#bttf doctober 2024

[bttfdoctober]

Welcome to the third installment of the BttF fandom's Doctober event! This is a Doc Brown-themed prompt list, but the challenge is open to any and all BttF characters, timelines, AUs, OCs, what have you. Consider it an autumn-flavored McFly July. :)

Rules/ FAQ!

Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings.

You can make whatever you want: art, fic, edits, videos, animations, color palettes, mood boards, pictures of things that loosely remind you of BttF, etc.

You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want!

You can mix and match prompts from different days!

AGAIN: just because the prompts are Doc-themed doesn't mean all your creations have to solely focus on him! Write about George and Lorraine! Draw a picture of Lester (Wallet Guy)! I saw the guy that sold Doc his fire insurance in the DeLorean Manual was named Herbert E. King — write about that dude! So long as it's BttF, you're good!

Don't forget to tag @bttfdoctober so I can reblog your awesome here! I'll check the hashtags, but tagging the blog is the easiest way to make sure I can see and repost your work. Have fun!

[bg-sparrow]

Welcome to the third installment of the BttF fandom's Doctober event! This is a Doc Brown-themed prompt list, but the challenge is open to any and all BttF characters, timelines, AUs, OCs, what have you. Consider it an autumn-flavored McFly July. :)

Rules/ FAQ!

Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings.

You can make whatever you want: art, fic, edits, videos, animations, color palettes, mood boards, pictures of things that loosely remind you of BttF, etc.

You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want!

You can mix and match prompts from different days!

AGAIN: just because the prompts are Doc-themed doesn't mean all your creations have to solely focus on him! Write about George and Lorraine! Draw a picture of Lester (Wallet Guy)! I saw the guy that sold Doc his fire insurance in the DeLorean Manual was named Herbert E. King — write about that dude! So long as it's BttF, you're good!

Don't forget to tag @bttfdoctober so I can reblog your awesome here! I'll check the hashtags, but tagging the blog is the easiest way to make sure I can see and repost your work. Have fun!

[aceofthyme]

And we're starting off strong with day one! I'm excited to give Doctober a go this year, seeing as I'm active once again and (mostly) well enough to write. Pleased as punch to finally be posting some of my BTTF content!

@bttfdoctober

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 3 / 31 * STORM 」

July 16, 1945

Were he a religious man, one who caved to unforeseen hands meddling about in human affairs or one who believed in the existence of a higher power, he might have taken this storm as a warning. A final message from on high as the heavens tear themselves asunder, lashing out in a show of–until now–immeasurable power meant to keep humanity from grasping at things their fingers could never truly hold on to.

You are meddling in affairs you cannot hope to contend with. You seek to open Pandora’s Box, and once you do, you will flounder under the weight of the horrors you have unleashed upon the world. 

And We will not be there to round them up for you.

Perhaps even Nature fears the world that will be forged from ash and flame should the test be successful.

A great dragon of pure energy snakes across the sky, leaping from cloud to cloud in the span of a blink, leaving only a blinding purple trail as evidence of its presence. Then, it roars, rattling the earth and the sky and Emmett can feel it rattling every single last one of his jumpy nerves. 

Conversation flits about the room around him, a half-hushed symphony of overlapping thoughts, fears, and hopes, and Emmett misses most of it until somebody else brings up the storm, immediately catching his attention. He whirls around, turning his back as another flash of lightning splits the clouds.

“It’ll start raining within the hour,” a voice behind him says. “It’s practically upon us. Of all the days—”

“You heard what Hubbard said. By morning—”

“And if he’s wrong and the blast goes off? There’s a chance we get caught up in a radioactive downpour carried here by the wind.”

Despite their put-together appearances and their attempts at light humour, a collective cloud of restlessness and unease hangs in the air, thick enough to take a knife to. It strangles the team, coats their every word in a layer of doubt that would be tantamount to treason should they admit what’s really on their mind and drums up the undercurrent of fear that Emmett has been unable to shake for the past two days. 

He was so certain of himself only a few days ago. The picture of confidence.

Now, he feels like a stranger in his own skin, being forced on the slow death march to the tower where he will await sentencing. His executioner looms overhead, dangling, indifferent to 

If this fails… Then what was this all for? We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?

If this succeeds—

“The question we should be asking ourselves right now isn’t will the test happen? It will. I have faith in this.” Oppenheimer quirks a brow, pausing halfway through rolling up another cigarette as Teller continues, “The question we should be asking is how big will the blast be?”

With a smile, Teller makes a show of digging through his pocket and slaps a slightly wrinkled dollar bill down on the table. “I, for one, predict a hell of an explosion. Forty-five thousand tons’ worth of TNT.”

He looks around, meeting the eyes of his fellow scientists as if to say, place your bets, gentlemen, and Emmett is stunned by the almost physical change this one simple action appears to have on the room. He may not be able to quiet the incessant stream of what-ifs and possibilities racing through his mind until he sees the results of the last few years of their hard work for himself, but he finds himself easing the tension in his shoulders. 

It only takes a moment for Oppenheimer to latch on to this lifeline being thrown out and though he attempts to make no real show of fishing out a dollar from his pocket, all eyes are glued to the man in anticipation.

“Three thousand tons.” He states his wager with all the calculated thoughtfulness he’s known for and places his dollar atop Teller’s, forming a cross with the two bills.

“Three thousand! Do you have so little faith?”

Oppenheimer half-shrugs, looking at the two dollars on the table. “I’d rather not jinx it.”

Somebody snorts and Emmett finds himself the centre of attention as his name is offered up next. 

“What about you, Emmett? You’ve been up close and personal with the stuff. What’s your prediction?” Emmett pauses, giving the wager the consideration it was due. To aim too low would be to admit his reservations, his fears that deep in the back of his mind, this test would prove that even they could not achieve the impossible. The war would rage on, the gadget would not detonate, and all of the long days and longer nights that pushed him and the others to their limits would have been for nothing. 

They could not be wrong, not now. No matter what it meant.

And if that means…

“Thirty thousand,” Emmett declares far more confidently than he feels, angling his dollar ever-so-slightly as he covers Oppenheimer’s. 

Someone claps him on the shoulder and Emmett barely has the chance to step back before the next bet of “Twenty thousand!” rings out, eliciting another round of smiles from the previously tense scientists. 

The conversation kicks up as several more bets are added to the pool, thinning the cloud hanging in the room a little more, and Emmett finds himself swept into heated debates, the horizon momentarily forgotten.

[fourth-dimensional-thinker]

Day 1 of Doctober -> Red-Letter Date

@bttfdoctober

[arumidden]

It’s the final day of McFly July! Today is the two Pepsi Free writes. I did one angsty one and one happy one, to end on a high note.

I’m sad the month is over! I’ve had so much fun! Happy McFly July, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. I’ve absolutely adored being immersed in this franchise for an entire month.

I’m gonna try and keep up my new habit of writing at least once every day and get back to work on my other BTTF fic, Time is Just a Place. Wish me luck!

[non-euclidian-nightmare]

Alright, I've put the first two chapters of Doctober up on AO3 so if any of you are interested, feel free to check 'em out!

They'll all be first uploaded to tumblr but hey. People have their preferences. Feel free to check 'em/me out! Or don't—I'm not your dad.

[mythical-bookworm]

Title: Aches and Care Fandom: Back to the Future Rating: G Summary: Marty has some recovering to do during his second stay in 1955. Word Count: 1,109

For: @bttfdoctober (Doctober 2024) Day 7: Tylenol

[daryfromthefuture]

bttf fanfiction masterpost

decided to put all of my fanfics together in one post for easier access-

multichapter fanfics

Until I Get Home, stuck in 1885 AU

We Do Need Roads (WIP!), road trip fic

Fourteen Scraps of Paper (on hiatus for now), filler fic from the years 1955-1985

Trinity trilogy (stuck in the 40s AU)

Most People Were Silent

A Few People Cried (WIP!)

A Few People Laughed (yet to be posted)

oneshots (a selection)

Spray paint, glass and us (my first oneshot on ao3 :,) ) (my english is so bad in that one good lord)

Double Visions (post bttf the game hurt/comfort)

He Didn't Start The Fire (prequel fic abt doc and marty's early friendship days)

The Weight Of Us ("crossover" with "Oppenheimer" (2023))

Flight Of Fancy (doc character study)

challenges

(disclaimer: most of them are incomplete because i lost motivation lol)

Summer Of Whump 2021

Summer Of Whump 2022

Friendship February 2023

June Of Doom 2023

Sicktember 2023

Doctober 2023

JanAUry 2024

collabs and roleplays

Friends Through Time(lines) with @alex-a-fans @bg-sparrow, ,@fiddlstyx, @jayisnotdrawing, @nemmet and @emmkittycat (i wrote the adopted marty chapter)

Stuck Through Time(lines) with @bg-sparrow, @fiddlstyx, @gxlden-switchblade, @nemmet, @bri-to-the-future, @pine-killer55 and @whosmurphy (i wrote the 1940s chapter)

Lean On Me (When You're Not Strong) with @bg-sparrow (stuck in 1885 sickfic)

Place In The World with @jayisnotdrawing (adoption au angst fic)

I'll Be There For You (Like I've Been There Before) with @bg-sparrow (stuck in 1885 au but marty objects at the wedding)

The Atom, The Scientist, And You with @bri-to-the-future (manhattan project lore)

I'm Only Me When I'm With You with @bg-sparrow (1955 sickfic)

this list will be updated as i write more :]

[aceofthyme]

I posted these but never got around to posting it here due to the holidays! I’ve got four through six on the up and up, I just have to finish editing them as I wasn’t able to before the holidays started. That being said, I’m hoping I’ll have them posted by end of day tomorrow at the latest!

@bttfdoctober

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 1 / 31 * RED-LETTER DATE 」

“Hey Doc? I wanna ask you something.” 

Emmett doesn’t pop his head through the doorway to acknowledge his friend, too focused on topping off one of the mugs of hot chocolate with a generous helping of marshmallows, but he does shout, “Of course, Marty,” into the air. “You know you don’t have to ask. Let me bring Verne his cup and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

Marty makes a vague noise that many years of friendship has taught Emmett means sure thing, Doc, and it takes him barely three minutes to drop off the hot chocolate to Verne, who smiled like it was Christmas morning when he saw the mountain of marshmallows floating at the top, and join Marty in the living room, carrying the tray with their own drinks. He passes one of them off to Marty who accepts with a smile and a nod and then takes a seat opposite him, fixing him with an expectant look.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Marty’s eyes immediately drift to the shelf, where Emmett and Clara’s small assortment of family photos sit, arranged in elegant wooden frames. In the centre is a black and white photo that has started to yellow around the edges, looking paradoxically fragile and yet able to withstand even the most rigorous tests of time, holding onto that frozen memory for all eternity. Emmett turns his head to follow Marty’s attention, his eyes alighting on the single photo he expects will be the topic of their conversation.

Ah. Out of all of them, there is only one Marty was never able to be present for.

For once, Emmett manages to look perfectly natural in a photograph, even dressed to the nines in a sharp suit. His smile stretches from ear-to-ear, making him look at least ten years younger, and though his face is angled away from the camera, his eyes are bright and alive, brimming with love and warmth. Marty could even imagine the photographer trying to get Emmett’s attention, demanding he look at him for the photo, only for every single word to go in one ear and straight out the other when Clara was standing beside him, smiling, the picture of radiance as she regards her husband with the same fond warmth. Her wedding dress was no more intricate than any of the outfits Marty had seen her wear during his few days in the Nineteenth Century, yet it seemed to be made for her and her alone, perfectly tailored and somehow able to put even the outfits of royalty to shame.

If Clara was the sun, Emmett was the moon that revolved around her. In that single moment, forever frozen in time, they were the only two people on Earth. 

“I had been wanting to ask for a while, but–”

“No, no, of course. You didn’t get the chance to see it, and I’m sorry for that, so I’d be happy to fill you in on the details.”

Marty curls his fingers around the warm mug, shuffling somewhat in his seat, and Emmett waits patiently, noting each one of Marty’s nervous habits as they arise. There are a hundred and one things Marty wants to say, Emmett can see them written across his body, written into every small movement, and, equal and opposite, there are a thousand things Emmett wants to say in return, things he makes an effort to hold back until Marty speaks first.

“I’m happy for you two, Doc–really, I am. Clara’s–well, Clara’s amazing. And I’ve never seen you so happy before. I was afraid that–” Marty shakes his head, his eyes focused on the photographs. “When I first saw the picture, I was…” He forces a laugh, but there’s no humour in it and Emmett would know that self-depreciatory tone anywhere. 

“It’s stupid, I know. I didn’t realise it at first, but I was jealous. Can you believe that, Doc? My best friend is happy, he’s got a family for Christ’s sake, and I was too busy at first being afraid that now you’re–you’re just gonna forget me because you’ve got Clara and the boys and the house and there wouldn’t be a place for me.”

Emmett’s eyes widen despite knowing the blow was coming and before he can open his mouth, allow the words that have been building up on his tongue to break free, Marty shakes his head and continues, reinforcing the wall and keeping the words at bay just a little longer.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Doc. I already said I know it’s stupid but I couldn’t help feeling that way. And I should have asked you about your wedding and everything a lot longer ago but I-I just couldn’t. And that’s fucking stupid, right? I want to know because I couldn’t be there for you and you’ve always been there for me.”

Marty’s words are a blade driven straight through his chest, each word twisting that razor-sharp blade a little more. He can’t help the pang of guilt he feels echoing in his ribcage, scraping against the bars of a prison he will not allow it to escape from, not now. This conversation was a long time coming–he’d almost expected it sooner rather than later, but he knew better than to push, knowing Marty would open up when he was ready–but no amount of anticipation could have prepared him for the blow that hearing it put to words would strike.

The Time Machine’s destruction had not been an accident. Everything had been carefully orchestrated to prevent any further corruption of the timestream, to spare himself the temptation–the broken heart–of trying to go back against all rational, scientific thought.

Ultimately, Marty couldn’t stay in the Nineteenth Century, not if he wanted to live a normal life, not if he wanted to be happy. And he couldn’t allow Marty to become another unsolved disappearance, leaving the McFlys to wonder and agonise over their youngest son who vanished from the face of the Earth without a trace.

Emmett may not have planned to stay, but even he couldn’t predict Clara’s intervention. 

Life had to go on, even under extreme or difficult circumstances. There was only one choice available, then.

Still, Emmett doesn’t hesitate.

“Marty, I could never forget you. Whether we’re in the same time period or separated across the timestream, you will always be my best friend. And I will never stop caring about you. I know things have been busy lately, both for you and for me, what with your college courses and the boys’ schooling and Clara’s acclimation to the Twentieth Century and making the necessary repairs on the house–” Emmett stops himself before he runs off the entire list of seemingly infinitely-growing projects on his list. 

“The point is, nothing is going to change that. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel neglected or unwanted at any point, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Marty nods, finally pulling his eyes away from the photo to take a good long look at his best friend. 

“I know, Doc. God, I know. You must think I’m an asshole.” 

“You’re not an asshole. Far from it.”

Marty actually smiles at that, swirling his hot chocolate carefully in the cup. “So… You’ll still tell me about your wedding day?”

“Of course I will, Marty.” Emmett pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression working its way over his face. Then, he smiles, almost conspiratorially as he recalls something of particular note. “The minister certainly wasn’t pleased when we changed until death do us part to something a little more fitting–until the end of time—”

@bttfdoctober

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 7 / 31 * TYLENOL 」

November 10, 1888

When the papers Emmett has been staring at for the last several minutes begin to split themselves in two by their own accord, he blinks, dropping his head into his hands with a weary sigh. The ache blossoming behind his eyes has already started to spread to his temples, making any kind of higher thought a challenge, never mind focusing on the words he’d already put down on the page. 

Despite already cracking the secret of time-travel, replicating that success with less-than-favourable components of the Nineteenth Century was proving to be just as challenging–if not more so–as the first time. 

Only this time, he didn’t have the luxury of time and a family fortune to squander. It wasn’t safe for himself or his family to remain here indefinitely, not with every single day altering the timeline in infinite and unknown ways, and with 1908 rapidly approaching and the arrival of his family in California, Emmett could feel the rope tightening around his neck little-by-little every passing day.

The chances of meddling in his own family’s history, even inadvertently, was far too great and those consequences would be catastrophic. Should he do something to prevent his own conception—

No, he would have it figured out by then.

But how?

The train was the only reliable vehicle capable of reaching speeds of eighty-eight miles an hour when pushed to the limit, however designing the steam powered engine capable of withstanding the strain and producing the relevant output was almost as daunting as considering the modifications the train itself would need to avoid tearing itself to shreds.

Emmett presses his fingers to his temples and massages small circles in hopes of chasing away the pesky headache. 

“Are you feeling alright, dear?” Clara asks when he groans, looking up from the second shirt of Jules’ she has had to mend just this week.

“I’m fine, Clara. Just a headache.”

“Let me check. There’s that nasty bug that’s been going around the school. Three of my kids have been out the past few days and while I don’t think I’ve brought it home, better safe than sorry.”

Clara sets her sewing equipment down and joins her husband at the table, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. Emmett doesn’t squirm, though he can’t help the way he feels slightly ridiculous now that the tables have been turned on him. How many times had he done this for Marty or Jules over the years?

He didn’t mind the concern, but after so many years of relying on himself, he wasn’t used to having someone willing to do that for him.

“No, you don’t feel warm.” She pulls her hand away and glances down at Emmett’s Time Machine blueprints strewn out over the table, clicking her tongue softly.

“I told you, it’s just a headache.” Once Clara’s hand is free of his forehead, he resumes the motions, attempting to rub the pain away. What he wouldn’t give for the cabinet back in his lab in the Twentieth Century, stocked with the latest developments in modern medicine.

He’d always made sure to keep the lab well-stocked for the occasional mishap and Marty’s unfortunate run-ins with the local hooligans. 

But with the discovery of aspirin still eleven years away, there was little to be done for quick pain relief without attempting to synthesise it himself. 

 “I’ve hit a wall. If I can only—” 

“Why don’t you put that down for the night and we’ll sit down with it again in the morning? It’s late, Emmett, and don’t give me that look. If you overwork yourself by stressing over this, you will make yourself sick and then what good will that do?”

Emmett thinks twice before speaking, torn between pursuing the thought as far as his pounding mind and double-vision will allow and acquiescing to his wife’s demand, which time and experience had taught him was not a question despite its deceptive phrasing.

She's right, and trying to force himself to continue when it's clear he could use the rest would likely result in him making some easily avoidable mistakes.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 6 / 31 * PROFESSOR 」

1942

He barely got the chance to make himself a cup of coffee before he was swarmed by his colleagues, all hungry for even a snippet of information that had to do with the newest rumour making its way around the campus grounds. Even those of his fellow professors who thought him damaged goods, an obsessive nutcase with more than a few screws loose, turned up at his doorstep, their intentions written clean across their faces.

Emmett had managed to shoo most of them away with a few frantic flicks of his wrist, save for Dr. Warren, an elder professor in his mid-thirties with dark brown hair streaked with a few strands of grey. Dr. Warren had actually liked him or at the very least tolerated him–some days Emmett wasn’t sure which it was–and his passionate ramblings without jumping to the near immediate conclusion of many of the other faculty that, despite his impressive academic career on paper, he was teetering along the edge of insanity. 

For what it was worth, Emmett rather liked the older man too, impressed by his clever sense of wit and more than a few of his papers he’d published over the years.

“We heard through the grapevine that a certain somebody visited you yesterday,” Dr. Warren says, his bright green eyes twinkling as he lifts his own mug of coffee to his lips.

“The grapevine? A certain somebody?” Emmett quirks a brow, trying to keep the big secret from writing itself across his face by following suit. He grimaces the moment the scalding coffee burns his tongue and Dr. Warren smirks, catching his younger colleague red-handed. 

“Don’t play coy, Emmett. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“So what if he was here? He’s associated with Caltech all the same; he’s still a professor here, even if he only stays for a single term. Him stopping by the campus isn’t unheard of.”

Dr. Warren stares long and hard at him. “It is when it isn’t his term and where he’s supposed to be is almost four hundred miles away. If you’re going to try and lie, at least do better.”

“Who told you?”

“Anderson.”

Emmett blinks. “Anderson? How’d he know?”

“Right place, right time, apparently. I caught up with Anderson for lunch and he shared that Oppenheimer had come, asking about you. I thought it was going to be about—”

Emmett clears his throat aggressively and waves his hand. “That was one time and it was an accident, you know that. It was repaired.”  

“Right. Anyway, that wasn’t it. He just asked where he could find you, said he had something he wanted to talk to you about, then left.” 

Well, that confirmed his suspicions regarding the undue attention he’d suddenly been given this morning. 

“So Anderson told the rest of the physics department, is that it?” 

Dr. Warren shrugs as Emmett huffs into his coffee. “That, or they caught a glimpse of him themselves. And with that large soldier following him around, there are only a few realistic guesses as to why he could be looking for you.” 

He starts counting the reasons off with his fingers. One. “Either you’ve been suspected of treason and they’re here to investigate you, or”—two—“it has something to do with that big project they’ve been keeping under wraps. Don’t give me that look. You know the one; you’ve been talking about it since word first got out about it.”

“Show me one of our colleagues that hasn’t been talking about it! I’m not saying the research we’ve all been doing for the war effort isn’t important, but comparatively—” 

“It’s not top-secret military-backed research,” Warren finishes, throwing a knowing look Emmett’s way. “So he asked you to be part of it.”

Emmett nods enthusiastically. “Oppenheimer made me an offer probably knowing I’d accept. But I won’t know for certain whether or not I’ve been approved for a few weeks. Background checks, investigations—they aren’t leaving anything to chance.”  

“Any skeletons in your closet you’re afraid they’ll dig up?”

“No. I have nothing to hide. If there’s something they want to find, they’ll find it, and there will be nothing I can do about that.” That would be a worst-case scenario; a devastating blow when he’s so close he can practically grasp it in his hands. “It’s the being stuck in limbo while they dig through my records that will be unbearable. How am I supposed to focus on anything else knowing what’s on the horizon?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Did you tell your students?”

“If you’ve all heard the news, I suspect word has already reached my students.” Emmett checks his wristwatch and pulls his lips into a thin line. “But I suppose I’ll find out for sure in twelve minutes.”

“And don’t forget to talk to Millikan!” Dr. Warren shouts after Emmett’s retreating form.

“I won’t. But I have a sneaking suspicion that if Anderson knew, Millikan was already well-aware of this visit.”

After all, Emmett wasn’t the first scientist to be poached from the university–several of his colleagues had already put in for their temporary leave, had their classes scheduled to be dissolved and their students merged into other courses of their choosing. 

As he walks down the corridor to the lecture hall, sipping on his coffee, Emmett already begins to imagine the conversation he’ll have to have with Robert Millikan and the knowing, unsurprised expression he expects to find on his face when he walks through the door to his office.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 11 / 31 * IT WORKS 」

22:06

November 12, 1955

Three blinding flashes of light.

Three earth-shaking tremors that shake him to his very core. 

Three sonic booms that lash out so fiercely, they pierce through the fabric of space and time.

Instinct tells him to raise his hand and shield his eyes from what he’s about to witness. This knowledge will blind you—you have already seen too much, you should not see this too. Awe, responsibility, and scientific curiosity stay that hand—I must make sure Marty makes it back to his own time—and keep his attention focused on the road as the temporal displacement occurs. 

It all happens in the span of a single one of Emmett's frantic heartbeats and when everything is finally over, when an eerie, artificial silence settles into the empty spaces around him, he isn't entirely sure what's happening.

Doubt burrows its way into his mind, carried on the long shadows cast by the brilliant burst of light. Something has gone wrong, the connecting hook wasn’t properly attached to the Flux Capacitor and the power overloaded the Time Vehicle’s delicate and complex circuitry, and Marty—

As he rises to his feet, slightly unsteady, Emmett blinks the spots from his vision and looks around for any sign that his worst fears have been made reality.

There's nothing there.

There’s nothing and Emmett has never been so grateful for that in his life. No crash, no great ball of fire–however, interestingly, the Time Vehicle did leave thin fire trails during displacement that were rapidly dying out–and, most importantly, no Marty. 

Emmett lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding to the relief of his burning lungs.

The Time Machine and Marty are back where they belong and, for the moment, Emmett allows himself to get lost in the excitement of a successful experiment and ignore the now-surfacing thoughts born of its conclusion and a mind coming down off the adrenaline, laser-focused on one singular thought.

No, there will be time for that later. Thirty years' worth of time.

A wide grin splits his face and he can’t find himself to care if it makes him look certifiably insane as he races down the street in Marty’s temporal shadow, shouting his enthusiasm to the sky. 

On the wire, the connecting hook holds strong, waving its goodbyes to a spectre.

Everything had been fine.

Everything will be fine; he’ll see to that, whatever it takes.

See you in the future, kid.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 8 / 31 * SILVER MINE 」

October 3, 1885

Despite Emmett’s already thorough and lengthy explanation of temporal mechanics, Clara had only begun to get a handle on the concept of fourth-dimensional thinking. It was one thing to consider herself fairly open and scientifically minded, even towards the more fantastical elements of science that Jules Verne had begun lovingly breathing life into. It was another to be suddenly and wholly immersed in this new world of infinite possibilities, trying to curl terribly mortal fingers around the shimmering threads of the world that belonged somewhere in the realm of gods.

It was hard to deny it when irrefutable proof positive had ripped through the fabric of time and space right before her very eyes, carrying Mr. Eastwood to the future–the honest-to-goodness future–and left the two of them behind with a parting gale and that delightful flying board that seemed more magic than science at the moment.

So when Emmett asked if she’d like to see the invention that was responsible for everything, the one not lying in a heap of destroyed, near unrecognisable parts in the stable, she responded with the most enthusiastic, unladylike yes of her life. 

This device was his legacy, the reason he was still alive–with Mr. Eastwood’s intervention, a fact that no amount of thanks would ever be enough to convey her deep gratitude–and Clara couldn’t help but feel giddy knowing she would be made privy to one of the most incredible inventions of her lifetime–arguably–and perhaps of all time.

They had left early that morning, saddling up Newton and Archimedes after a quick breakfast to avoid any prying eyes who might wonder where the two were heading off to alone at such an hour.

“So this is the Time Machine?” Clara asks, accepting Emmett’s proffered hand as they step over the last of the fallen rocks barring the entryway to where the Time Machine was safely hidden away. 

It’s impossible to make out any of its fantastical futuristic components while it slumbers beneath the tarp, waiting for the moment it will be unearthed once again, but Emmett had wrapped it up with such care and precision that she can still make out its unfamiliar–and admittedly strange–shape. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t managed a proper look at the Time Machine, though she can recall its silver body streaked with sunlight and that unique way the doors of the vehicle opened up instead of out, reminding her of a bird poised to take flight. 

To fly the time-traveller away to distant lands—

“The one that Mister Ea—Marty used to come back here and save your life.”

“The very same. Only without some of the modifications that were necessary to make it functional again.”

“And it has to stay buried here until…1955, was it? Where Marty will retrieve it after he receives that letter you sent him in which you told him how to fix your Time Machine and to go home.” 

“Which you and I both now know he ignores despite my insistence,” Emmett says, half-smirking.

“Which I should say is for the best! I shudder to think of what would have happened had he not come back when he did.”

“I wouldn’t be here now for us to be having this conversation,” he says calmly despite the morbid topic of his own mortality, and a vision of Tannen flashes in her mind, his eyes crazed, the barrel of that gun pointed right at Emmett—

“I’m not upset with him, of course. It was nice to see him again, to know he was okay, even if I had to send him back alone. He saved my life again and I owe him more for that than I think he knows.”

Clara nods, approaching the Time Machine with a raised hand. Before she reaches out to touch it, she remembers herself and Emmett’s lessons on fourth-dimensional travel and looks to him for permission, lest she accidentally damage the machine somehow and cause one of those paradoxes capable of unravelling the universe.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 5 / 31 * SHELTER」

October, 1949

Despite his relative youth, there are nights when Emmett’s body aches down to the very depths of his soul, laden with a weight that threatens to drag him down into the deepest abyss. Sometimes, when he sinks, he can see the faint outline of something monstrous lurking down there, something that regards him with hungry, covetous eyes and murmurs words dripping with poison. 

Guilt. The monster that has been following him for the past several years is guilt. 

It helps to put a name to it. 

He falls less often now that he has somewhat steady, engaging work to devote himself to during the day. 

But sometimes there are evenings where he cannot outrun it when comes seeking him out. His notebooks sit untouched despite the eternally wound clockwork gears that keep his mind constantly working, his own personal projects lie in various states of completion around his place, and even his saxophone, whose songs do wonders for driving back these episodes, hangs in the usual spot, barely offered a glance. 

So Emmett distracts himself with the paper, seeking an escape in the more mundane.

One thing in particular catches his attention—a small, easily overlooked ad situated off in the corner of the page, promoting the local adoption centre. 

Open your home to your new best friend. 

A dog—he had always wanted one ever since he was young, however no matter how he begged and pleaded Father, going so far as to utilise the logical arguments he loved so as a judge, his father refused, saying pets were unsanitary and a nuisance and that they had no need of them. 

The horses were investments, not pets. 

One day, he'd told himself then, stuffing back his heartbreak and anger towards his father. 

Now he had his own means, his own small place after his return to the world outside of military walls and deadlines, and perhaps a dog would be the perfect addition to his family of one. 

His comrades in work had been sporadic friends at best, with casual correspondence exchanged over the years, however he'd been feeling the pangs of loneliness dig burrow deeper and deeper over the years, hollowing out his bones to make a permanent home from which it may never fully be removed. 

Who better to understand than a dog, abandoned, also desperately hoping for shared companionship? 

Emmett tears the ad out of the paper, leaving it on the table as a reminder for himself in the morning. 

—

On the outside, the shelter is nothing special. Just like the ad in the paper, the animal rescue centre is a fairly small, unassuming building, easy to overlook despite the large sign and equally large bright lettering meant to attract attention. 

Emmett wastes only a moment looking at the building before stepping inside, his presence announced by the chime of a bell. Within moments, an older woman with long auburn hair streaked through with grey greets him with a kind smile that creases the edges of her dark eyes.  

“Can I help you?” She asks, looking over Emmett expectantly, and Emmett can't help but feel as if she is looking right through him with those attentive eyes of hers. 

“I saw the ad for your shelter in the paper and I'd like to adopt a dog.”

She nods, as if expecting that very answer, and beckons him inside with a flourish of her hand. “I'm glad you saw that ad–I was afraid it would get skipped over, but that was all I could afford to get the name out in the paper. Oh, where are my manners–my name is Elsie Meyer, I've been working in this shelter for the past ten years or so now.”

“Emmett Brown,” he offers in return. 

“Have you ever had a pet before, Mister Brown? Adopted?” 

Excited by the new presence, the shelter bursts to life, alive with the sound of soft thuds and tapping nails and a terribly unpracticed chorus of barks and yips and other noises. 

“Ah, no. I've always been partial to dogs but getting one was never in the cards. But now I find myself with more free time and a job that would let me spend plenty of time with a dog. I've come to realise”–he pauses, considering his words–“well, I think it's finally time.”

“I understand.” She neither pries nor pushes and the tone of her voice makes Emmett believe that, truly, she just might. 

“What is it you do, Mister Brown?” 

“I'm…a scientist. Currently, I've been working as a repairman. Improving on appliances and electronics, making repairs, that sort of work.” The perfect blend of his existing skills with his hobbies that allows him the freedom to make his own schedule. 

Mrs. Meyer nods. “I have a couple dogs I think might be a perfect match that I'd like to show you, but you're welcome to meet any of the dogs here. Do you have a preference for size?”

Emmett shakes his head. “No. I'd been hoping to find an intelligent dog that may be able to assist me with some of my work, but the size doesn't matter.”

“Age?” 

In the kennel to his left, two of the dogs, one speckled and one white with three large brown spots, play tug-of-war with their blanket, and Emmett chuckles at their enthusiasm. 

“I wouldn't mind a younger dog. I know training can be quite daunting but I'd be willing to put in the effort.”

They pass a few more kennels, Emmett pausing momentarily to look at each and every one. One in particular catches his attention and he lingers longer here than at any of the others. There are four small dogs ambling around, but one of them with scruffy golden fur and big dark eyes, captivated by Emmett’s presence, breaks away from the other three to press his nose up to the gate and sniff at him. 

There’s a spark of great intelligence behind this dog’s eyes, Emmett notes almost immediately, pressing his hand against the gate to allow the dog to get his scent. Not too small, a little scruffy and yet absolutely adorable, curious to boot—

He’s taken before he even realises it.

It’s only after he breaks his gaze away from the scruffy dog that he notices the fond smile on Mrs. Meyer’s face and the fact that she was standing there the entire time, watching.

“He’s been here for a couple months now. I’ve been calling him Teddy since he doesn’t have a name–he was brought over from one of the shelters in the neighbouring city–and they thought he might have been born a stray. He’s very sharp; I taught him two tricks already and I don’t think he’s any older than two, if he’s even that old.”

“I’d like to sit with him for a while.”

“Of course. One moment.”

She leads Emmett and Teddy to an empty play area and gives the two their privacy. Teddy–a dreadful name for a dog that would have to be changed immediately–is the first to approach, fearlessly sniffing at Emmett’s feet, his clothes, and then eventually his hands, his tail constantly wagging. 

When he lets Emmett pet him, Emmett decides then and there that he will not be leaving today without this dog. 

About an hour and a half later, Mrs. Meyer signs the last of the requisite paperwork and hands Emmett his copies, along with a lead to walk him out on. “I’m glad you picked him—I had a feeling you’d like him.” Was this one of the dogs she had wanted to show me? “Have you started considering names? Teddy was only a placeholder, after all. He never really responded to it.”

A name—what name would befit his canine companion? A name was a big responsibility, something that would carry a significant amount of weight throughout the years, and he owed it to his new friend to think of something appropriate.

There was that spark of intelligence in his eyes and that unmistakable pull that kept his attention firmly locked on this one dog in particular. 

Yes, I think I’ve got it.

“I think I’ll name him Copernicus.”