Chapter Text
As soon as the blue lightning faded and he could see again, Marty felt his head collide with the steering wheel as one of the storefronts crumpled around him like one of Doc’s cardboard models. The force of it sent him reeling, his neck whipping backwards painfully and smacking against the headrest. Stunned, he sat in the wreckage of the building, breathing heavily, distantly aware of something trickling down his face.
Wreck, he thought vaguely, I wrecked- I was in a-
Smoke rose from the hood of the DeLorean. Dust particles floated through the air. Marty blinked.
Slowly, he put the car into reverse- thankfully, the car still seemed to work- and backed out of the building. Despite going over the plan meticulously for the past week with Doc, Marty had somehow never realized that he would have to crash into a building. Nerves buzzing, he stumbled out of the car and tried to assess the damage. Not bad…couple of dents… Something was blurring his vision and making his eyes sting, but when he went to wipe it away, his hand came back red.
…huh. I guess I did hit my head pretty hard…well, it’s not the first time, is it? He’d hit his head, what, three times in the past week? When he crashed into Peabody's barn, when Grandad had hit him with his car, and now this.
He was fine, obviously. Sure, he’d felt a little nauseous then- and now- and sure, he’d had some headaches and bruises, but he was fine. He’d just sleep it off like before. The one in danger right now wasn’t him, it was-
“Doc!” He gasped, slumping onto the hood of the DeLorean as his knees buckled underneath him. Doc was gonna be shot- how the hell had he forgotten? And he’d wasted all this time just standing there-
Out of the corner of his eyes, which were blown wide with shock and horror, he saw something that almost made him throw up. The Libyans’ blue van barreled down the street, heading straight towards the mall.
Marty didn’t- couldn’t- think. He felt his body begin to run, going purely off of instinct as his brain struggled to keep up. Every footfall against the asphalt sent a jolt of pain through his body. His ribs ached, his lungs burned, his head throbbed, his stomach churned.
None of it mattered. The only important thing was putting one foot in front of the other; making the distance between him and the mall shrink with every painful stride.
Oh, God, he thought as the parking lot came into view. Oh God, oh God, oh-
His legs locked as he stared, helpless, as his friend was mowed down in front of him again-
Marty threw up. The sign for the mall was the only thing keeping him upright as his legs threatened to collapse. His chest burned even worse as he retched- he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe-
Air flooded his lungs as he finally inhaled, tears and blood streaming down his cheeks and mixing with the bile in a disgusting puddle in the grass. Gasping, Marty watched his slightly-younger self climb into the Other-DeLorean and take off across the parking lot. He waited until the tell-tale lightning proved his other self was gone before running towards the Doc.
Honestly, it was more of a controlled fall- after the first few steps, his ankle twisted underneath him, sending him rolling down the hill. He lay on the asphalt for a few moments, winded, until his body stopped screaming at him enough that he could push himself to his feet. Laser-focused on his friend’s fallen body, he barely registered the jolt of pain in his wrists.
“Doc,” he gasped, falling to his knees. “Oh my God, Doc.” He couldn’t manage anything else. His heart was lodged in his throat, pounding so erratically he thought he might be sick again. Letting his eyes slip shut, he felt a numb haze wash over him.
Maybe he should just give up. Lay down to Doc and let everything drift away…he’d tried so goddamn hard all week to save his friend and now Doc was dead and it was Marty’s fault because he hadn’t warned him when he had the chance.
God…the one good thing about ending up in 1955…the one thing I could ever do for the Doc and I managed to screw it up…Strickland was right, I can’t- a sob ripped its way past the lump in his throat. I can’t do anything right. I couldn’t even save my best friend.
Something shifted behind him. After a moment’s struggle, he peeled his eyes open and turned his head to see-
Marty’s heart skipped a beat. His breath came in ragged bursts as he watched his best friend literally rise from the dead.
“You…” Words failed him. “You- you’re-” he croaked. “You’re alive.”
Doc seemed about as stunned as Marty was. He started at the parking lot around him as if he were surprised to see it instead of the pearly gates. Finally, his gaze landed on Marty.
Eyes widening comedically, the Doc shrieked and jolted backwards. “Great Scott, Marty, what happened?”
“Wh- what- I- you’re the one who just got shot!”
“I had a bulletproof vest on.” The man brushed off the accusation with a wave of his hand. “But- Marty, you look like you got hit by a car! Or like you… hit something… with…” Doc’s face, which was already pale, drained of any remaining color. “Marty, what happened when you returned to 1985?”
It took a moment for Marty to process the question. “Uh…the DeLorean crashed into the Assembly of Christ Church…y’know, the one that used to be a theater?” A pang of guilt shot through him. “Doc, I’m so sorry, I left it in the town square, it could get stolen-”
“No, no, never mind that. How did you- Marty, did you run here?” Doc was on his knees now, holding Marty by the shoulders and pretty much keeping him upright. “Jesus, kid, it’s a wonder you’re even conscious right now.”
Marty blinked, trying to fight back the blackness overtaking his vision. “Uh.” The world was beginning to tilt sideways.
“We’ve got to get you to a hospital,” Doc muttered. “I- no, no, no, no, kid- stay with me! Marty? Marty?”