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Chapter Text

Emmett was only able to stand and stare at what was his otherwise unassuming, brown notebook trapped in his father’s death grip. The cover gave to his fingers and bent in defeat.

“Do you have anything else?” his father snapped, his hard eyes daring his son to lie.

“No, just the one,” Emmett answered, tearing his gaze away from the now lost archive of scientific ideas and looking instead down to the ground.

The tense silence that followed tested both of their wills. Emmett stayed calm, directing all his anger and nerves to the innocent plush carpet. 

“Fine. I never want to find anything like this from you again. The only things you should be scribbling down is law. Not these foolish, frivolous, intangible concepts.”

“Yes, father,” Emmett replied through gritted teeth, refusing to look back up. 

His father stayed for a moment longer, waiting to see if there would be anything more. If Emmett would slip up and express anything other than remorse, in which his father could swiftly install more punishment.

He managed to not give his father that opportunity, and he stormed out of his bedroom. Emmett counted two hundred and fifty seconds in his head before he could deem himself safe. 

He lifted his mattress, confirming his two other contraband notebooks were secure. Best if he didn’t pull them out for a few days.

That was far too close. He needed a safer space to spew out his mind’s constant workings other than his compromised room.

Chapter Text

A breeze finds itself in the streets of a quiet town in North California. Grids of houses made of grassy lawns, picket fences, cars in driveways. Lawns taken over by weeds and wildlife. White paint peeling from fences. Cars with webs along the tires. Some windows are boarded up. Some are broken. Sometimes the breeze can make its way into one of these houses, where it quickly dies.

It comes across a high school, littered with faded graffiti and dried gum. The windows show dark, dusty classrooms with tables turned over and supplies ransacked, doors open to barren hallways. A few are barricaded.

The breeze whistles across lines of small, local businesses. Their windows broken more often than not, merchandise abandoned and spewed across the floor. Sometimes the breeze is lucky enough to come across an animal taking refuge. More often, suspicious stains, or things beyond that.

It slips past a lone garage beside an abandoned Burger King. Obsessively, scrappily fortified. It screams to stay away in a dangerous desperation. So the breeze does.

The town square is quaint. A square of businesses, all pointing towards an imposing clocktower. Below it a courthouse, boarded up, scratches and deep blemishes splaying the locked doors. 

The only sound is the trees, which dance to the excitement of the company of the breeze. 

There sits a billboard,

Welcome to Hill Valley! “A Nice Place to Live”

A zombie stumbles past it, its soulless eyes staring off to nothing in particular. 

The breeze leaves.

Chapter Text

The last thing Emmett had on his to-do list for today was picking up Verne early from school. Even more so for starting a fight.

His youngest was now sitting in the backseat, arms crossed, right eye bruising. 

Emmett restrained himself, waiting for Verne to explain himself.

Half way home the boy finally spoke, “I didn’t start it.”

“The principal had multiple eye-witness accounts that you threw the first punch.”

“He started it with his words!”

“And you decided the best course of action was to respond with your fist?”

“He’s been asking for it for a while now,” Verne grumbled. 

“How so?”

“He’s been sayin’ a lot of stuff,” he muttered.

“What ‘stuff’?”

Verne didn’t reply.

Emmett looked at him through the rearview window. “Verne, if something more is going on, I need to know.”

He hesitated. “He’s been saying a lot of stuff about…you.”

Emmett’s already grim face darkened. 

“And it’s really stupid!” Verne continued. “But then Jackson accused me and Jules of being experiments, rather than your kids. Even asked if I was radioactive! I couldn’t stand it anymore!”

The pit in his stomach deepened. “Vernie, this town has been calling me names, and worse, for decades. I can handle it. I didn’t, however, consider the effects my reputation would be on you boys’.”

“They’re just stupid. They don’t know how awesome you are!”

A small smile broke through Emmett’s guilt. “I appreciate that very much. But we must see what can be done about this bullying.”

Chapter Text

Emmett had glanced at the clock at some point, which had read just past midnight. He figured he’d finish some wiring and then head to bed. And what seemed to be ten minutes later, it was past 2am. He had run into several snags in voltage, but now he was finally close to being done. What was a few more minutes by this point?

Until he heard footsteps. He spun around from his workbench to be met by a sleepy eyed Jules. 

“What are you doing awake?” Emmett asked.

“Grabbing a glass of water. What are you doing awake? I thought mother wanted you to stop staying up so late?”

He ran his hand through his hair. Yes, Clara had been trying off and on through the years to fix his sleep schedule. He was better than he used to be, but 2am was definitely past what she would deem alright. 

“I’m going to bed right now. After I finish this. Get your water and go back to bed,” Emmett assured.

“Mother isn’t going to be happy.”

“Your mother doesn’t have to know about tonight,” Emmett remarked.

A rare mischievous glint crossed the boy’s half-open eyes. “I suppose she doesn’t…”

Emmett frowned. “Jules.”

“If I get more television time tomorrow.”

Was Emmett really going to get bribed by his son? “Half an hour.”

“Two hours.”

“One hour.”

Jules considered for a moment before nodding. “Mother doesn’t need to know.”

He then walked off and Emmett grumbled.

Yes, yes he was.

Chapter Text

Jennifer opens the door and the foyer lights automatically switch on. She yawns and throws her purse on the couch. With Marty out of town for a gig, and her doing a last minute late night appointment, she had called Doc to watch the kids after school. 

Light and sounds pull her to the kitchen, where she is greeted by a tornado-struck dining table. Wood slabs, cardboard, glue, and paint had taken over the large surface in a mad scramble. On one end, Doc and Junior stand hunched over a cut open shoebox.

“What is this?”

Both heads snap up and smile sheepishly. 

“Junior here came home with a diorama project for his history class, I figured I could help,” Doc explains.

“It’s on our favorite history!” Junior announces. “And I’m making a train!”

Jennifer moves to look at the diorama. There stands a half built train with an old west backdrop. What’s there is already overly complex, especially for a third grade project.

“We’re gonna have two cowboys chase it on horses!”

“But first, we must complete the train. Some of our measurements were off, so we’re having to redo some parts,” Doc adds.

Jennifer sighs. “Doc, this thing doesn’t need to be built to scale. Besides, it’s past Junior’s bed time.”

“Awwwww!” 

“Well, I suppose I could come back tomorrow…” Doc remarks.

Jennifer eyes the disaster zone. And they’re not even half done with the diorama. “That’s okay, I think me and Marty can take it from here.”

Chapter Text

Sitting in the principal’s office was more agonizing than usual. Not that he was sent there too often. But this time, he knows for sure he was in the right. It wasn’t his fault his teacher clearly wasn’t qualified.

Strickland sat across from him, bald and stony faced. 

“Mr. McFly. As a sophomore in high school, you think you know more about physics than your teacher?”

Marty crossed his arms. “Apparently. Light isn’t just a wave, it also acts like a particle. Wave-particle duality. It’s been proven science. Even I can understand it.”

“And where did you learn about the nature of light, Mr. McFly? A C student like you doesn’t strike me as a science nerd,” Strickland scoffed.

“I…ah. I’ve got a science mentor,” Marty stammered.

“And who would that be?”

“Doctor Brown…” he mumbled under his breath, preparing for the reaction.

“Doctor Brown?!” Strickland exclaimed. “What are you doing with that mad scientist?”

“He’s not mad! He’s crazy smart and knows his subject, unlike my physics teacher, that’s for sure!” Marty defended.

Strickland rolled his eyes. “From now on, listen to what your teacher instructs you. I don’t want to hear of any more rebellion on standard topics. And stay away from that disgrace of a scientist. It’s a matter of time before he gets the straightjacket, and you don’t want to be dragged down with him.”

Fury ignited in his chest and his eyes blazed. Strickland shot him a warning glance before dismissing him. He stormed out. 

Chapter Text

Emmett’s life always revolved around equations. At first, secret mutterings and scribbles. Then, on blackboards in public classes. To blackboards in front of the nation’s best minds.

Of those equations, E=mc^2 was the most prevalent. The very foundation for everything he was trying to accomplish. That equation was the key to victory. 

It instead was the key to Pandora's box. A box he helped build. 

After that, he couldn’t bear to see that equation again. Over and over he used to write it. Now he couldn’t stomach writing that capital E.

Luckily, it didn’t have a whole lot of use beyond nuclear physics, a field he planned to permanently keep his distance from. 

That was, until it collided with his temporal pursuits. 

He tried to avoid it at all costs, but traveling through the space-time continuum would require far too much energy, energy only achievable through nuclear power.

And so he sat there with a pencil in his hand and his notebook just below it. His stomach squirmed at the thought of what he was compromising. 

There was no way around it. Either he gave up on his dream, or take the equation back.

It would be worth it. This would be a good invention. This would be using the equation’s evil nature for good. Making up for the damage he originally wielded it for. 

He dragged the pencil across the paper, falling into an old familiar pattern.

E=mc^2

This time, it would be different.

Chapter Text

One thing that had stayed true about Junior was his love of trains. The shelves in his room were filled with his proud collection of train models, which was started when he was twelve. Before then, he had the wooden toy train sets of envy.

When he and his sister were let in on the secret of time travel when he was fifteen, Junior didn’t think it could get any better.

That was, until he saw the time train.

He scrambled over to it before anyone could react. An authentic steam engine. Heavily modified, but a classic underneath all the bells and whistles. 

“Rogers 4-6-0 mixed traffic engine,” Doc noted from behind him. 

“1897?” he asked, eyes glued to the shining black metal.

“That’s the year,” Doc confirmed.

“Isn’t this a bit…inconvenient for a time machine?” Marlene asked, stepping up to the locomotive.

“It offers more space than the DeLorean,” Clara explained. “But, it is a pain to hide.”

“Who cares about convenience when you get a flying, time traveling, classic steam engine!” Junior insisted.

“Precisely!” Doc agreed. “If you’re going to time travel, why not do it in some style?”

He peeled his eyes from the train temporarily to focus on his father who now leaned against it with a knowing grin. “So, how about taking it for a spin?”

Junior gaped. He looked over to his mom. She smiled and nodded her approval.

Marty Sr. barely made it inside the train before his son did something without supervision.

Chapter Text

After enduring months of the same tedious boredom the apocalypse brought, Doc gave in on Marty’s request to spend precious water on painting. Doc had been secretly wanting to anyway; he could use some relaxation.

His childhood was fuzzy by now, but the stables at the boys camp his father made him attend was still crystal clear. Those horses were one of the few things he enjoyed. 

He looked over to see Marty, tediously attempting a guitarist performing a half painted concert 

“Is that you?” Doc asked with a smile.

“Uh, maybe,” he admitted, pulling away from the canvas and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kinda what I always imagined for the future, y’know? I mean, I know hitting it that big was pretty unlikely.”

“I don’t think so. You are very good already,” Doc assured.

“Thanks Doc, but it doesn’t really matter now. This scene is borderline fantastical anymore,” he chuckled sadly.

The lights, the people, all a world they had been outside of for so long, it didn’t feel real anymore.

Doc’s own painting had doubled in nostalgia for the same reason. A peaceful scene of trees and horses without a zombie in sight. He’d like to slip into his painting, get away from reality and just ride through a forest. He’s sure Marty held similar desires with his own painting. 

“It’s memory, proof of what was. That’s still powerful,” Doc decided out loud. 

“I wish it was more than that.”

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

Chapter Text

Marty lifts his head from Jennifer’s shoulder when the credits start rolling. 

“That was a nice movie,” she comments, stretching in her seat.

“Not as nice as you,” Marty can’t help but reply.

She lovingly whacked his arm, grinning. 

He glanced up through the rearview mirror. He sees a particular car parked in the very back. His eyes narrow.

“What is it?” Jennifer asks, twisting to look through the back window. “Is that….?”

Marty throws the truck in reverse and pulls up beside the DeLorean and looks over. There sit two sheepish, similar looking teenagers.

“In the clearly modified DeLorean, out in the open?” Jennifer scolds.

“It wasn't like we had another car to watch the movie in…” Junior defends.

“Why are you even here in the first place?” Marty asks pointedly. By the amount of times he keeps running into them, he's sure it isn't for any space time-continuum reason. 

“We heard it was a good movie! We wanted an authentic experience watching it,” Marlene explains. 

The couple groans and shakes their heads. 

“Go back to your time before you get noticed, if you haven't already,” Jennifer instructs.

“You can’t tell us what to do, you’re not our mom yet,” Marlene argues stubbornly.

One look and both kids were apologetically on their way.

“They're sneaking out to time travel, aren't they?” Marty remarks.

“Oh definitely,” Jennifer replies. “With how much they’re showing up here, I’m worried they are going to mess something up eventually.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Marty sighs.

Chapter Text

It was after dinner that Marty gave up and headed to Doc’s place. He brought his backpack just in case.

“Hey Doc,” he said as he stepped inside the garage.

Doc wasn’t expecting him today, but he’d been learning to expect him otherwise. “Hello Marty, how are you?”

He shrugged, tossing his backpack onto the couch. “Okay, I guess.”

Doc stepped away from his workbench, sensing the tone in the teen’s voice. “Are you sure? Did something happen at school?”

“Nothin’ at school,” he assured. He flopped onto the couch, sighing. “Just after it.”

Doc sat down beside him.

“I’ve got two essays, some reading, and a bunch of math questions. Plus I need to finish some lyrics for the band. I’ve got all this stuff I need to get done, but I just can’t get myself to do it.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” 

“I dunno. There’s nothing stopping me. I just sit down, and then can’t focus on any of it. I find myself doing something else. There’s the overwhelming pressure but it’s just pushing me away more, I guess. I do this a lot,” he grumbled.

Doc hummed in thought. “Well, why don’t we break everything down. Let’s just do the introduction paragraph to one of your essays. And, I can help you and keep you focused.”

“I…guess we can try that,” he admitted. “I don’t wanna take you away from what you were doing.”

“Nonsense, I’m happy to help! Now, let’s write that paragraph…”

Chapter Text

You ruined my life for fun?

Yeah. That’s how I get my kicks.

He was horribly desperate, standing on top of the courthouse. Emmett wasn’t taking any encouragement. So he resorted to the only idea left: invoke outrage. Make him pursue science out of spite. That’s what happened with his father.

But, three nights later after returning home, it’s eating him alive. A lot of his actions were, really. But this one in particular was tonight’s tormentor.  

He rolled over and dialed up Doc. It was an odd thing to do, since before Doc didn’t have this particular number, let alone be able to answer his old one. 

“Hello?” Doc’s voice answered.

“Hey Doc,” he replied quietly so as not to be heard.

“Marty! Is everything alright?”

“I’ve been kinda reflecting on everything in 1931. And stuff I did and said…”

“You were doing what you had to do to set the timeline straight. You were a confusing enigma at the time, but it makes complete sense now,” Doc assured.

“Yeah, Doc, I know the stuff had to be done. But I still ruined a lot in your life, and acted like a complete jerk about it. I never even apologized.”

“I know you meant none of it. I promise I’m not mad.”

“I was a terrible friend,” he muttered.

“Hardly. You were fixing my future.”

Marty had several arguments, but he didn’t feel like pursuing them tonight. “You’re the doc, Doc.”

He hung up and stared at the ceiling.

Chapter Text

Marty, Doc, and Verne all watched the game out of sight with eagle eyes. Doc held a notebook, checking off whenever a proper rule was exhibited, and thus solidified for the future of baseball. 

Verne, having recently gotten into the sport, begged to meet Alexander J. Cartwright, the baseball legend that organized the New York Knickerbocker Base Ball Club, which would set the precedent of modern baseball rules. Jules had no interest coming along, but Verne managed to rope Marty in, and the three of them made the trip to 1845.

Until, while meeting him, Verne let some baseball rules slip that hadn’t been implemented yet. Cartwright found these interesting, and ignored the three’s quick insistence to not consider them. 

So they watched the game, tensely awaiting any implantation of rules that should yet to exist. It was bad enough Cartwright decided on a field size closer to what Verne had mentioned when he saw the original possible field. If there were much more changes, it could have a significant impact on baseball’s history, and who knows where that could lead. 

“This will be the last time we talk face to face with a historical figure,” Doc muttered.

“I said I was sorry! I forgot about the differences between baseball now and our time,” Verne whined.

“We know,” Marty replied, ruffling the young boy’s hair. “But Doc’s got a point, this kinda thing is too easy to mess up.”

“Jules is gonna kill me. He wanted to meet Pasteur.”