#bttfdoctober

[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

[rose-of-pollux]

Title: Beat the Odds (1/9) Fandom: Back to the Future/Hogan's Heroes Rating: T Summary: [BTTF/Hogan's Heroes crossover]. When Doc's timeline gets rewritten and his 1944 self is kidnapped from Los Alamos to be interrogated about the Manhattan Project, Marty must go back in time to save him--and will need the backup of the Unsung Heroes of Stalag 13 to pull the rescue off.

For @whumptober Day 1: Alt prompt: Forgotten and @bttfdoctober Day 1: Red-letter day

[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

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 14 / 31 * MODEL 」

August 5, 2000

“It looks like you’ve gotten yourself a little shadow, Emmett,” Clara says, only barely managing to stifle a laugh at Ellie who is now barrelling down the hallway, half-wearing Emmett’s grease-smudged lab coat.

It is far too big for her to be wearing—with their comparable size difference, it practically swallows her up, making wearing it more of a hazard than anything else, but Ellie, determined and persistent, refuses to let the very obviously ill-fitting clothing impede her from her task. The lab coat all but swallows her up and there is more of it trailing along the ground sweeping the floor behind her than there is actually on her body. One sleeve, half-on and drooping off her shoulders, flails as she runs down the hall, waving Emmett and Clara down.

“I was starting to wonder if you’d hung new mirrors up around the house and forgot to tell me,” he says with a slight teasing, yet no less affectionate tone as he looks down at the young lady who’d now firmly attached herself to his leg, half-disappearing in a flutter of fabric. 

“Look, Unca Doc! Now imma scientist too!”

Emmett chuckles. “Yes, you certainly look the part. But where did you find it? You didn't sneak into the lab to get it, did you?”

Ellie manages to look positively affronted by the accusation that she would do something like that—something she knows would upset her favourite Uncle when he has made it clear time-and-time again that the lab is Dangerous And Off Limits, especially if he’s not there—and widens her big blue eyes in abject horror. 

“No!” She shakes her head vigorously. “I know I'm not s'posed to be in there. I didn't sneak! You left it on the chair, Unca Doc, so I fig’red you wouldn't mind ‘cause you weren’t usin’ it.”

Emmett’s lips round out in a surprised ‘o,’ and now that she mentions it, it explains why he hadn’t been able to find it anywhere in the lab earlier despite his thorough searching. Clara’s chiding look says it all.

“I found this”—Ellie lets go with one hand, fighting with the oversized lab coat to roll back the sleeve and dig her hand in the pocket—“in your pocket.” After a slight struggle, she emerges victorious, holding up a slightly crumpled, quartered sheet of paper that Emmett recognises immediately. “And you sounded real annoyed about it, so I thought I could help! You always wear this when you’re doing your es—espeerimints—”

“Experiments,” Clara corrects gently.

“Experiments,” Ellie repeats, nodding. “So this will make me good at science too, right?”

It’s quite an impressive leap in logic, Emmett thinks, and not at all correct, but he can understand how, to her mind, the two things would be connected. The delighted smile on her face stays his tongue and Ellie unfolds the paper—his latest schematics for upgrades to the Time Machine’s computer systems—that now bears several new, heretofore unseen markings that Emmett knows couldn’t have come from him, even at his most exhausted. 

Clara casts her husband a look of mild concern but the lack of urgency on his face—he’s more amused and surprised than anything else as she proudly presents her additions, like a young doctoral student presenting their thesis—immediately settles her concerns that Ellie has somehow gotten ahold of something she wasn’t yet old enough to see.

“I fixed it, Unca Doc! And I can tell you how I did it, too.” 

“She’ll be quite the little scientist yet,” Clara says, earning herself a toothy smile from the young scientist herself.

“I’d love to hear how you figured it out, Ellie. Why don’t you go sit down at the kitchen table and I’ll meet you there to discuss?”

“Okay!” Ellie stuffs the paper haphazardly back into the coat pocket and takes off at a run. 

“Oh, Emmett, weren’t those important?” 

“Yes and no. She didn’t ruin them to the point where I can’t still read them, and it’s obvious which are her additions and which are my original designs. I’ll need to be more careful about where I leave that from now on. She’s still too young to understand and I know she won’t do any real harm, but better safe than sorry.”

[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

[rose-of-pollux]

Title: Back Down to Earth Fandom: Back to the Future Rating: K+ Summary: [Twin Pines musical/movie hybrid timeline, pre-trilogy] Marty is goaded by Needles into more recklessness, but is shaken when he only just barely avoids hurting Doc in the process.

For @whumptober Day 22: "Oh, that's not good" and @bttfdoctober Day 22: Found Family

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 13 / 31 * ACROPHOBIA 」

October 27, 1985A

No. 

That one single word repeats on a loop in Emmett’s head, drowning out his capacity for rational thought. It is a mantra, a curse, a promise, the culmination of all the anger and desperation that has suddenly seized both his heart and his mind, grinding both to an abrupt halt as a biting chill freezes him from the inside out.

Every word of caution he once spoke loses all meaning, for there is only one option available to him now. 

Abusing this could have potentially universe-shattering repercussions.

Were he thinking rationally, Emmett might have been concerned with how readily he throws caution and concern to the wind, infusing the words let it with all the cynicism and damning finality he can muster. 

Any universe that allows this to happen is better off undone.

This isn't what it was invented for.

The Time Machine was not meant to make him God, able to interfere with the lives and fates of those standing beneath him with their eyes glued to the pulsing lights hovering over their heads, just out of reach, but just this once, he will allow himself to break every single one of his rules and consciously rewrite the past for his own selfish gain.

He has already done it for you. 

If there is some higher being, Emmett both curses and challenges Them in the same breath, daring Them to intervene. 

Only the DeLorean speaks, rumbling her support.

His hands move independent of his conscious mind, inputting a new destination time on the keypad. In mere moments, this will not have happened, will never happen, existing only within the confines of memory where it will serve as another cautionary tale for the future.

A reminder. One he will not forget, as if he needed further reason to see the destruction of his life’s work through to its conclusion.

Beneath him, unimportant and inconsequential, the collective sea of denim and leather gasps, cowering as a flying monster snarls, setting the sky ablaze.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 12 / 31 * PERMIT 」

June 18, 1987

“Oh, Emmett, I’m not sure.” Clara crosses her arms across her chest, throwing a wary look at the family car looming in the driveway. There were only so many clever ways she could postpone what felt like the inevitable and she was already certain that Emmett had figured that out by the third time and yet still allowed her to keep pushing it off. 

A firm no would have shut down his attempts for good, for he’d never force her to do something she didn’t want to do, yet she had always chosen to skirt around this particular issue rather than tackle it head-on.

Why that was, she wasn’t entirely sure herself.

“It’s not as difficult as you think. Once you wrap your head around the concept, it’s quite simple. You’ve driven the Train before and operating that is far more complicated than anything they could put into one of these cars. Even Twenty-First Century cars.” Emmett smirks, his expression saying it all. 

We’ve seen the cars of the future and you know I’m right.

“Those were extenuating circumstances and you were still there to guide me through it.”

“And I’ll be here to teach you how to drive, too.” Clara presses her lips together and gives the car another long, thoughtful look. “It’s a useful skill to have, even if you don’t use it again until an emergency.” 

Before Clara can even raise her brows and question just what calamity Emmett may foresee on the horizon, he continues, scattering the half-formed question to the wind. “Most importantly, you’ll have your ID and that's really what I'm the most concerned about.

“And if you decide you absolutely hate it, we’ll leave it at that and I won’t ask again.”

She’d learned to ride horses when she was much younger than the age the kids are learning to drive these days, and though she wouldn’t deny maintaining a vehicle had its own set of challenges–heaven only knows she’s seen Emmett struggle here and there with repairs, bringing out a rather nasty side of her usually well-mannered husband–drivers of this day and age didn’t have to worry about their their vehicle’s temperament or various idiosyncrasies. 

The car wouldn’t fight you for twenty minutes in the morning because it didn’t want to be saddled up and leave the barn.

She had grown accustomed–enough–to the things over the last two years, had absolutely no reservations about getting in one with Emmett or Jennifer or Marty, employed public transportation whenever it was necessary, so what was it that held her back?

Emmett was right. She’d piloted the Train successfully when it mattered–if ungracefully, but nobody was injured and she hadn’t damaged the Machine at all–even with the flying circuits engaged. She was inexperienced, but not incompetent. Driving a car should be no more complicated.

—But in the sky, there were no other unpredictable variables at play, and suddenly everything clicked into place, flipping the proverbial switch.

How many reports of devastating crashes had she witnessed on television or read in the paper? Drivers gravely wounded, some killed, cars overturned, crumpled—

Even just going into town with Emmett had shown her that the drivers of this day and age were hardly the conscientious sort, prone to distraction or just a general lack of consideration and in the case of the younger kids, wild and reckless behaviour. 

And if, God forbid, she’d been behind the wheel at the time with her family and something should happen—

Fear. It was fear for all the possibilities well beyond her control.

Now that she knew that, could she really keep denying herself the chance to learn because of what other people might do?

“Okay, Emmett,” Clara finally says after a long pause and some deeper introspection. “But I don’t want to get anywhere near Hill Valley while we practise.”

[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 ⸺ 「 10 / 31 * SPEAKEASY 」

18:27

Somewhere out by Clayton Ravine, Orwell Valley

Normally, the moment the doors to his lab clicked shut, immersing him in comfortable, voluntary solitude–unlike that which was forced upon him daily–the sound would trigger an autonomic response that his body understood as relax.

Only he and Goldie were aware of the existence of this place, and Goldie, being the only person he could even attempt to use the word friend to describe, has faithfully kept it secret for the better part of the last six years.

The click meant that the mask could be discarded, the rigidity he forced into his spine at the start of every morning to keep it straight could be given slack, allowing his shoulders to slump slightly, and the chains, woven intricately between and around each rib and vertebra and anchored to a part of his soul, would come undone and allow him to breathe a little more easily.

He had gone over this place with a fine tooth comb, installing countermeasures against the security systems that he designed to grant himself this, this singular pocket of anonymity in which Citizen Brown ceased to exist and Emmett, the scientist, freed himself from his restraints to flex his creative and scientific mental muscles lest they atrophy from disuse. 

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. One worth all the risk. 

Emmett drops down unceremoniously into the seat at his desk, staring blankly at the unfinished blueprints laid open before him. This project, like all the others before it, had captured his attention for the last two and a half weeks, providing such a delightful and stimulating challenge that his distraction had bled through into his daily life, earning him the ire of his darling wife. 

But it was difficult to concentrate on the tedium of the job–Edna would override his decision anyway and hand him whatever paperwork to sign she deemed appropriate in the end–when the promise of discovery was so close he could grasp it in his fingers.

Now, he finds it near impossible to even look at his notes when the voice of young Martin McFly bashes against his skull on incessant repeat, turning what was a spark of frantic genius into meaningless lines curved against the page.

There are no miserable people in my Hill Valley!

Jesus, Doc, open your eyes! They’re–they’re terrified! It’s like something out of 1984 here! And you, Doc—you look… This can’t really be what you wanted for yourself, can it? What you hoped to do with science?

He had said nothing in response to that. Now, in hindsight, it seems he told the young man everything he needed to know.

He may not have had the pleasure of getting to know the young man personally, but on paper, he was an exceptional citizen. That even this iteration of him should be just as perceptive shouldn't have been a surprise, yet Emmett found himself blinded all the same.

Doc, this isn’t right. You know it’s not. And you’re my best friend, I know that you’re not happy. But, you know, where I’m from, how things are supposed to be, you are. God, Doc, you’re the luckiest man in the world where I’m from! You invented time-travel, for God’s sake! And you’ve got Clara and the boys— 

The more Martin spoke, the more difficult it became to try and convince himself this was all some grand delusion, a temporary moment of insanity brought on by stress or some other such stimulus on the boy’s part. 

No, Martin was far too familiar with him–too knowing–and he hadn't sensed an ounce of deception in his eyes.

So either everything he said was true, or he'd believed it so wholeheartedly, he had managed to convince himself that it was the truth.

That, coupled with the raw emotion pouring from Martin’s voice, written into every fibre of his being, had knocked Emmett’s entire world off-balance, forcing things to the surface that were better off forgotten and buried. 

Dreams, hopes—things long lost to the steady march of time.

“Damn,” Emmett swears, unafraid that he’ll be caught and issued a demerit for his unsightly outburst. In a rare moment of desperation, he brings his elbows down hard on the table and drops his face into his hands, grabbing fistfuls of hair.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 9 / 31 * BREAKTHROUGH 」

Walking through it hadn’t felt entirely real the first time Emmett had taken her to see the old house. Even though Clara could envision everything she had ever wanted, reach out and touch the near-tangible visions, as if human touch was all it would take to bring them to life as they walked from one dusty room to another, the pragmatist in her reminded her that this was only one set of possibilities. 

A potential future. One within reach, though nebulous, shifting and shimmering like an apparition.

But the more homes they viewed, the more she grew attached to this potential future, seeing nothing so bright and vibrant in any of the other houses. Oh, they could be happy in any of them, certainly, they’d done well with that already given their less than ideal living conditions for a growing family of four on the outskirts of Hill Valley—none of which were Emmett’s fault—but she had wanted more for her family and if they were going through all the trouble to uproot their lives to settle down in Emmett’s time, she refused to compromise.

Fortunately, having lived in the same cramped conditions for the last decade, Emmett was more than inclined to agree with her visions for their to-be home.

He’d done the best he could, improving their situation little-by-little with his knowledge of the future, but there was only so much that could be done when the builders and designers of her home clearly put little to no thought into the occupant and their convenience. 

Were she a woman of weaker constitution, it would have bothered her even more severely, however there was only so much that could be ignored as Jules and Verne continued growing at an alarming rate.

Both boys would surely take after their father.

This time, she would see to it that all the concerns that arose from their situation in the Nineteenth Century were properly addressed this time around. 

And then they found this house. Or, from what Emmett said, Marty had found this house and passed the information along. She would have to thank him properly for his invaluable help later.

For this house–!

Standing on the walkway, gazing up at their house—their house, Clara repeats in her mind, almost giddy with excitement—it feels surreal. The major step to making the move had just been completed and finalised and Emmett standing there, holding the keys and the paperwork to their new home, crowned in gold by the early afternoon sun, looks like a dream. 

Even with the exterior battered and beaten by the elements, it was clear that once, the two-story home had been a proud, beautiful building. Making it perfect would be a project, but the idea of complicated renovations did not sour her to the home in the slightest. The fact that they had all this space and then some–perhaps more than they needed for their modest family–well, she was still wrapping her head around it and the fact that they had all these futuristic amenities now to make their lives easier lent only to more and more possibilities. 

It was far away enough from the major populated areas to provide them peace and privacy, yet not so far that a trip into town would require proper planning and preparation and eat up a majority of the day. With the transportation available in this century–Clara was still growing accustomed to the sheer number of automobiles on the road in some of those areas and to her credit, she hadn't let out the same unladylike shriek she did the first time one of those things had roared at her–Emmett assured her that travel into town would take far less than the hour plus it took to return home on horseback. 

“We’ll never have to worry about space again,” Emmett says, smiling, and Clara finds herself drawn further into his orbit, hanging on her husband’s every word. “There’s plenty of space for you and me, for the boys—and when they eventually become teenagers and can’t stand the sight of one another for long, there’s more than enough room to put between them—and there will be space for Marty to stay.” 

He wraps his arm around Clara's waist. 

“The realtors assured me that everything is structurally sound, but I trust them about as far as I can throw them, so I’d like to double-check before we start settling in.”

Clara nods, finding sense in that. “So you'll be making a few trips here yourself in the meantime.”

“You and the boys are welcome to come, of course, but I figure it will get done quickly if the boys aren't distracted by all the new things happening around them. It would be good to expose them to life in this century slowly rather than shocking their systems by thrusting them into it, but that may be better a little further into the renovations. Let them explore the property on their own, the house once I’m absolutely certain they won’t stumble across any weak points and fall through, and get used to seeing things that are normal for this time, but the equivalent of magic a hundred years ago."

“You're right. And with Verne's penchant for trouble lately, I'd rather not run the risks. I know you said this was a quiet location without too much traffic, but God forbid he forgets about those–those—”

“Cars?” 

“Yes. Cars, thank you.”

“They'll just have to be patient. We’ll focus on their rooms first, set up ours and the majority of the home so it’s at least habitable, then focus our attention on the cosmetic things. I may enlist Marty's help with some of the cleaning if he's willing and able.” Emmett hums.

“We’ll need a place to store the Time Machine,” Clara says, leaning against Emmett’s arm. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving it out in the open, even with your security measures in place.”

“No, the Train draws far too much attention and the last thing I need is somebody spotting it and poking around where they don’t belong. Remember, I'm not exactly Hill Valley's favourite citizen. I’ve been thinking about that since we settled on this house and I have a few ideas in mind.” 

Suddenly, Emmett snaps his fingers. “I’ll also need to construct a private study, one the boys and any of the friends they may invite over won’t be able to sneak into where we can keep some of the more sensitive”–dangerous, Clara’s mind supplies–“documents and experiments of mine. As for the lab…my childhood home saw my garage turned into a lab independent of the house and I think, for safety reasons, I’ll do the same here. The old barn, once fixed up, would make an excellent workspace.”

Clara’s eyebrows shoot up and she throws her husband a half-concerned, half-amused look.

“Not that I plan to be working on anything inherently dangerous or life-threatening,” he adds quickly underneath the weight of his wife’s stare. “But accidents do happen even when you’re being careful and I’ve been on the receiving end of more than a few of those over the years. I’d rather not take any unnecessary risks, especially not with you and the boys living there.”

“Of course not.”

[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 ⸺ 「 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.