, but manages to stay upright, and he jogs to a vantage point where he sees himself- and the different past versions of- leave and return to Doc.
As the last finally leaves, destined to go crash the car he just wrecked, Marty runs down the embankment onto the unforgiving asphalt of the parking lot and sprints through the pain, only slowing as he finally approaches Doc's form.
He walks forwards and drops down in front of Doc.
"Hey, Marty." Doc coughs again, and his voice has become light and raspy.
"Doc, I think I caused this." Marty blinks rapidly to keep the tears from spilling from his eyes. "How can that even be possible? Why would I have gone back to begin with?"
"You..." Doc murmurs, and he begins to slump before a surge of energy brings him to meet Marty's eyes one last time. "It's not your fault, future boy."
And then he's gone.
"Doc?"
Marty's question heeds no response.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the DeLorean just sitting there, useless. What the hell can he even do with a minute? Still, his gaze stays on it for a second too long.
It can’t be over.
Doctor Emmett L. Brown is dead.
Marty calls out one last time, a futile attempt to rouse his friend from his final sleep.
"Doc!"
He sways a little as he stares, trying to process, until the spell is abruptly broken by three sonic booms and a flash of white light.
Right there, standing in the parking lot, Marty meets his own familiar blue eyes.