#i only half proofed this so i guarantee some of the jumps are weird fjlaksdj oops

[doctorbrown]

❝No, you're right, Marty. If what you say about my position here is true, I'm just as much at fault for the current state of things as she is, whether or not I conceived the idea myself or put it to paper. If I put my signature on it, or even if I didn't, I still allowed these policies to be put into effect unchallenged. I'm equally as responsible, perhaps even arguably more so given that you've told me this is my social experiment.❞ Emmett scoffs, scrunching his face up with unmistakable disgust at the information concerning his life's trajectory in this timeline.

❝Though what could have possessed me to pursue a career in civil and social engineering and forsake my scientific calling to such a degree, I can hardly imagine...❞ Whatever key event happened in this reality that is absent from his own must be responsible for pushing him down a path he never would've considered even in his wildest dreams.

❝Clearly whatever I've...he's...been thinking leaves a lot to be desired! Outlawing dogs!❞ God, what does this mean for Einstein...? ❝That certainly explains the few concerning things I've already seen—❞

His expression twists into a very pronounced frown as he spares a few choice mental words for Marty's parents. This behaviour reminds him of the George and Lorraine that exist as disparate echoes in his mind—spectres of miserable souls overlaid over the cheerful and far more attentive people he is familiar with when he looks too long, as if realities were overlapping behind his eyes—and he feels the beginnings of anger heating up beneath his skin.

Immediately, he seeks to rectify this damage despite knowing that a few words won't instantly undo what is likely years' worth of destruction. ❝No good? Well, I don't believe that. I bet you're much better than you're giving yourself credit for.❞ Music and Marty seemed to find their way together in any reality; the kid had a natural-born talent and a discerning ear for the stuff that only continued to amaze him.

❝If he—I—saved it for you, it's never too late to start playing again.❞ He had to give his counterpart that, at least. He has some kind of heart left in him, even if his brain has yet to be spoken for.

Emmett gapes, his jaw nearly scraping the floor. The title leaves a rotten taste in his mouth; being the town lunatic and crackpot already came with more publicity than he cared for, but the nasty whispers and disapproving looks were something easily ignored. Annoying at times, especially when rumours began to flare up amongst the youths once again, but harmless. ❝D-Divine Head of...❞

Great Scott... Tell me I didn't push for that title.

❝If I'm being perfectly honest, I'm not particularly fond of Your Honour, either, but I appreciate you not calling me...that.❞ He might have fainted on the spot to be addressed so pompously and by Marty, no less.

There's that small voice in the back of his mind that warns him to be careful with the information he's about to share. This is Marty, yes, but even though he's been forthcoming and helpful so far doesn't mean there isn't the possibility, as much as he detests the thought, for things to go horribly wrong. If it were him being confronted with the possibilities of time-travel and other-dimensional versions of himself without any prior proof of one or the other being possible, he would be wary all the same.

But other than mild confusion, he has given him very few reasons to worry that he'll have to contend with whatever law enforcement exists in this Orwellian nightmare, so with a deep inhale, he begins, hoping for the best.

❝You've been very helpful so far, Marty, now I need you to hear me out. Everything I'm about to say is going to sound impossible, but it's the truth and I have proof to go along with it.

❝Where I'm from, you call me Doc and we've been very close friends for many years. I didn't just want to be a scientist, I am a scientist—I have a doctorate as well as several other degrees, primarily in physics, though my education extends to other sciences as well. I am an engineer of sorts—mechanical, primarily—although not by formal education; it was a skillset I needed to learn to aid me in my inventing—these days, I'm an inventor. That's always been a passion of mine and it looks like however diametrically opposed I am from my counterpart here, we still share that interest, considering that he—I—went through the trouble to set himself up a secret lab.❞

Emmett reaches into his back pocket and fishes out his wallet, carefully retrieving the small family photo from one of the slots it has all to itself. ❝Now, I don't expect you to call me Doc given that it seems our relationship here seems to me like it's more professional, but at least while it's just the two of us, you can call me Doctor Brown. It might also help you differentiate me from the Emmett Brown you're familiar with here.❞

He crosses the length of the room, holding the photograph out to Marty to take. Pictured are two young boys, one blond and one dark haired, eight and ten years old respectively, grinning at the camera, the younger of which looks like he knows something that nobody else pictured has any idea about. Standing between the two boys is another young man that is unmistakably Marty with his arms thrown around the shoulders of the two younger kids. Behind them is Emmett standing next to a tall, beautiful woman with long, dark hair whose radiant smile nearly overshadows everybody else in frame.

❝That's Clara, my wife, and my two boys, Jules and Verne. I think you can recognise the person standing between them. What I need to figure out now is how I managed to end up here, replacing my counterpart of this reality, and fix whatever it is that went wrong so I can get back where I belong. I'd like to ask for your help with this, Marty, if you'll give it to me.❞

It's pretty much impossible that Citizen Brown actually is happy to see him, that he's not just being nice, that he's not just relieved to have some company in the courthouse other than himself or Edna, but Martin lets himself cling to the idea anyway, holding onto it with everything he has.

The teen hesitates, glancing once more toward the door and then to one of the small CRTs behind the desk; specifically, the one overlooking the front door of the office.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asks, relieved to see that they are actually still alone. After a moment and the permission granted, he continues. "...You're a civil and a social engineer. You've dedicated your life to the practical pursuit of technology for the betterment of the world and to help create a more efficient and orderly society. Hill Valley was your experimental prototype community and what you conceptualized as the ultimate solution to urban planning. It was supposed to be a feasible, tangible step toward building a utopia."

Most of this, he's somewhat ashamed to admit, he remembers verbatim from his eighth grade research project on Citizen Brown. After all, it was that paper that set him on the trajectory he was on now.

"Public policy, though... if you don't mind me saying so, Your Honor, it's not your forte. The laws and ordinances concerning sobriety, obedience, moral fortitude... outlawing dogs, a-and... rock music..." He looks genuinely pained at the last two things.

"That's not your fau--" He immediately freezes, changing his wording. "I, um... I mean you're not responsible. Those are Citizen Strickland's ideas." He indicates the painting with a nod of his head, the expression on his face one of definite discontentment. "So I guess the answer would be yes and no. As for your next question..."

Martin shifts his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the floor of the courthouse for a moment. Voicing this out loud feels like a betrayal, but it wasn't like he could disobey.

"...About a week ago my parents told me it was time to get over Jennifer and get rid of my guitar, and... and you didn't get mad when I said I didn't want to, that ever since I was a kid I'd wanted to be a rock star even though I'm no good." He treats the idea like it's obvious, a statement of fact.

"You told me you always wanted to be a scientist and that you had a secret lab near the ravine. You told me I could keep my guitar there and that it would be safe. I guess that answers both two and three. And sorry, Your Honor, I don't know anyone named Clara."

"And... I call you that because First Citizen Brown, Divine Head of Hill Valley is kind of a mouthful and I don't know what else to call you. Everybody else just calls you Citizen Brown."