#you're my best friend in the whole space time continuum [doc brown.]

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — video rental.

JUNE 12, 1984

“Hey Doc, can we watch this one next?”

Most sixteen-year-olds, on the anniversary of their births, would mark the occasion with a sweet sixteen party. They would not celebrate by spending the night in a garage smelling of oil, fries, and flame-broiled burgers in the company of a crazy old man and his dog.

Then again, Marty wasn’t most sixteen-year-olds, and Emmett had never been more grateful for that.

“Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” he recites, squinting a little to see the cassette tape case as Marty waves it around, offering a bemused smile. “That over American Graffiti? Or Star Wars?”

“Those are great!” Marty’s quick to defend. “But I think this one might be my favorite. I mean, all of these are my favorites, but this one…” He grins. “It’s outta sight, Doc.”

“You might even say it’s… out of this world?”

“Jesus, Doc, that was terrible,” Marty rolls his eyes and groans, but his grin doesn’t fade. If anything, it brightens. “I kinda walked into that one, huh?”

“You did,” Emmett agrees. “But go on, go on. Tell me more.” He’d seen the movie before, of course; he’d gone to see it when it first came out in theaters. Ever since he’d first seen Frankenstein as a boy, he'd tried hard never to miss a science fiction release, but seeing Marty’s boundless enthusiasm makes him want to see it all over again through his eyes.

“My dad took me to see it,” Marty explains. “I must’ve been about… nine?… And yeah, it’s about aliens, and that’s cool, but it’s about way more than that. Connection, love, and music, Doc. How music brings us all together. How it can help us save the world. That’s why I think it’s my favorite movie— if I had to pick just one, y’know? Plus… I think it’s the first— hell, maybe the only— time I remember my dad being happy. Really, actually happy. I, uh… I guess that doesn’t make any sense, does it?” He runs his hand along his upper arm, looking away as a shadow clouds his features.

“Marty, my boy, it makes all the sense in the world.” Emmett gives him a reassuring smile, squeezing his shoulder firmly. “Let’s make some more popcorn and get started.”

Marty’s smile returns in an instant.

[knickynoo]

Thinking about Doc and Marty's friendship. Just. How absolutely devoted they are to each other. The loyalty and love and willingness to give their life for the other at the drop of a hat.

Doc's "I'll draw their fire!" when the Libyans show up in the parking lot and him taking their attention away from Marty and purposely making himself the target so that his best friend has a chance to get to safety. How a minute prior, the two of them were smiling and preparing for Doc to travel through time, but as soon as things go sideways Doc's focus is to stop them from hurting Marty--which means walking right into the line of fire with his dinky little pistol that wouldn't have done anything even if it hadn't jammed.

And Marty agonizing all week over how to save Doc's life. His desperate attempts to tell Doc of his fate and him huddled in the booth of the cafe writing his letter and that look Marty gives him outside the clocktower that's so filled with grief and the weight of the words he can't say, so he just pulls his best friend into what he assumes is the last hug he'll ever give him.

Marty's return to 1985 and frantic sprint all the way from the town square to the mall because he's got to save Doc. He just has to, but it's too late and he just collapses to his knees and cries. But then Doc sits up, very much not dead, because ever since 1955 he hadn't been able to forget the video clip and his "Run for it, Marty!", or his young friend's repeated tries to tell him something about the future, or the letter slipped into his coat that he promptly tore up. And so he threw caution to the wind and gathered together all those little pieces and taped them back together and lets that boy from the future save his life.

And Doc somehow being there at the moment Marty steps off the roof of Biff's hotel even though he wasn't there a minute prior when Marty had checked. But then Marty looks again and you can see his expression change because of course Doc found him. Of course he figured out where he was and got there in time and is going to catch him. So Marty confidently stares down the violent sociopath pointing a gun at him and just walks right off of the top of a building. Then, Doc is there in the nick of time yet again at the end of the tunnel, just as Marty is literally a second away from being mowed down by Biff's car. Doc's triumphant, "Hold on, Marty!" as he flies his friend to safety.

The lightning that sends Doc to the Old West and Marty staring up into the sky with that completely devastated expression on his face because he thinks Doc is dead again. He truly thinks for several seconds that he's just watched his best friend die, yet he calls into the crackling walkie-talkie anyway because Doc can't be gone. But then he is, catapulted into the Old West and with instructions for Marty not to come get him. Because he's okay and content with his new life and doesn't want Marty to risk his life further. So he puts everything into that letter, wrapping up his friendship with Marty in a beautiful, sad little bow. "You've been a good, kind, and loyal friend to me, and you made a real difference in my life. I will always treasure our relationship and think on you with fond memories, warm feelings, and a special place in my heart."

And just. Those few lines are one of my favorite things of the trilogy. It's short and sweet--just two sentences to conclude their years of friendship--but with so much warmth. Doc was an outcast for his whole life, misunderstood at best and outright hated at worst, until this kid shows up and takes the time to actually see him. Sticks by his side and lets him know he's valued and gives him hope for the future. Except now Doc's in 1885 and has had to make peace with never seeing his friend again, so he makes sure to let Marty know just how much of an impact he's had. You've changed my life for the better, Marty, and forever have a place in my heart.

But of course, Marty can't leave Doc there. Of course, he's going to ignore Doc's clear instructions and save his best friend's life again. And of course, Doc is going to save Marty's own life first--showing up (again!) just in time to shoot down that rope and rescue Marty from being hanged. Which Marty soon repays by stopping Buford from shooting Doc at the dance with an extremely accurate toss of a pie-pan.

And then it all seems to come full circle from the moment in the Twin Pines parking lot when, in the Old West, Doc finds himself faced with meeting a violent death and shouts, "Forget about me, Marty, and save yourself!" Ready, yet again, to lay down his life if it means Marty doesn't meet the same fate.

So, you sit back and look at the trilogy as a whole, and it's like: Time travel! Non-stop excitement! Action and comedy and romance and hoverboards and cowboys and manure jokes! There is so much going on. Yet it's all overlayed with these two best friends who are constantly saying to each other: I will literally die right now for you. I'll stand in the path of gunfire and run across town until my lungs are burning and tape back together that note you wrote me and throw down a rope made of flags and reject the safety of home for the danger of the Wild West and take your place in a showdown with a deranged outlaw if it means saving you.

And there's just something about that level of self-sacrificing love that makes me absolutely lose my entire mind.

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — synchronicity.

DECEMBER 3, 1985

It’s not often they have to venture out of Hill Valley for parts, but when it comes to fixing the amplifier, they have to get a little more creative.

After a twenty minute drive, Marty finds himself in one of Doc’s favorite haunts, somewhere that looks like a cross between Circuit City and an old warehouse full of junk. He trails behind the scientist, talking with him about transformers, speakers, and potentiometers.

They have to ask the clerk for the right size resistors and terminals, and Marty waits by the counter for her to get them from the back while @doctorbrown continues to browse.

“Here ya go, honey,” she says, handing over the parts, “give these to your pop.”

“Huh?” Marty, startled, searches the clerk’s face. She’s got cat-eye glasses on a beaded chain, a mohawk, looks like she’s his mom’s age, and could take Biff and all his goons in a fight, easy.

“It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of,” she continues, “I think it’s sweet, a kid your age still close to his old man. You got matchin’ shirts and everything.”

Marty looks down at the white patterned shirt Doc bought for him in ‘55 and kept all these years. He looks to Doc strolling around the aisles in one of his incredibly loud Hawai’ian numbers and realizes that they do match, in a weird sort of way.

He guesses they always have, cruising through the centuries and tornadoing through timelines.

His partner in time.

“Great Scott,” he murmurs, before flashing a smile at the clerk. “Hey, thanks a lot.”

“No sweat, kid. Let me know when you’re ready to check out.”

“Yeah, we will.”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — backyard cookout.

JULY 4, 1986

“Jesus, the whole block is out there.”

Marty can’t stop looking out of the window, watching distantly as every single resident of Lyon Estates seems to be staking claims on their backyard. The people, the tables, hell, even the food, are all plastered in stars and stripes. His dad is welcoming everybody with a handshake, a clap on the shoulder, and a smile, like there’s a paparazzi hiding in the rose bush. His mom is chatting up Mrs. Wilson from across the street like they’re old pals, which is hilarious considering they were this close to shanking each other with the free, shitty mini candy canes at his dad’s company Christmas party two years ago. 

“Of course it is. It’s the same every year,” Dave returns, balancing vats of macaroni salad and potato salad as he works his way out the door, dressed in Sperrys, red shorts, and a navy polo shirt. 

What if I died, Marty briefly wonders, what if I died in the thunderstorm in 1955 and God screwed up and stuck me in yuppie heaven? What the hell did I do to deserve that?

“Aren’t you ready yet?” Dave promptly derails his train of thought. “Mom and Dad are insisting on taking family photos again this year. I tried telling ‘em I’m twenty-three and way too old for that shit, but–” 

“Dave, shut up,” Linda interrupts dryly, carefully carrying a bowl of punch so as not to spill it down her sleeveless blue and white dress. Marty spares a glance toward the red polo shirt and white shorts that are laid out for him. Matching outfits, Jesus Christ. “Marty, he’s right. Go get your stuff on.” 

“Uh, actually…” Marty rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, guys, I think I’m gonna sit this one out. I-I mean, there’s plenty of people out there already, and–”

“Sit it out!” Dave interjects. “Marty, what’s gotten into you lately? You love this!”  

“... I do?” 

It’s only at Marty’s look of genuine confusion that Dave’s face turns from indignant annoyance to deep concern, making lines in his forehead he’s way too young to have. 

“Quit being a dweeb,” Linda, halfway to the door, gives her brothers a glance over her shoulder. “Go get changed. I’m not bringing all this out by myself.” 

Searching his kid brother’s face one more time, Dave follows his sister out the door. 

When he’s actually outside and sitting on the front steps, watching the kids waving sparklers and running around the yard, Marty realizes he can’t feel his hands. 

It doesn’t freak him out now, but back when it first started happening, his breath would freeze in his throat, his heart trying to make a break for it out of his chest as he made sure that he wasn’t being erased from existence. Now, it’s just one of those things. Maybe he’ll ask somebody about it, but he doesn’t want any more people looking at him the way Dave just did.

Shrieking and talking and sizzling bounce all around him, but it sounds like it's coming from a radio in the other room. Maybe somebody left the TV on again. Maybe–

“Marty?” 

He blinks. Worried brown eyes look back at him and there’s a hand on his cheek he almost– almost– shrinks back from. 

“Jennifer?” he breathes. “The hell are you doin’ here? Your parents… your parents go to Montara for the Fourth. Right?” 

“Yeah, but for the last couple years I’ve stayed in town with you,” she responds. “Remember?” 

“I…” 

“Come on,” Jennifer encourages, gently taking his hands and pulling him up. She lets go of one hand but tightly holds onto the other. “It’s a little crowded for me.”

“Yeah,” Marty agrees, squeezing her hand back, smiling despite the pricking behind his eyes and the lump in his throat. “Yeah, me too.” 

Even if everything else is a shit show, at least two things have stayed the same; one, he doesn’t deserve Jennifer Parker, and two, he’s crazy about her. 

She leads him back inside where she’s put her roller skates and helmet by his skateboard, propped up against the front door. Once they’re geared up, they skate off hand in hand down the streets of Hill Valley. 

The sound of Einstein’s barking and Jules and Verne laughing greet them. The boys are chasing the dog around– mostly through the elaborate automatic sprinkler system Marty had helped Doc had set up earlier in the summer– while Doc fusses over the grill and Clara sets the patio table.

“Hey,” Marty tentatively tries, leaning his skateboard up against the side of the house as Jennifer undoes her skates, “Room for two more?”

“Marty!” Doc exclaims, immediately abandoning his post and sweeping the boy into his arms, an embrace which is gratefully and tightly returned. “Jennifer!” Marty moves over and Doc extends his arm to accommodate her, and she eagerly joins the hug. “You made it!” 

“Marty’s here, Marty’s here!” Verne whoops, pumping his fists in the air victoriously. 

“Hello Martin! Hello Jennifer!” Jules chirps, waving with both hands. 

“Emmett, the hamburgers!” Clara calls to him, laughing, as Doc lets out a theatrical gasp and races back to the now slightly smoldering patties. 

Clara joins the two teenagers, wrapping a maternal arm around them both. 

“I’m so glad you could join us,” she says warmly, “We were hoping you would. I know it’s not anywhere near what your family puts on, Marty, but–”

“No, Clara, it’s great,” Marty reassures, leaning into her touch. “It’s all great.”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — a new puppy.

MARCH 18, 1979

While Emmett feels relatively confident in his abilities and well-versed in the ways of Canis familiaris, each one of his many canine companions over the years has also been unique, each bringing their own joys and challenges.

This new puppy seems to be no different, especially given his apparent propensity for yipping and taking off like a bolt of lightning.

“Einstein!” he calls out over the puppy’s persistent cries, trying to keep hold of the leash as the newly mobile ball of fluff tears down the sidewalk to parts unknown. “Einstein, heel!”

The puppy, predictably, pays no attention. Not that Emmett really expected anything different, as the dog didn’t even know his own name yet. The ink was, for all intents and purposes, still wet on his adoption paperwork.

Eventually, the puppy, in a tangle of limbs and nearly tripping over himself, comes to a halt in front of a bench. Emmett’s grateful for the nearby lamppost he can catch himself with, steadying himself against it. While he begins to get his breath back, he quickly assesses the situation.

Einstein’s tail is wagging fiercely and he’s trying to bury himself in the arms of a child. A skateboard leans up against the bench and a partially unzipped knapsack sits beside them.

“Hey, boy!” the kid laughs, all smiles, as Einstein makes a noble attempt to eat the poor thing’s face. “Hi!”

In between pets, the child manages to pry themself away from the puppy, revealing sparkling blue eyes and messy, short brown hair. They shoot Emmett a winning smile and the scientist’s chest feels tight from more than just the temporary lack of oxygen.

“Hey, mister,” they greet. “This your dog?”

“Yes,” Emmett gestures to the puppy, the leash clinking against his collar as he does so. “His name is Einstein.”

“Can I say hi?”

Emmett huffs a laugh of his own.

“I think he beat you to it, kid.”

“Yeah, he did, huh?” The boy giggles, burying their face in his fur and scratching behind his ears. “Hi Einstein. That’s a real big name for a cute little guy like you. What kind is he?”

“A Catalan sheepdog.”

“Woah, I’ve never heard of that one before.” The kid grins. “Heavy! I’m Marty, by the way. Marty McFly.”

“Doctor Emmett Brown, at your service.”

The boy’s eyes widen and Emmett fears he’s come to the conversation’s inevitable terminus. He’s seen this play before. This is the part where he runs away screaming.

But instead, the boy’s expression becomes a funny sort of awestruck, curious rather than afraid.

“The scientist guy who lives in Burger King?” he asks. “Do you really have a death ray?”

“I’m afraid not. And I live behind Burger King, not actually inside.”

“Aw, bummer. I mean, I kinda figured.” The kid shrugs his shoulders, resigning himself to continuing to pet Einstein.

“You seem disappointed,” Emmett finds himself remarking, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Maybe a little,” Marty confesses.

“About my hypothetical death ray or my equally hypothetical Burger King accommodations?”

“Both. I mean, it would be pretty sweet to live inside a Burger King. Think of all the free fries! And… there’s a couple people I can think of who would make pretty great test subjects for your death ray, if you had one.”

Emmett shakes his head, a smile on his face.

“Yes, I suppose I can think of a few myself. But there are far more positive avenues to scientific discovery rather than going down the paths of death and destruction, Marty. That’s what I like to focus on.”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — back in town.

NOVEMBER 2, 1985 

“Here’s one, Doc. Three bed, two bath. Charming fixer upper with old-world charm in need of modest renovations,” Marty puts the newspaper down and smirks at @doctorbrown . “That’s just a nice way of saying ‘totally haunted and falling apart,’ right?” 

He leans back in his chair, regarding his best friend. Even though he'd come back right after he left, Marty still wonders if he’s going to wake up and he’ll have gone for good this time. Of course, even though it was instantaneous for Marty, Doc does seem changed. 

The fact that he has kids now— real kids, kids of his own— is… well, he kinda doesn’t know how to feel about it. It doesn’t really feel real. He’s so happy Doc and Clara are happy, but, at the same time… Marty understands why two-year-old Linda tried to shove him off the couch when he was a baby, and he hates that he does. 

But, it’s not like Doc’s stopped hanging out with him. He asked him for his help to find a new house for Clara and the boys, even though Marty has no idea what the hell he’s doing. 

At least it’s better than being home.

“Y’know,” he says, trying to shut his brain off, trying to ignore how seven days ago everything was fine, how ever since he’s lost everything and everyone. “We could be thinking bigger. I mean, you got a lot put away from ‘85. You could probably buy City Hall for the hell of it and still have enough left over for retirement and college funds.”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — playing hooky.

MARCH 8, 1983

“Hi Doc, sorry I’m late.”

The fourteen-year-old greets @doctorbrown as usual, sliding the key under the mat and leaving his skateboard by the door. Einstein immediately bounds over, tail wagging, and Marty scratches him behind the ears.

“What’s on the list for today?” the boy continues, completely oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the fact that it’s Tuesday at 12:03 PM and he should most definitely be in Mr. Johnston’s fourth period geometry class right now. “More welding, maybe some circuitry? Dreamin’ up some new schematics?”

As if sensing his best friend’s discontentment and knowing he’s been found out, he groans, flopping onto Einstein to give the canine an impromptu hug. The sheepdog, pleased at the attention, thumps his tail more vigorously and licks the teenager’s face.

“C’mon, Doc,” Marty wheedles. “Linda’s skipping today too! It’s not like I got any tests or anything. Anyway, I learn more from you. You know that.”

What he’s pretty sure the scientist also knows is that, other than Doc himself, nobody actually gives a shit if he’s at school or not. Not his parents, especially not after last night. They probably don’t even realize, and sure as hell don’t care, that he’s gone.

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — 24-hour scientific services.

SEPTEMBER 15, 1983

“Listen, Mrs. Springer, I’m fine. Promise.”

He knows his English teacher probably isn’t going to appreciate the ‘cross my heart’ gesture, but he feels it’s necessary to really convey how totally, completely, one hundred percent fine he is. 

“We’re almost to the office,” is all she says in response. Her expression is gentle, so’s her voice, but by her tone Marty recognizes that she means business. She almost looks… angry?

“Are you… mad at me?” he asks, eyes squinting to try to get a better look at her.

“What? Oh, honey, no,” she’s quick to reassure, and he feels so shitty that he almost doesn’t mind how she’s talking to him like he’s still in elementary school. “No, of course I’m not mad at you. You’re sick!”

That, he’s not going to argue with. 

“But, y’know, I-I can stay, really–” he tries to protest. He’s totally okay to just sit and listen to everyone talk about… whatever book they were reading. To Kill A Mockingbird, probably? Or Inherit the Wind. Something about some trial or whatever. Yeah, he was totally getting it, even if he did kind of almost fall trying to get up and use the pencil sharpener. But it was no big deal.  

“No, you’re going home to bed,” Mrs. Springer says definitively, sitting him down on a chair that’s in the hallway for some reason? No, they’re in the office now, he recognizes the big desk and the lady behind it. Mrs. Springer puts her hands on his shoulders. “Now, I have to go back to class, but Marjorie’s here and she’ll take good care of you. She’ll get someone to come and pick you up, okay? And if you need a ride, I can take you back home after school, but I don’t want you waiting that–”

“No, it’s… it’s okay, Mrs. S. Thanks.” He offers a half smile her way. It’s nice that she cares so much, but he’d be okay just to skate home, really. He didn’t want anybody to bother Mom and Dad or Dave but he also didn’t want them to freak out if he climbed into bed and didn’t climb back out for a solid two weeks.

Mrs. Springer and the desk lady– Marjorie, he guesses– exchange a look before Mrs. Springer goes back down the hall. Marjorie smiles at him. 

“Hang tight, Marty,” she assures, cheerfully, “let me just call home for you, okay?”

He nods, letting his eyes shut for just a second–

“--Hi, sweetheart.”

Marty starts. Since when was Marjorie right in front of him? 

“Nobody’s picking up at home,” she continues, “is there someone else we could try?”

He nods. 

“Can I do it?” he asks.

“Sure, honey, go ahead.”

He stands, scuffing his shoes on the floor the way Mom always hates. He doesn’t mean to do it, but he’s pretty sure somebody tied weights around his legs while he wasn’t looking. 

He squints again, trying to make sense of the jumble of letters, numbers, and squares. Eventually, he manages to punch in the right number, hearing @doctorbrown ‘s voice at the other end. 

“Yo, Doc,” Marty begins. “Wait… you’re not your answering machine, right?... You’re you?... ‘Cause I, um, I kinda need a favor…” He rubs the back of his neck, his hair damp, fighting for words to describe his situation that just aren’t coming. “... I don’t feel good,” he eventually settles on, barely registering a wince at how babyish it sounds.  “They’re sendin’ me home but Mom and Dad aren’t, uh, aren’t home, so is it okay if you pick me up?... I keep telling ‘em I’m cool and I’ll be good to skate back but…”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — babysitter.

MARCH 21, 2003

“Uh, you guys know the drill,” Marty says, looking at @doctorbrown as he rubs the back of his neck, still feeling more than a little awkward about this role reversal even five years down the line. “Make yourselves at home, help yourselves to anything, and we should be back late tonight.”

“I left the number for the venue on the counter,” Jennifer adds, fixing her earring, “and you have my cell if anything happens.” 

“Are you comin’ back?” Emmett asks in a small voice, wide-eyed and melancholy. Marty isn’t sure he believes in karmic retribution, but he doesn’t know what else could explain why his son has been saddled with the worst case of existential dread he’s ever seen at the ripe old age of four. It had to be the universe trying to get him back for permanently screwing up the timeline, right?

“Oh, honey, of course we are,” Jennifer soothes, leaning down to press a kiss to his perfect head. 

“You won’t even know we’re gone, Emmy,” Marty reassures, “you and Ellie are gonna have a ton of fun with Auntie Clara and Uncle Doc.”

“I will know,” Emmett retaliates and Marty’s reminded why they named him that in the first place. “I’ll miss you.”

“Aw, buddy,” Marty scoops him up and rests him on his hip, kissing his cheek, “I’ll miss you too.” He looks to Jennifer, reluctant. “I dunno, Jen, maybe we should stay home–”

“Marty, it’s your big night,” she protests. “You’ve been looking forward to this for weeks!”

“Yeah, but–” 

“Uncle Doc, Uncle Doc, Uncle Doc!” 

“Woah, Ellie, be careful!” Despite her dad’s words, Ellie comes tearing down the stairs anyway, holding as many stuffed animals as she can possibly carry. She looks over the admittedly impressive pile, beaming at her very favorite aunt and uncle and bouncing on her heels. 

“Look! Can we play now? Auntie Clara, can we, can we?” She tosses a glance over her shoulder at her parents, perfect eyes sparkling. “Bye Mommy, bye Daddy, I love you!” 

Marty and Jennifer look at each other and laugh, Marty setting Emmett down carefully. The little boy immediately attaches himself to Doc, holding onto his legs.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Marty shrugs. “Bye, guys. Have fun, okay? I love you.”

“We love you so much,” Jennifer agrees, kissing both their heads before heading for the door, hand in hand with Marty. Emmett gives a small wave.

“Bye,” he murmurs softly, pressing closer to Doc as he watches his parents go, “love you.”

[timechange]

“Good morning, Your Honor.” Martin greets, smiling, as he enters the office at exactly 8 AM.

Even though he’d been assistant to Citizen Brown for four months, there was no excuse for getting lazy. He’s not about to break his perfect streak of no demerits now.

However, when @doctorbrown turns around, gaping at him like he’d grown two extra heads, he falters.

“…Your Honor?” he tries. “Sir?”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — “i think about it all the time.”

The sound of the bullet bursts in his ears and it hits him square in the chest, pain blooming and bones shattering. It’s Mad Dog, no, it’s Biff, it’s Biff holding the gun, grinning and laughing and laughing, and he’s falling down, down, down as the ground comes closer, closer, closer.

He’ll catch me, he thinks, Doc’s coming, he’ll find me, he’ll catch me.

But he’s not because Doc is lying on the cold unfeeling asphalt of the parking lot of Twin Lone no Twin it’s Twin Pines Mall, dead eyes staring unseeing and unblinking, and he’s alone as the speedometer reads 84, 85, 86, 87 as the ravine gets closer and closer and he sees his grave and Doc’s grave and Dad’s grave and Clara’s grave and Dave and Linda are gone and he’s alone and he and he and he—

He gasps for air.

He runs a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s covered in cold sweat, his chest is burning, and he’s shivering.

What the hell?

@doctorbrown ‘s face is in front of his.

They’re in the garage. It was a car backfiring.

That’s all.

“…Doc?…” Marty whispers. To his horror, his hands begin to shake, his vision blurring and colors smearing as his eyes fill up with hot, stinging tears. He tries to take a deep breath but it comes out as a sniffling sob and he wishes he could drop dead on the spot.

“Doc, what’s happening to me?…”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — on the radio.

JULY 15, 1989

Marty sighs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He flexes his hands, rolling his shoulders, trying to work the kink out of his back before getting back to work. That’s pretty much the only downside of tinkering around with various unfinished projects of Doc’s; way too many hours spent hunched over. 

“That was Tom Petty with ‘I Won’t Back Down’ here on KWHV 108.3 and I’m your host, Jamie Lee.” The deejay’s voice is sweet and smooth, and he remembers, warmth creeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, that Jamie Lee was his first crush. As if it wasn’t enough she was the coolest girl inside the halls of Hill Valley High, outside of school she was the best basketball player and had the best music taste. A triple threat for sure. 

“Next up we’ve got something kinda special: a new group that’s been soaring through the charts and sent the music world spinning with their electrifying debut.” 

Marty feels his heart quicken in his chest and tries to tell himself to calm down, the radio static buzzing in his head. He drops the screwdriver, which clatters to the table clumsily. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way in hell she could be talking about–

“So, without further ado, with their lead single ‘Strangerland’ off their album 88, give it up for Hill Valley’s very own hometown boys, McFly and the Flyaways!’ 

His stomach drops. He’d recognize that opening riff anywhere.

“Future sight can’t help me tonight, tired of waitin’ for time to restart–”

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Holy shit!” he exclaims, leaping to his feet and not even caring that he hits his head on the way up. “Doc! DOC!” 

He only feels a little bad when the door gets kicked open and his best friend bursts into the room like he’s goddamn Batman, clad in safety goggles instead of a cape and wielding a fire extinguisher instead of a Batarang. 

“MARTY!” Doc cries, looking around like a man possessed, frantic in his search for some threat. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He runs to the scientist, grasping his upper arms. His face hurts from smiling so much. 

“Doc! Doc, listen!”

“—ghosts in my head, there’s a ghost in the mirror that I see instead—" comes his own voice a moment later. 

Marty bows his head, grip momentarily tightening. There’s a lump in his throat and when he looks up at Doc again, his blue eyes are watery.

“My song, Doc,” he whispers. An awestruck, dumbstruck, disbelieving smile on his face makes him look all of thirteen again and he couldn’t care less. He lets out a laugh that’s a little too close to a sob for comfort. “They’re playing my song.” 

The fire extinguisher falls to the ground with a thud as Doc returns the embrace, holding Marty at arm’s length so tightly he thinks he’ll wake up with bruises in the morning. If Marty thought his own smile was big and stupid, it had nothing on Doc’s. 

“Do you know what this means?” he murmurs. 

“You were right,” Marty replies. “All the stuff you said to me.” 

“If you put your mind to it…” Doc starts, gently.

“…You can accomplish anything,” Marty finishes. 

The chorus starts, crackly over the radio, but it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard. 

“Oh, I’m lost in my dreams, fallin' apart at the seams, and time is slippin' through my hand

But I got somethin' to prove, so what have I got to lose?

I'm gonna make it outta this

Strangerland!

I gotta make it outta this

Strangerland!” 

“Woah,” Marty laughs, tears sliding down his face. “This is heavy.” 

Doc pulls him into a bone-crushing hug which he eagerly returns, the instrumentation that took them weeks to nail blaring in the background.

“You did it, Marty. You made it.”

“I made it,” Marty repeats, as if it’ll make it feel more real. He feels lighter than air and like he’s buzzing with electricity, like he’s flying over a thundercloud. “Holy shit, I made it.” A sudden realization shocks him and his eyes widen. “I-I gotta tell the guys!”

“Go on, go on!” Doc encourages, letting him go, watching him fondly as he almost trips over his feet and the rug trying to make it to the phone in Doc and Clara’s library and study. 

However, it’s already ringing when he gets there. 

“Yo!” he greets, out of force of habit.

“Marty!” his dad’s warm voice responds. 

“Marty, honey, turn on the radio, quick!” his mom jumps in. “They’re playing it! Your, um, your Stranger in a Strange Land song!” 

“It’s your song, kiddo!” His dad sounds full to bursting with joy. “And boy, does it sound great!” 

He laughs, using his thumb and forefinger in a fruitless attempt to try to stem the flow of tears.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Oh, sweetheart, we’re so happy for you. And so proud of you, too, so proud.” His mom sounds like she’s about to cry, too. “Linda’s taping it and everything and Dave has it playing at the office!”

“We love you, son,” his dad reminds him, “and you’ll be home for dinner, right?”

“Yeah, Dad. I will. Love you too.”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — marlene's sleepover.

APRIL 19, 2015, 10:38 PM

Yeah, she could have called Emmett. In retrospect, she probably should have. 

Or, y’know, her parents. 

But, it was his turn with the car, his turn to have an amazing night with the girl he’d been crushing on for approximately forever (at least since the beginning of the school year), his turn to be in the spotlight. Plus, it was Mom and Dad’s date night, a tradition they’d kept up for pretty much forever no matter what life had thrown at them. There was at least one night a week where they’d find time to be together and do whatever disgustingly-in-love stuff they wanted (long nights spent stargazing, cuddled up together laughing in the movie theater, late night drives to the beach, holding hands at a restaurant). 

She’s not gonna be the one to break a twenty year streak. 

Plus, Mimi and Papa are out of town on a book tour so they’re out, too. 

That’s why Ellie finds herself walking down the mean streets of Hill Valley at 10:30 at night toward the city limits down a path she could navigate in her sleep, carrying her heels by their straps, getting soaked in the rain. She puffs a strand of hair out of her face, running her hand through her hair to try to tame the tangled mess it’s rapidly turning into. 

APRIL 19, 2015, 11:23 PM

Okay, so maybe she slightly overestimated her capabilities here. 

This sucked.

Why didn’t she listen to Kayla and wear her Converse tonight? Why today, of all days, did she decide she had to be stylish?

The asphalt is digging into her feet, one of her calves is spasming, and her stupid dress is probably giving her the beginnings of hypothermia (maybe she’s being just a little bit dramatic, but it feels like it, okay? It feels like it). 

At least she can see the lights of the farmhouse now.

She steps onto the porch, rapping on the door with her knuckle.

The door swings open and @doctorbrown is standing there, agape at the sight of her. Ellie gives a crooked smile that is far too reminiscent of her father, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand.

“Hey, Uncle Doc,” she says, tired and sheepish. “...Can I sleep over tonight? The party… well, it wasn’t really my scene, y’know?”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — "duded-up, egg-suckin’, gutter trash."

 NOVEMBER 11, 1985

“Come on, McFly,” Needles’ jeer rudely interrupts Bruce Dickinson’s killer vocals and Marty’s even more annoyed than he was before. This is just what he needed today.

He doesn’t stop, turning up the volume on his Walkman. He just has to make it a little further; he’s almost there, almost to Doc and Einstein and safety. They wouldn’t follow him that far. They wouldn’t dare. They learned that lesson years ago.  

A hand roughly grabs onto his shoulder and Marty whirls around, glaring at Needles and the gang that’s circling him like a bunch of vultures. He straightens, hands balling into fists. 

“Look, I’m not interested, okay?” he repeats. “Lay off already. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re no fun anymore, McFly, you know that?” Needles returns, “What’s ‘a matter… chicken?” 

His gang ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs,’ snickering, as if the guy just played his ace in the hole. 

Marty pauses his music, takes off his headphones, and stares at the other boys. 

“Seriously?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Is that the best thing you can come up with? What, you just finish preschool?”

Needles’ face goes pale, fumbling for words. Even the rest of the group seems stunned, whispering among each other and backing away.

Marty shakes his head, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder, and puts his headphones back on. He crosses the street, pretty sure he’s never been so happy to see the garage in his life. 

To his surprise, @doctorbrown is waiting outside for him, looking equally shocked. 

“Doc?” Marty asks, immediately uneasy. “What is it? What’s wrong?” How did I screw up this time?

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — all-nighter.

SEPTEMBER 19, 1984

Junior year wouldn’t be so bad, Marty thinks, if everyone would quit breathing down his neck about how this is the year that really counts. This is the year that everyone would be looking at and scrutinizing, the deciding factor in the life-or-death coin toss for the rest of his life.

His future.

Which is why he’s desperately trying to give a shit about something he normally could not care less about.

But if anyone could help him care, it’s @doctorbrown .

“What the hell does calculating the area of a graph have to do with speed?!”

…well. Even Doc can only do so much.

“You don’t actually use this stuff, do ya, Doc? I mean the graphs and junk, not like… velocity and acceleration and whatever. I get that. But this has gotta be the most convoluted…”

Marty sighs, jogging his leg, knotting his hand tighter in his hair.

“I know I’m pretty dumb, but this is next-level stupid.”

It’s gonna be a long night.

[timechange]

It’s probably a good thing Marty doesn’t sleep much anymore; he’s only dozing when his homemade police scanner crackles. 

“We, uh, we got reports of a 10-103 on Kennedy Drive… 1646 Kennedy Drive. Possible 10-64.” 

He feels for the aluminum baseball bat by their bed and closes his fingers around it as he stumbles upright, his foot tangled in the blankets. Beside him, Jennifer stirs. 

“Marty?” she asks. He looks over his shoulder, catching her, all half-lidded eyes and messy bedhead, lit up by the moon. God, she’s beautiful. He can spare a moment to kiss her.

“Somethin’s goin’ down at Doc’s,” he tells her once he pulls away. Immediately alert, she sits up. 

“Do you think it’s—”

“I don’t know,” Marty sighs, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m gonna find out.”

“Copy that. 10-44,” the scanner continues. 

“10-4. 10-76.” 

“Go,” Jennifer urges, “They're on their way. But Marty, be careful.”

“Yeah, you got it.” Marty pats the sides of his pajama pants. “Keys.”

“On the nightstand,” Jennifer reminds him. Marty swipes them, stuffing them in his pocket before sprinting out the door. 

The truck roars to life and he floors it down the abandoned streets of Hill Valley. Though there may not be an actual groove worn in the asphalt— something he’s always kind of surprised by— there’s a map of this road etched somewhere inside him, he thinks. Asleep, awake, it doesn’t matter. He can always find his way back home. 

The young man grabs the walkie talkie on the passenger seat. 

“Jennifer, any updates?” 

“Nothing yet, Marty,” his wife replies. “Can you see anything?” 

“I’m pulling in now.” He puts the truck in park and abruptly cuts the engine, which responds by jerking forward. From the Burger King parking lot lights, he can just make out a figure by the fence surrounding @doctorbrown ‘s garage.

Marty clips the walkie talkie to his waistband and grabs the bat with both hands, holding it high, quietly making his way across to the garage. He has to think of how stupid he must look barefoot and shivering in the cold night air. 

He’s about to call out something to interrupt the almost frantic attempts to pry open the padlock on the fence (thankfully, they hadn’t reached the electronic keypad lock he’d installed on the door yet) when he catches a glimpse of the figure in profile. 

All of a sudden, he’s a kid again.

“…Doc?”