There's Always Tomorrow
A BTTF/Spider-Man Idea Crossover
By Flaming Trails
Chapter 1
Saturday, July 4th, 1885
Hill Valley
7:24 A.M.
"Eungh. . . ."
Doc squinted into the sunlight as consciousness gradually returned. Great Scott, his back and neck were stiff! Well, his back was always rather stiff, but this was worse than usual. He massaged his neck as he looked around, his groggy mind trying to process why he was sleeping in the DeLorean in the middle of nowhere instead of in his own bed.
Because we crash-landed in 1885 when the DeLorean was struck by lightning last night. Remember?
Doc groaned as it all came back to him. So it wasn't all a dream.
Nope, said Albert matter-of-factly, as if he'd been taking lessons from Jules. No matter how much we want it to be.
Doc sighed deeply. Waking up stranded 100 years in the past – well, it was no way to wake up at all. Oh well, he thought, stretching a little, nothing we can do except try to make the best of things.
He looked to the side. Marty and Jennifer were curled up in the passenger seat together, still sound asleep. Doc snorted in amusement as he noticed that Marty was using Jennifer's chest for a pillow. That's not very polite, is it?
Should we wake them? Verne asked.
Let them sleep for a moment. We've got a long day ahead of us. A lot of long days ahead of us. Rolling his shoulders to try and banish the last of the kinks, Doc pulled himself out of the car and scanned their surroundings.
It was about the same as he'd seen last night, just in greater detail thanks to the rising sun. Sand stretched in all directions, rising and falling with the landscape. Scraggly grass and stunted trees dotted the empty expanse. There was no sign of civilization at all. Which is probably a good thing, Doc allowed. If we'd crashed into a populated area, we would have set off a mass panic. He grimaced as he recalled Marty's story of Farmer Peabody shooting at him, thinking he was an alien, when he first arrived in 1955. Would they have gotten a similar reaction from an 1885 farmer?
In fact, they were still in danger of that kind of reaction, weren't they? Just thinking about the sort of problems Marty had had adapting to the culture a mere thirty years back highlighted just how much trouble they were going to have with one more than seventy years back. None of them had temporally-appropriate (or weather-appropriate) clothing, and he was probably the only one with even a slight idea on the etiquette of the time period. They'd be dealing with unfamiliar slang, unfamiliar customs – Doc wasn't sure if Marty and Jennifer even knew how to ride a horse. Hell, he wasn't sure if he could – he'd ridden in his youth, but right now that seemed further away in temporal distance than 1986. Not to mention there was his own rather unique condition to consider. How in the name of Sir Isaac H. Newton was he supposed to hide four mechanical arms from the rest of the world?
We successfully hid from people in 1955, Tommy said encouragingly. We can do it again. Your coat's long enough.
Though it wasn't summer in 1955, Jules noted. We may have some issues with overheating.
We'll just have to deal with them, Doc thought, gazing out at the horizon. The last thing we want to do is cause some sort of panic-fueled incident in the past that affects the future. I've had enough of things happening to the timeline. The tentacles nodded agreement.
A groan from the car alerted the scientist to Marty's awakening. He turned to see the teen lift his head, blink, look around, then scowl. "Shit."
Well, that summed it up pretty well, didn't it? "Exactly," Doc nodded. "How are you feeling?"
"Kinda sore," Marty admitted, twisting his head to one side. "Why'd you make us sleep in the car again?"
"One word: rattlesnakes."
The teen paled. "Oh. Yeah." He sat up a little straighter, trying not to disturb his girlfriend. "So, what's the plan, Doc? Where do we go from here?"
"Much as I hate to, we're going to have to go into town," Doc said. "We can't do much sitting out here, and if I'm going to fix the DeLorean, I'll need tools."
Marty nodded, then bit his lip. "How long do you think that's gonna take?"
"Fixing the car, you mean?" Marty nodded again. "I'm not sure. Depends on how much I can cobble together out of the hoverboard. But we're looking at a couple of months at the least."
Marty groaned loudly. "Damn. . .and I thought being stuck in the fifties for a week was bad. 1885 – that's as backward as you can get!"
"Not really," Doc said as the tentacles chirped. "We could have been sent back to before this area was colonized. I doubt the local Indian tribes would have taken us dropping in very well."
"Still! No rock music, no cars, no electricity. . . ." Marty's eyes widened in sudden horror. "Jesus Christ, Doc, do they even have indoor plumbing out here yet?"
"Er–" Doc glanced off to the side. How the hell did he tell this poor kid that no, he was pretty certain they didn't? It wasn't a comforting thought in the slightest. "We'll make do," he finally non-answered. "Why don't you wake Jennifer, and we can have some breakfast."
"Do we even have anything left? We plowed through the rest of the snacks last night."
Verne snaked into the car and popped open the glove compartment. "We still have some crackers," Doc said as he pulled out the little package. "It'll take the edge off our hunger. We can have a real meal once we get into town." He shook his head. "Thank God I thought to get currency stretching back to the late 1700s for emergencies. Otherwise we'd be in real trouble."
"Like we're not already," Marty muttered, shaking Jennifer's shoulder.
I'm tired of everybody being so negative, Tommy groused, chattering. We did just save the space-time continuum, you know! That's gotta count for something!
Doc smiled a little. "That's true enough. The problem is, that also doesn't improve our current situation."
"Huh?" Jennifer said thickly as Marty finally brought her around. "Whazzat?"
"Nothing. Tommy just trying to keep our spirits up."
"Oh." She yawned and sat up straight. "Well, unless he can think of a way to get us back home by tonight, my spirits are going to stay pretty low."
Marty sighed. "I just wish I had my Walkman or my guitar or something. I don't even want to think about the kind of music they have around now."
"Who cares about the music?" Jennifer said, giving her boyfriend a disbelieving look. "What are we supposed to do about food and shelter and – everything else?"
"Well, on the plus side of the equation, I do have a good amount of time-appropriate money," Doc assured her. "Remember my briefcase? We should be able to buy clothes and keep ourselves fed for a while. After that, we'll have to play it by ear."
"You're the one who was in the history club," Marty added. "You gotta know a few things about living back here."
"I do, but my stupid brain keeps focusing on things like saloon girls and other less-than-savory ways of making a living."
Marty winced. "Okay, Jen, tell your brain that, no matter what, we're not getting that desperate."
"Definitely not," Doc said, the tentacles nodding vigorously. "There are some lines you just don't cross." He shaded his eyes, scanning the horizon for any likely caves. "Let's split the crackers, then we can see about hiding the DeLorean and finding Hill Valley's current location."
"Hiding the DeLorean?" Marty repeated as he and Jennifer slid out of the car. "Doc, we're in the middle of nowhere."
"That may be, but I'd rather not take the risk of anyone stumbling across it," Doc said as Verne popped open the bag and began allotting crackers to everyone.
"Nobody would know how to use it, though."
"No, but they might figure out how to disassemble it."
Both teens went white at that. "Yeah, let's hide it," Marty agreed hastily.
"I'd prefer to have it close – can't we sneak it into town?" Jennifer asked.
"Not in daylight. We could carry it closer to town and hide it nearby, though, for later retrieval." Doc glanced backward. "What do you think, boys?"
The DeLorean is within our lifting capabilities, Jules said. Though that'll mean you, Marty, and Jennifer will have to walk – it'll take all four of us to carry the car.
"Well, that's the trade-off," Doc said, eating his crackers. "I don't think a little walking will kill us."
Jennifer scanned the horizon. "So, where do you think Hill Valley is? It has to be pretty small right now."
"Based on where the lightning hit us, we're in the general vicinity of the future Lyon Estates," Doc said. "Hill Valley should be east of us."
Marty looked east, chewing his lip. "It's gonna be one hell of a walk, Doc. Think you can carry the car that far?"
Technically, we'll be carrying the car, Albert pointed out with a screek. And we don't exactly get tired.
"Albert says they'll be fine," Doc told his friend. "As for ourselves, we'll take frequent breaks. We don't want to overtax ourselves, especially given our clothing and the fact that we have–" Verne checked. "One bottle of fruit juice. Damn." He shook his head. "Once we get home, I'm packing this thing with a survival kit. If I keep it at all."
Let's not start that argument again, Jules said quickly. We'd better get going before it gets too hot.
"Agreed. No time like the present. Let's pack it up and get moving, everyone."
Saturday, July 4th
11:43 A.M.
"Whew! I really miss air conditioning now."
"You ain't kidding," Jennifer muttered, wiping the sweat off her face. "How much farther?"
"We've been walking pretty steadily – it can't be that much longer," Doc said, squinting at the horizon. "Granted, it's rather tough to estimate when you have no visible landmarks to go by."
"Yeah," Marty muttered. "At this rate the vultures are gonna get us first. Can we take a quick break?"
"All right." Doc remained standing as the teenagers collapsed against a convenient rock, panting. "What's the temperature, kids?"
85.7° Fahrenheit and climbing, Jules reported.
How are you doing, Father? Verne asked, sounding worried.
"All right, if hot and thirsty." Doc pulled at the collar of his shirt. "It's unfortunate that our warm weather clothes are currently behind a dumpster in 1955."
You couldn't walk into 1885 Hill Valley wearing clothes from 2015, Albert pointed out. At least these are slightly more time-appropriate.
"True, but I'd be tempted to take the risk if it meant wearing something lighter."
Do you think our 2015 stuff will cause any problems if it's found in 1955? Tommy asked.
"I hope not. I can't worry about that at the moment."
"What? What else is there to worry about?" Jennifer asked, glancing up at Doc with an expression that was equal parts frustration and fright.
"The boys are just inquiring about the 2015 clothing we left in the past – well, the more recent past."
"Oh. Screw that," Jennifer said, flapping a hand in the still air.
"Yeah, let's concentrate on getting back to 1986 first," Marty agreed. "That shit isn't hurting anything."
You don't know that, Albert said, clacking his claw.
"Well, we can't do anything about it, so just drop it already!" Doc snapped, whipping his head around to glare at the tentacle.
Albert and his brothers started, chittering in surprise. Doc sighed, the anger going out of him. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "It's just – it seems every time I turn around, there's something else to worry about. How to get us home, how to survive in the meantime, how to avoid changing history or causing a paradox. . . ."
The tentacles set the DeLorean down and wound around him sympathetically. We're sorry, Father, they chorused. We didn't mean to cause you extra stress.
Doc gave them a smile. "It's okay, boys. I know you didn't mean to."
"I think the problem here is that we're all really hot and cranky," Jennifer said. "Boys, you can see farther than Doc, right? Can you scout us out some water?"
The tentacles nodded, rising high into the air to get a better look at their surroundings. Doc waited with his friends by the rock, crossing his fingers tightly.
Tommy suddenly squealed. Hey, I see something!
"What?" Doc asked, standing up straight.
A big bunch of trees that way, Tommy said, indicating with a jab of his claw. They're kind of shrubby, but maybe we could hide the DeLorean in them?
"Maybe," Doc said, looking intrigued. "And where there's plant life, there's usually some water. Anything else?"
I think I see train tracks over there, Jules reported, pointing in the opposite direction of Tommy. Those would lead us into town, right?
"They should. We'll go to the trees first, though, and see what's there. Come on, everyone."
It didn't take long for them to reach the clump of trees, luckily. Doc nodded approvingly at the growth. "Yes, this'll be perfect as a temporary hiding place for the DeLorean."
"Hey, look, there's a little stream!" Marty said, pointing out a thin trickle of water running through the grove. He and Jennifer immediately knelt down and splashed a bit on themselves.
"Be careful," Doc warned. "We don't know how clean it is."
"Doc, right now, I couldn't give less of a shit if I tried."
"You've got to be the hottest among us with that coat," Jennifer nodded. "I'm surprised you're not down on your hands and knees lapping this up like a dog."
"It's taking a great effort," Doc admitted, joining them and splashing his face. "Just remember, this water hasn't been run through any kind of purification process."
"Like I said, Doc, cannot give a shit."
After dousing themselves, they each drank a few mouthfuls, and Doc refilled the long-empty bottle of fruit juice. Once that was done, Doc and the tentacles concealed the DeLorean in the shrubbery. "All right, Jules, still see those train tracks?" he asked as they finished arranging the branches to hide any glints of silver from view.
Jules looked. Yup.
"Excellent. It should be safe to tentacle-travel for a little while now – hop aboard, you two!"
Marty and Jennifer eagerly clambered up. Once they were settled, the tentacles set off at a fast clip. Marty sighed, enjoying the breeze. "Only way to travel, Doc."
"Tell me about it," Doc grinned.
By tentacle, it took just a quarter of the time to reach the train tracks as it would have taken by foot. After a quick check for passing trains, the tentacles turned east along the line, toward where Hill Valley ought to be. After a good half-hour's travel, a building started coming into focus on the horizon. Marty squinted at it. "What do you think that is?"
"Probably the train station," Jennifer said. She smirked up at Doc. "Wonder what they'd say if we just charged into town like this?"
"I hate to think," Doc said with a shudder. "Set us down once we get a little closer, kids – we can't take the risk of you being seen."
Affirmative, the tentacles chorused.
"I wonder what the town's gonna look like," Marty mused. "Is there just gonna be Main Street and that's about it?"
"Maybe not even that," Jennifer said. "I don't think Hill Valley even became a town until about 20, 30 years ago."
"I think it's about 20, but I can't recall the exact date off the top of my head," Doc confirmed. "The truly interesting part will be seeing if the clock tower's there. It should be in the first stages of construction around this time."
"What?! Really?"
"Yup. If I recall my history right, it gets finished sometime either next year or the year after."
Marty shook his head. "No clock tower. That just doesn't seem right, Doc."
"I know. Of course, we might have a stronger emotional connection to the building than most."
"The frame will be there," Jennifer said consolingly. "It won't be missing entirely."
"Yeah, but it won't be the same." Marty frowned. "This is weird. I mean, I guess I've already been through this once with 1955, but – this time, it's really not going to feel like home, is it?"
Doc patted him on the back. "Probably not," he allowed. "But we just have to make the most of it. Just try and remember, no matter how odd it looks, it is Hill Valley."
They traveled the rest of the way in silence, the tentacles setting them down about a half-mile away so they could walk into town normally. The train station, once they reached it, was quiet and empty, save for a few people lingering in the shade by the ticket offices. They gave the group a few puzzled looks, eying their clothes. Sure you're hidden, kids? Doc thought, fighting down a surge of nervousness.
Don't worry, Father, Jules said soothingly. We're retracted as far as possible. We won't let anyone see us.
And if they do, we'll knock them out and let them think they dreamed it, Albert added.
Let's try and avoid that particular situation.
They hurried past the station and entered the town proper – what there was of it, anyway. Hill Valley in this time period couldn't be said to be more than a crude dirt street lined with equally-crude shopfronts. Marty whistled as he looked left and right, taking in the drooping wooden buildings. "Sheesh! We started off from this?"
"Most towns in California did," Doc shrugged.
Jennifer glanced at the local horse paddock, then did a double-take. "Holy shit! So Mr. Statler wasn't lying."
"Huh?" Marty said, Doc mirroring the teen's confused look.
"When Dad got our last car from Statler Toyota, he and Mr. Statler started talking, and Mr. Statler told us his family had been in the transportation business for 100 years," Jennifer explained. "I thought he was full of it, but look!" She pointed to the sign, which read: "Honest Joe Statler – Fine Horses Sold, Bought & Traded."
"Whoa." Marty looked thoughtful. "Wonder if there's anyone else we know around here."
Uh-oh, Albert said. That's another factor we didn't consider – the possibility of our ancestors having already settled in this location. The last thing we need is a repeat of the fiasco with Marty's parents.
Doc winced. I know. Just one more thing to worry about. "I hope you don't intend to seek out all your friend's ancestors," he said sternly. "Or your own, for that matter."
"Oh, no way, Doc," Marty said quickly. "I don't want to screw with anybody's history. I'm just curious. You ever notice that, once somebody moves into Hill Valley, they don't ever move out? I mean, J.J. told us his family's been here six generations when we saw him in the future."
"I know!" Jennifer agreed. "'Nice place to live,' indeed."
Doc chuckled briefly, then turned serious again. "We're going to have to be extra careful about interacting with anyone, then. Do either of you have relatives in this time period?"
"I don't think Dad's ancestors are here yet," Jennifer said. "Of course, Parker's a pretty common last name. . . ." She sighed. "And I never knew much about Mom's side."
Marty patted her shoulder. "Well, the Baines family definitely shouldn't be here yet – Mom told me her side of the family lived in San Francisco until 1903. There should be McFlys, though. Dad said I got my middle name from the very first one off the boat from Ireland – Seamus."
"I see," Doc nodded. "We'll keep a wary eye out, then."
"What about you?" Jennifer asked as they continued walking. "You're old enough to have your dad or your mom running around, right?"
"Yes," Doc admitted. "My paternal side we don't have to worry about, thankfully. The Browns didn't come over here until 1908 – and at that time, they were the Von Brauns. My father changed our name during the first World War." He glanced over at the butcher's. "We could run into my mother's family, but it's not likely. I don't think they've moved here yet."
Awww – I wanna meet Grandma and Grandpa, Tommy whined.
Tommy, you know that's impossible, Albert replied. We could do something to hurt the space-time continuum.
And there's plenty of other good reasons for me never to figure out a way to introduce you to my parents, Doc added. My father in particular.
What's so bad about your father? Verne asked.
Doc paused, then reluctantly pulled up a few memories of his father berating him for his interest in science, culminating in the explosive family dinner that had led to him being disowned. The tentacles were silent for a long moment. You're sure that's your father? Tommy finally asked.
Doc couldn't help a smile. Tommy, some days, I've really hoped he wasn't.
"So, where do we go from here?" Marty asked, pulling Doc away from his internal conversation. "What exactly are we looking for?"
Doc considered the question. "The blacksmith," he decided. "He'd be the one with the most advanced tools. We'll have to make some sort of deal with him."
"Like what?" Jennifer asked, twisting her fingers. "Do we have enough money to pay him? Or would he expect us to help out around the shop? I don't know the first thing about shoeing horses."
"I doubt he'd make a woman do such work," Doc pointed out. "If we run out of money, I was thinking more in terms of running errands for him, or maybe helping deliver finished products."
"Sounds okay to me," Marty said. "So how do we find him?"
"He has to have a shop in town," Doc declared. "If we keep walking, we're sure to find it." He took the lead, the teens following in his wake.
Despite his bold statement, though, it didn't appear that there was any blacksmiths along the little dirt thoroughfare – the closest Doc could see was the cabinetmaker and undertaker. At the end of the road was a saloon, and a large wooden framework with a few bits of cement and brick around the bottom. With a jolt, Doc realized the rickety skeleton of a building was in fact the courthouse. "Well, I'll be. . . ."
Doesn't look so impressive these days, Albert noted.
Marty whistled as he caught sight of it too. "Jesus. This is freaky."
"Watch the profanity – and the slang," Doc cautioned, spotting a passing couple giving Marty an odd, disapproving look.
"Sorry, this is just – wow."
Jennifer, however, was less interested in the clock tower and more interested in something else. "Hey, Doc, could that be our blacksmith?" she asked, nudging him and pointing out another, more dilapidated building standing nearby.
Doc turned to see. It was a large barn-like structure, with "Livery" painted in white letters over the front doors. He grinned and nodded. "It looks appropriate, and the process of elimination makes it our most likely candidate."
"Great," Marty said, promptly striding up to the big double doors and knocking. "Hello? Anybody home?"
There was no reply. Marty knocked again. "Excuse me! We kind of need to talk to you!"
Still nothing. Frowning, Marty looked back at Doc and Jennifer. "Guess he's not here."
"Great," Jennifer grumbled. "Now what?"
"We ask in the saloon," Doc said, pointing. "On a hot day like this, he's probably enjoying a cold drink. I know I could use one."
I wonder if it'll be anything like the ones in the movies, Tommy said curiously.
Probably not, Verne replied. The people who make those don't exactly have the benefits of time machines, after all. It'll be interesting to compare popular fictional history with actual history.
Indeed. And speaking of fictional histories. . . . "Verne just made me have a thought," he said as Marty rejoined them. "We have to make up an appropriate backstory for ourselves. People are already going to be suspicious of us – might as well not make it worse."
"Should I break out Calvin Klein again?" Marty asked.
"I don't think you should use that particular alias, but it would probably be a good idea if we avoided our real names. Especially in your case."
Marty grinned. "Can I be Clint Eastwood then?"
Doc gave him a look. "I was hoping for somebody a little less famous."
"Come on, Doc, he's one of my favorite actors."
"Be that as it may, it's bound to cause a little confusion in the future. Not to mention it might be easier if we just changed our last names. I had enough trouble remembering to call you 'Calvin' back in 1955."
"Martin Eastwood, then!" Marty gave Doc his best puppy-dog eyes. "If I'm gonna be stuck back here, at least let me use a cool name."
Doc rolled his eyes. "All right, all right, if you insist. Teenagers. . . ."
"Hey, Doc, come on, it's the Old West! You aren't at all tempted to call yourself John Wayne or something?"
"I–" Doc felt a blush start up on his cheeks as he suddenly pictured himself in the traditional hat and chaps of the Western star. "Well. . . ."
It'll be fun, Father! Tommy encouraged him. And nobody should notice. It's not like anyone's heard of them back here.
He has a point, Jules admitted. The likelihood of anyone in the future noticing and getting suspicious is virtually nil, especially when you factor in we're using our real first names and our major goal is to stay out of the history books in the first place.
Marty smirked at him. "Anybody else agree me?"
"All right, you've convinced me," Doc said with an embarrassed grin. "Martin Eastwood and Emmett Wayne."
Marty snickered and turned to his girlfriend. "What about you, Jennifer?"
"Uh – Jennifer Streisand?" The boys blinked at her. "I don't watch Westerns!"
"It'll do," Doc chuckled. "All right, that takes care of our aliases – now what about our circumstances. . . ." He looked at Marty. "I suppose I could pose as your uncle again."
"Works for me," Marty nodded.
"What about me? I don't want to have to pretend to be his sister," Jennifer said, screwing up her face in disgust.
"No, I wouldn't force that on you. We'll say you're his fiancee instead."
Jennifer's eyes widened. "Fiancee?" she repeated, sounding rather stunned.
"Uh, why can't we just stick with girlfriend?" Marty asked, pale with shock.
"Because we're all going to be living together – saying you two are engaged to be married should hopefully decrease the number of dirty looks you get. The moral guardians and gossips are probably going to have a field day regardless, but. . . ." He gave them an encouraging smile. "It shouldn't be too much of a stretch, right? According to every future I've seen, you two do end up marrying."
"Yeah, but – it still feels weird when you're only 17."
Doc patted them both on the shoulder. "Just do your best."
So, we're a man, his nephew, and his nephew's fiancee, Jules said. Why are we in Hill Valley?
With no possessions, little money, and not-quite-era-appropriate clothes? Albert added.
Doc looked down at his coat. "For the fashions – maybe we can claim we've been in the East for a while?"
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "Do you think that'll actually fly? I mean, I know the East Coast is almost another country right now thanks to travel being so slow, but I don't think anyone here is that stupid."
"Maybe we can claim we're from the circus," Marty said with a shit-eating grin.
Jennifer rolled her eyes – but Doc looked intrigued. "Actually. . . ."
"What? I was joking, Doc!"
"I know, but such a backstory might be very helpful. We wouldn't have to make up a previous fixed address, we wouldn't have to explain our clothes beyond them being costumes – and some sort of caravan accident would be very hard to confirm or deny!" He nodded once decisively. "We're former circus folk who decided to strike out on our own, and who lost our caravan full of possessions after – a bandit attack. That sound plausible?"
Marty and Jennifer nodded. "Sounds okay to me, Doc," Marty said.
"Me too," Jennifer confirmed.
"Good, that takes care of everything important. Let's track down our blacksmith." With a slight swirl of his coat, Doc led the way into the saloon.