Disclaimer: I have never gone to the past, much less back to the future. I don't have a DeLorian either, although I intend to rectify that as soon as possible.
A/N: Just a little idea I had floating around that I finally had time to work on.
Slightly AU in that I make it a much longer span of time between Marty returning to his present and leaving with Doc for the future.
Children begin by loving their parents, eventually they begin to judge them. Rarely, if ever do they forgive them.
~ Oscar Wilde
rarely, if ever
It took Marty two weeks to get angry.
At first the big house and the shiny truck and all the other cool shit his little jaunt through time had won him was enough to keep it simmering beneath the surface. He'd ignored it. Pushed aside that small niggling annoyance. The tiny, nagging spark of aggravation.
He'd thought it would go away. That he was still just on edge from nearly disappearing. After all, what did he have to complain about? His life was great. Everything was better.
Everything.
But Marty remembered.
He remembered the drinking and the shaking hands and the screaming fights. He remembered the lights going out when there wasn't money for bills, remembered what it was like not to be able to afford to go on field trips or to have new clothes. He remembered being teased for getting free lunch.
Marty remembered and no one else did.
And that pissed. Him. Off.
Because they didn't appreciate any of it. Not their comfortable life or their happy marriage or anything.
He'd worked his ass off, risked his life to make theirs better and they just acted as if the world owed them success. As if their success made them good people.
It didn't.
In a lot of ways they were worse.
His Dad was just as much of bully as Biff ever was. Maybe more because he was sneakier about it, subtler. He humiliated his childhood tormentor with the same ruthless glee Biff had always shown and Marty wondered where the hell all the shit his dad used to spout about forgiveness and compassion and understanding had gone.
His mother still complained about everything but now people listened. Instead of doing something worthwhile with her influence she'd taken to dabbling in country club politics and took great joy in snubbing people and rubbing elbows with women she used to call shallow.
His brother was still an asshole. He was just an asshole in a suit instead of an asshole in sweatpants.
They were shallow.
And all the shiny, new trucks in the world couldn't make him forgive them for that.
A/N: So . . . that was way angstier than I intended it to be. But George McFly's attitude at the end of the movie has always rubbed me the wrong way.
Anyhoo, reviews make me as happy as the owner of a flying DeLorian.