Chapter Text
Saturday, November 12, 1955
9:39 PM
Marty got stuck on the lighting rig.
The buckle dangling off his leather jacket got caught on the base of a chain mount. It refused to budge, forcing Marty to curse under his breath, lean back, and yank it free.
That was all it took; Marty didn't get to the sandbags before his other self finished Johnny B. Goode.
"Where's your life preserver, dork?"
Skinhead, 3-D, and Match really did a number on him. And when Marty's past self lifted his head off the floor at the end of it, Skinhead knocked his lights out. His cohorts' ensuing cackles made Marty's face burn; it was like watching his future son in the Cafe 80's all over again.
"Let's go find Biff," Skinhead said. He cracked his bloody knuckles. "Night's not over yet."
"Should one of us stay with him?" asked Match.
Skinhead narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I think even a dunce like Calvin Klein can handle being unconscious behind some big curtains for ten minutes without you holding his hand, O'Malley."
They continued bickering as they left. Marty waited until their voices faded into the background hum of the gymnasium to lower himself to the ground, rip out his walkie-talkie, and assess his past self's condition.
"Doc! Doc, come in!"
"What is it, Marty? Over."
"I couldn't stop it," he panted. "Biff's goons jumped the other me!"
"Great Scott!"
"They broke my hand –"
"Marty! Marty, focus! Are you sure your past self is incapacitated?"
"Without a doubt, Doc." The poor bastard was out cold with a black eye, a bloody lip, and a slew of unseen bruises. "But I'm not— I'm not fading," Marty said, checking the opacity of his hand.
Thank God, Emmett thought.
"There is a time bubble still protecting us, Marty," he deduced. "Just like in 1985A. Although, if we can't remedy this situation, I can't say how long we have until that bubble bursts."
"Maybe if I can wake him up, I can send him straight to you instead of changing his clothes —"
"No, Marty! Absolutely not! Your other self must not see you! Don't you remember what happened to Jennifer in Hilldale?"
How could I forget?
"Doc, if I don't do something, he's never going to make the lightning strike!" Marty said. "He'll be stuck here, which means I never get back to the future, and that makes me being here a paradox! Like you said!"
Doc's voice brightened with a eureka.
"That's it, Marty!"
"What?"
"You can go back to the future in his place! Right now!"
"What?"
Emmett tried to remain upbeat. This would put them in a pickle, but that was far better than the grave.
"Think about it! My counterpart won't know the difference! You just have to make sure you end up on the other end of that lightning strike in 1985, or we'll have an even bigger problem on our hands!"
"Bigger than leaving my unconscious self backstage?"
"I'll take care of him. You need to destroy that almanac, get the car keys off your past self, and get the Packard to Courthouse Square in less than twenty minutes!"
"10-4."
Marty dragged his other self into the corner and fished the Packard's keys out of his jacket, realizing the totality (or lack thereof) of Doc's plan.
If he did this — if he took his past self's place — it wouldn't just be for the lightning strike.
He'd have to wake up the next morning to his new life, let Doc take him and Jennifer to 2015 where Biff stole the almanac, return to Hell Valley, and then return to 1955 to get the book back from him.
Where he watches Past Marty, again, get jumped after Johnny B. Goode.
And has to take his place at the lightning strike.
It's a time loop.
He'd have to keep doing it over and over just to preserve the space-time continuum.
And his past self; what happened to him? Surely, there would be consequences. What happened when Past Marty woke up in Doc's care and recovered from his injuries after the lightning strike? Would that mean Marty was once again headed back to a vastly different 1985? Or would Past Marty somehow be the one that vanished since his future self had stitched the space-time continuum back together in his absence?
As if Doc could hear his thoughts, his voice cut through a burst of static and said, "I will figure out how to extract you from this series of events, Marty. But only if you insert yourself. Now."
Past Doc didn't suspect a thing.
When Marty got to the clocktower, he berated himself for sounding so stilted, nervously trying to recite what he'd said before lest the slightest shift in his inflections or microexpressions affect the future. Despite his preoccupation, however, other forces felt at play; what Marty feared would be a goodbye goodbye hug the first time around was still motivated by an internalized secret and a desperate need for reassurance.
"Don't worry!" Past Doc hollered over the rising gusts. "As long as you hit that wire with the connecting hook at precisely 88 miles an hour the instant the lightning strikes the tower," – he wet his lips and scanned the setup, certain he'd told Marty all the relevant information – "everything will be fine."
Marty sank into the driver's seat of the DeLorean. His stomach churned as he waited for the flutter of the envelope out of the corner of his eye; Marty knew that Doc taped the letter back together and lived, but he had to ensure Doc ripped it up in the first place.
Marty chased the spastic scientist around the DeLorean.
"Your life depends on it!"
"No! I refuse to accept the responsibility!"
Marty sighed when Doc's back was to him. Seeing him tear up the letter was like a mercy kill; it knifed the air out of him initially, but the stunned silence gave way to the desired relief, rightness, and peace. When the tree branch fell on the cable, and Doc stuffed the letter's remnants in his coat pockets, Marty mentally placed a checkmark next to it on his time loop to-do list.
Check.
Doc raced to the top of the clocktower.
Marty fed him the cable.
Tried to warn him again when the clocktower itself forbade it.
"Look at the time! You've got less than four minutes!"
At the sign for the Bluebird Motel, Marty swung the DeLorean around, pulled up to the starting line, and inserted the connecting hook as ferocious thunderclaps overlapped. He set the time circuits ten minutes earlier.
Check.
Then, reaching for the door handle, Marty paled when Doc pulled up in the DeLorean beside him. Past Marty was slumped in the passenger seat.
"Doc?!" Tremors wracked Marty's abdomen, eyes wide as the passenger door on Doc's DeLorean rose. "What the hell are you doing?!"
"I'm dangling from a clocktower well out of sight right now, Marty!" Emmett said. "I promise you, I can't see us!"
Past Marty groaned.
Marty staggered back. His instinct to punch himself unconscious like he had Biff in the school parking lot reared its ugly head, but Emmett strobed the alpha-rhythm generator in Past Marty's eyes before he registered anything.
Marty's knees quaked.
This felt bad. Real bad.
"What are you going to do with him?"
"I'm taking him to a suspended animation chamber in 2015!" Doc said. "That is, given you've destroyed the almanac and restored the timeline?"
Marty nodded with a strained smile. "Threw it in your fireplace when I stopped to change clothes!" His eyes shone in the lightning; blink, and you'd miss it. "The newspaper changed! My father's alive!"
"Good man!" Doc reached for the passenger door handle. "Until we can figure this out, putting your past self in suspended animation should preserve the time bubble protecting you!"
Another nod. The alarm clock in Marty's DeLorean rang.
"I'll find you in 2015!" Emmett said as Marty got behind the wheel. "Remember: do everything as you did before! You must convince the space-time continuum you're you!"
"But I am me!"
"You know what I mean!"
Saturday, October 26, 1985
1:24 AM
Getting back to 1985, despite being the principal event around which everything seemed to orbit, was low on Marty's list of concerns the second time around. Doc did it once so he could do it again. That attitude exhibited more complacency in Marty's anticipation of events than trust in Doc. However, the space-time continuum was its own entity in Marty's mind; there were crucial moments he believed would transpire with or without his active participation, like it or not.
One of them was getting back to the future.
Another was the Libyans.
How that whole series of events slipped his mind told Marty all he needed to know about his mental state at that point. He was so worried about when and where Doc would reunite with him in 2015 that the Libyans' Volkswagen jolted him out of his stupor when it sped past the DeLorean in Courthouse Square.
For a heartbeat, Marty hesitated.
Doc would be fine.
He eyed the DeLorean. He could drive it to the mall instead of sprinting; he knew where the kill switch was after watching Doc use it to resurrect the car –
And that's why you can't use it, he reminded himself.
The DeLorean had to remain in Courthouse Square during the Libyans' attack so Marty could witness Doc using the kill switch afterward.
Run, you lazy bastard.
Marty caught himself on the Lone Pine Mall sign at 1:33 AM, lungs burning and head throbbing from overexertion.
He didn't look up.
The sounds were enough.
When he heard the Libyans crash into the photo booth, Marty licked the sweat from his upper lip and finally surveyed the carnage across the JC Penney parking lot. The same awful wrench at Marty's heart happened again the moment he laid eyes on Doc's motionless body, as if knowing he was perfectly fine didn't matter. Like he was supposedto feel utterly devastated by failure.
Marty belatedly remembered he should have tumbled down the slope already. He managed to get to the bottom upright this time but still stumbled and fell hard on his knees when he reached Doc.
Marty's voice hitched the same way when he called his name.
"Doc‽"
The tears came with the same sting.
The awe of unfolding that taped letter, however, hit harder than before; the significance of it – the message it sent. Doc Brown loved him enough to listen, to understand what his continued presence in Marty's life meant.
Marty threw his arms around Doc.
Teenage pride got in the way the first time. Embarrassment, too, for having let Doc see him cry like that. He had wanted to, but he'd also just hugged Doc fifteen minutes before that, so he settled for a heartfelt handshake in his driveway at the end of the night.
Not this time.
Marty's embrace was readily returned. Tears sprung anew.
Marty laid his head on Doc's shoulder and expelled a great sigh of relief.
"Thank you."
The first time Doc brought Marty home after his adventures in 1955, Marty was asleep before his head hit the pillow. That was not a luxury afforded to him this time; paranoia and adrenaline had him pacing his room for the last twenty minutes. He tiptoed down the hallway to survey his new home in the dark, noting the wall clock's deeper timbre and the refrigerator's quieter hum.
So far, so good.
When he returned to his room, Marty hid under his blankets until sleep took him, heart drumming through his dreams. He awoke with the same anxiety gripping his chest, and knowing he wouldn't see his Doc until he got to 2015 only made it worse.
Marty tried to pick out things he hadn't noticed before when he came out to breakfast. His mother had a lot more greenery in the house now, and the copper ship above the sofa had been replaced with framed art. Biff's presence made even less sense; why would his dad let that man anywhere near his mother? Why give him his business?
Seeing Jennifer made it all go away for a heartbeat. No time travel, no time loop, no paradoxes; just her and those gorgeous doe eyes brimming with concern.
"You okay?" she asked. "Is everything all right?"
"Oh, yeah," Marty said dismissively. "Everything's great."
The DeLorean barreled into the trash cans just as their lips brushed.
Right on time.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
5:16 PM
"Batter up!"
Marty looked down at the water, bent his knees –
"Marty, don't jump!"
Marty's head snapped up. Feet away, in an electric blue, honeycombed trench coat and round little glasses with lime green lenses, Doc shook his head vigorously as he shielded himself with a newspaper. Marty's survival instincts didn't spare him a microsecond to be comforted by Doc's presence.
"I'm going to have to anyway!"
Emmett shushed him loudly. "It's the momentum of Griff's missed swing at your head that sends the gang crashing into the courthouse, Marty! Stay put!"
How does he know that?
Marty heard Griff's gang fast approaching, the high-pitched whine of their powered hoverboards propelling them across the duck pond right to him. Then, just as before, he turned as Griff drew back his bat with an infuriated roar. Screaming, Marty fell into the water, unnerved by the rush of displaced air inches off the top of his head.
Emmett helped Marty out of the water amidst the gathering crowd. He quickly ushered him to the mall's underground passage.
"That could have been disastrous," Doc muttered into Marty's ear as they speed-walked against the flow of foot traffic. "You can't take shortcuts, Marty. If the timing is off in the slightest –"
"Yeah, I know, I know." The universe exploded. He got it.
Doc didn't appreciate being brushed off, but perhaps that was for the best; if he preoccupied Marty with a stern talking-to in the infancy of this misadventure, it would be as damning as anything else that deviated from the mandated course of events.
Doc checked his watch.
"You've got twenty-one minutes until the timestamp on the Blast From the Past receipt. Perhaps you should head inside."
"Not yet." Marty nodded to Terry, approaching them with a thumb pad. He sighed, voice flat. "He's the one that gives me the idea."
"Then get it and go," Emmett said. He about-faced and held up his newspaper. "I'll check in on the other you and meet you in Hilldale."
"Right."
Marty stared at the almanac in the Blast to the Past storefront. Anxiety curled in his chest, the makings of a maelstrom; the future yawned before him like thin ice, waiting to swallow him whole. And there was no guarantee he would make it across, however carefully calculated his path.
He had to purchase it. If he didn't, he wouldn't go back to 1955 to retrieve it and take his past self's place at the lightning strike.
Again.
God, he didn't want to do that again.
Doc'll think of something.
He had to.
Dead leaves rustled down Hilldale's damp, dark streets and around the DeLorean's tires. Marty shoved his feet in his shoes, stuffed the self-lacing Nikes behind the seats, and reluctantly stood, pocketing his hands.
He trained his eyes on the dim fluorescents streaking the asphalt, resisting the urge to look to his left – in the direction Biff's flying taxicab came from.
This felt worse than buying the almanac.
Hell, it was worse.
He had to let Biff take the DeLorean.
God, I'm such an idiot.
Expelling a shaky breath, Marty followed the dog-walking drone that had led to his wandering from the time machine the first time. He wasn't much in the mood to hop up and down in the middle of the street for a glimpse of his future home, however; hearing Biff reiterate what a loser he was in the café doused his curiosity. And despite the grudge Biff held against his family, there seemed to be truth to his words.
Anyone with eyes could see what time had done to this place.
Marty tried to tell himself before that it just looked different at night. Needed some TLC. But the paraphernalia along the sewer drains, rusted street signs, and broken gutters stuck out like a sore thumb now. In the pit of his stomach, Marty knew living in Hilldale wasn't the mark of a made man anymore.
Loser with a capital "L."
"Marty!"
Marty looked up the street at a heavily graffitied bus stop. Doc flagged him down, still sporting the bizarre blue trench coat and lime green glasses. Marty jogged diagonally across the intersection and slid into the space Doc made for him on the dented aluminum bench.
"Are you all right?" Emmett asked.
"Not really. How's the other me?"
"Just fine." Emmett pushed his sleeve up to show Marty a square screen on his wrist. "I've got a readout of his vitals here. I paid an arm and a leg for the enhanced monitoring, but it's worth it for the peace of mind."
Marty marveled at his past self's sinus rhythms rippling along the bottom of the small screen. Above it, his heart rate, blood pressure, O2 levels, and blood glucose were situated into different-colored quadrants.
He was rather jealous of that heart rate.
He couldn't keep his under control every time he thought about returning to Hell Valley.
About his mother defending Biff's aggression.
Standing over his father's grave.
Marty swallowed hard.
"Look, Doc, I know you said no shortcuts, but –"
"You must do everything exactly as you've done it before, Marty," Doc said, lowering his arm. "Everything. No shortcuts, no matter how tempting."
"But I know the date Biff gave himself the book already," Marty argued. "Why can't we just skip Hell Valley and go straight to 1955?"
"Because I don't know what will happen – what my past self will do – if you do that," Emmett said. "But I know what will happen if you go to 1985A. Besides, you have to go there to leave Jennifer on the porch swing. She can't very well accompany us to 1955."
Marty looked away. More leaves skittered by, one catching on his shoelace before blowing away. He knew, in theory, that destroying the almanac restored the timeline to his 1985, but he had yet to see it with his own eyes. Now, being made to repeatedly lay Jennifer on that cold, stiff swing indefinitely? It felt like tempting fate. Like the more he did it, the more he hammered that timeline in place.
Emmett checked his watch. He got Marty on his feet; Past Doc would call for Marty's help with Jennifer any moment.
"Okay, but is it really necessary that I get chased out of my house by a man with a baseball bat?"
"It is imperative, Marty. We are gambling with the space-time continuum enough as it is."
Doc grabbed Marty's shoulders when he sent an exasperated sigh to the sky and made him look at him.
"You've made it through everything laid before you once already. You can and must do it all again."
Sunday, October 27, 1985A
1:10 AM
For every ounce of dread that dripped into Marty's stomach the first time he experienced 1985A, the trepidation he felt now was tenfold. He did so much of Hell Valley on his own: leaving Jennifer on a porch that likely wasn't hers, chased out of not-his house, nearly shot by Strickland. And that was all before he got to the casino.
He thought to cooperate so Biff's goons didn't bash him over the head, but they were always going to do it. But Marty almost broke free of their hold when Biff pushed his mother to the ground again; he wanted to obliterate that son of a bitch then and there, space-time continuum be damned.
The blow Biff delivered to Marty's stomach burned even worse because, as Marty realized when Old Biff hit him in the head with the cane at the Cafe 80's, his body wasn't going through the time loop. It wasn't "resetting"; it, like his mind, was in the moment, still recovering from all the trauma the first time around: Biff's cane, Biff's gang, Biff's punch.
Soon, he'd have to have four cans of oil thrown on his aching abdomen and his already-bruised hand crushed by Strickland's chair again, too. If he repeated this loop enough, Marty expected he'd die from internal injuries if the space-time continuum didn't take him out first.
Marty hoped that knowing his father died in this timeline would help him keep his composure when his mother told him. You fixed this, he kept saying to himself as he fought the emotion welling in his throat on his way to the cemetery. You fixed this, you fixed it. The newspaper changed. You saw it.
And the gravestone still brought Marty to his knees.
"This can't be happening." Please, God, I can't do this every time. "This can't be happening!"
"I'm afraid it is happening, Marty! All of it!"
Past Doc took him back to the lab's dank, candlelight ruins. Marty tore the newspaper page of his father's murder from the archives so he had it when he destroyed the almanac. Check. Then, after Past Doc explained the tangent and determined how to restore their timeline, he took Marty to the roof of the casino hotel, dropped him off, and flew into the shadows.
Marty meandered toward the roof access door but didn't open it. He crossed his arms and leaned against the brick wall, scanning the orange, oily haze that encapsulated Hell Valley.
The roof access door burst open.
Marty squeaked as Doc's hand clapped over his mouth, reprimanded with a harsh shush. Emmett pulled him inside, shut the door, looked down the dizzying stairwell to ensure they were alone, and slowly let go of Marty.
"What the hell, Doc?"
"I could ask you the same," Emmett said, a touch of heat to his tone. "You're supposed to be on your way to talk to Biff."
"But I don't have to."
"You do!"
Marty's mouth fell open. "What for? I know the date!" He couldn't believe this. Coming from Doc, of all people. "You've been shot at, Doc!" A sardonic laugh. "You know how terrifying that is!"
"I do."
"And you're telling me that you'd put yourself through that trauma again just to go through the motions for the fucking space-time continuum?"
Doc's lips thinned. His solemn eyes snagged Marty's budding rage, instantly deflating him.
"Doc, I'm sorry, I –"
"I know, Marty." Doc flashed a compulsory smile. "The difference is you didn't ask me to do it, but I am expecting it of you. And it is just as harrowing an experience as it is the first time."
But it needs to be done.
"At the risk of sounding even more selfish," Doc murmured, "it was very satisfying to send Biff flying with a car door."
They shared a peeking grin.
"The look on his face when I rose up out of thin air?"
Marty mocked his tough guy pose, folding his arms with a menacing pout. Doc's brow deepened approvingly.
"You're a force to be reckoned with, kid," Emmett said. He gestured to the stairs. "But I'd rather us not tempt the space-time continuum by not antagonizing Biff."
Marty's stomach knotted again. Fear prickled down his limbs.
Gunshots rang through his memories.
What if he tripped?
What if he didn't run past the elevator in time, and Biff's guys nabbed him?
Doc laid his hand on Marty's back.
"You'll be fine, Marty. You've got no choice."
Saturday, November 12, 1955
7:32 AM
After he left Doc at the Lyon Estates billboard the first time, Marty spent twenty minutes in the secondhand store putting together an "inconspicuous" look before seeking sustenance – and a few winks – in Holt's Diner.
Emmett was there waiting for him. He made Marty order the same plate of breakfast "just to be safe": eggs, sausage, potatoes, bacon, and toast with orange juice, coffee, and water. Emmett smiled to himself as Marty unapologetically horked down bite after bite; if Marty had earned anything, it was a princely meal.
"Have you figured out a way to break the loop yet?" Marty asked.
"Let's close the loop once, first," Emmett said. "Make sure it goes the way we expect it to."
Because the more he thought about it, the less Emmett liked what was coming.
He had to insert himself into the loop, too.
If he didn't, his past self would pick up Marty's unconscious past self backstage at the dance. And if that happened, Emmett had an ominous feeling that he would fade from existence. It was only a theory, but his theories hadn't been far off.
Intuition was a blunt force, and the backlash could be catastrophic if he didn't heed its warning.
He couldn't have that.
His past self didn't know what he was getting into, but Emmett did. He'd lived this loop twice and didn't want to start over without the insight he'd gained from it. It would be invaluable in finding a solution.
It was a risk, but Emmett would take it for Marty's sake.
"You can have the coffee if you want."
Emmett blinked himself back into the room. He glanced between the departing waitress and Marty, who eyed him as he peeled the crust off his toast.
"I'm sorry?"
Marty motioned to the steaming mug of fresh coffee between them. "I said you can have it. I didn't finish my second cup the first time. You look like you could use it."
Emmett accepted with a tepid smile.
"You sure you're okay, Doc?"
No. No, I'm not.
"Fine, Marty. Fine." He sipped the coffee. "Darkest before the dawn, right?"
Emmett shut his eyes on the other side of the billboard, squeezing the tree branch clutched in his sweaty hands as his past self finagled with the DeLorean. He heard Marty's voice crackle through a burst of static on the radio.
"Doc! Success! I got it."
"Thank goodness!"
Emmett heard his past self put the bucket on the DeLorean and reach for the walkie-talkie. He glanced up and down the dark stretch of road, adjusted his grip on the tree branch again, and waited.
"Great, Marty! As soon as I reload the fusion generator, I'll meet you on the roof of the high school gym –!"
THWACK
Past Doc slumped into the back of the DeLorean. The walkie-talkie fell from his hand and landed in the dirt as Marty said, "On the roof. 10-4."
Emmett grunted as he caught his past self's dead weight before he slid off the back of the time machine. He was lighter than Emmett expected. Much lighter.
Emmett gasped.
"Great Scott…"
His past self was translucent. Transparent. He was being erased.
Cold adrenaline flooded Emmett. He babbled nonsensically as Past Doc faded before his very eyes, trying to capture what amounted to little more than vapors in his arms.
"Oh, my God. What have I done?"
Then, an otherworldly omniscience touched Emmett's mind, transforming his panic into purpose. He could see now that this – inserting himself into the loop – was supposed to happen. The space-time continuum had just suppressed a paradox on its own.
Doc stared at the OUTATIME license plate.
Then why didn't Marty's past self disappear?
Emmett dropped into the driver's seat and shut the gull-wing door.
He will, he thought, nodding to himself. It just hasn't happened yet.
Marty about ripped the belt off his leather jacket when it got stuck on the chain mount again. It once again slowed him down enough for his past self to get beaten to a pulp by Biff's friends. He could barely stomach it.
Damn it.
Marty raised the walkie to radio Doc but stopped.
Which Doc was he contacting? Past Doc or his Doc?
The walkie-talkie crackled in Marty's hand. The static's reverberations stiffened his grip; he was supposed to radio the Doc right now, not the other way around.
"Marty, come in! Over!"
"…Doc, it's Marty. Over."
"It's me, Marty!" Emmett said as he fought the wind for control of the DeLorean. "We had breakfast at Holt's this morning! It's me!"
"Doc? Oh, Doc, thank God." Marty dragged his other self into the corner. "What now?"
"Same as before, kid! Get to the clocktower! Hurry!"
Marty pointed to his past self in the passenger seat of the DeLorean.
"Is that me? Again?"
"Part of the loop," Emmett said over the thunder, "appears to be me picking up your past self to put him in suspended animation!"
Marty's eyes doubled.
"Then there's two of my past self?"
"That's what I thought!" Emmett said. "But based on new evidence, I'm betting when I show up at that suspended animation chamber with you now," he said, tossing his head toward Past Marty, "the first one will be gone. The space-time continuum somehow prevents the time loop from spitting out multiple versions of ourselves!"
Marty ran his hands through his wind-whipped hair, trying to follow. He didn't like where this was going. At all.
"Doc, how do you know this?"
The alarm clock in Marty's DeLorean went off.
"Hurry, Marty."
"Doc, wait! What happened to the other you?"
"I'll see you in 2015!"
Marty scoffed as Doc pulled the gull wing shut and sped off. The tire squeals were cloaked by an enormous crash of thunder. Marty made a fist and dove into the DeLorean.
"Son of a bitch…"
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
5:18 PM
"I don't get it, Doc," Marty said as they entered the underground shops. "You weren't in the loop, but you have to be if you're here right now."
"I've created my own loop," Doc confessed. "Independent of yours but overlapping. Last night, as soon as my past self told you I'd meet you on the roof, I knocked him out to insert myself."
"God, Doc, why?"
"I had to be there to recover your past self from backstage and take him to suspended animation!" Emmett explained. "I'd planned to do the same with my past self! Quick slip into the future to drop him off, pop back into 1955 – but he vanished! Right there in my arms!"
"Jesus."
"If I hadn't, you might have been stuck with a version of myself constantly relearning the loop."
"While I kept remembering it."
"Precisely."
Marty squinted in the setting sun behind the JAWS 19 hologram as they emerged from the underground passage. The gesture wasn't lost on him; there was no telling how despondent Marty would get if he had to do this with a version of Doc that "reset" each time the loop started over.
"And I was right," Doc said with a triumphant smile. "The chamber was empty when I showed up to put your past self in suspended animation again. The space-time continuum removed him!"
Marty sighed. His jacket inflated to dry itself.
"That's great, Doc, but how do we remove ourselves from this loop, huh?"
"I've got something," Doc admitted quietly, "but I don't like it."
Marty sat next to Doc on the cold bus bench. The whir of the dog-walking drone and the frizzy hum of fluorescents filled the silence, worrying Marty's lower lip. He didn't like Doc's tone, meaning he'd like the suggestion even less.
Marty only had so many guesses as to what it would be.
He tried to maintain his brave face.
"Listen, Doc," – Marty cleared his throat – "if you haven't figured it out yet, it's okay." He just needs more time."I can keep doing this a while longer. Half of it's muscle memory at this point."
"I'm sorry, Marty." Emmett frowned at the lime green lenses in his hands, running his thumb around one of their rimless edges. "I'm the one who put you in this predicament. It never occurred to me I couldn't get you out of it."
Marty held his breath until his lungs burned.
"Doc, just— just say what you gotta say. But don't lie to me. Don't lie to me."
Emmett looked up and down the street. At his watch, at his shoes, anywhere but at Marty.
"If we can reinsert your past self into the timeline," he said, "get him to the clocktower…"
Marty swallowed, eyes stinging. "Then I…?"
"In theory."
Marty shook his head. "No." He wasn't doing all of this just to evaporate. "There's got to be another way."
"At the moment, I don't see one."
Marty stared at him. Doc's face did not betray any withheld truths, try as Marty may to find them. An icy numbness penetrated Marty's countenance, extinguishing his optimism so abruptly he was left stone-faced, hard-hearted, and bitter.
"So, that's it then? I have to do this forever or die?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't not say that."
"Marty –"
Marty scoffed. Red-faced and flustered, he jumped up, scraped a bus schedule off the underside of his shoe, and stalked away.
"Marty!"
"Figure it out, Doc!"