George McFly elbowed his way into Marty's room. The door would barely open, due to the mess currently occupying the floor. How his son could live in such squalor, he would never know. But that wasn't the reason he was going in, risking his health and his sanity. The reason for this tremendous risk was the horrific smell emanating from the room. At first, it only wafted out when the door was open. Now, it was slowly worming its way into the rest of the house, making everyone except Marty, who must have been used to the smell, gag.

Unfortunately, he'd drawn the short straw, so here he was, entering the most dangerous room in the house. For all he knew, there could be a foul smelling alien hiding in the closet. No, that wasn't it. Nothing so fantastical.

There!

On the bedside table, sat a plate. And on the plate, sat a mouldy sandwich with pieces of blackened cheese poking out the sides, somehow giving an evil grin, taunting him to come and remove it.

A sandwich? This was all about a sandwich? Well, that was rather anticlimactic, to say in the least. Pegging his nose, George picked his way through the incredibly messy floor and picked up the plate, holding it as far away from his body as possible. As he was leaving, he caught a glance of an unfamiliar picture. He would come back to look at it when the sandwich was disposed of. He didn't know how he was going to do that without stinking up the rest of their property and making everyone complain.

He walked through the hallway, nose still pegged, barely holding on to it. Then, an idea struck him. The neighbors were annoying him at the moment. Perhaps he could dump the sandwich in a bush and watch them frantically scrambling to find where the rancid smell was coming from. Yes, that would do nicely.

After the abomination of a sandwich was disposed of in a large bush by the fence, George slipped back into Marty's room, to get a better look at the photograph. He picked it up, frowning slightly. The photo inside the frame was old, impossibly old. It looked to be from the 1800s. Down the bottom, there was a small plaque, with the date of the photo. 1885. And it looked to be the of the clock, before it went into the clocktower. George peered closer at the photo, not understanding why Marty would have it on his bedside table. The two people in the photo bore a remarkable similarity to Marty and his friend Doc Brown.

His mind immediately flew to time travel and alternate realities, which was something his mind did when faced with strange situations. It was a part of being a science-fiction writer, something that was cool but also a great annoyance. No, there was surely a perfectly reasonable explanation for these people to be spitting images of Marty and Doc Brown. Perhaps Lorraine would be able to come up with a more...grounded explanation. She was good at grounding his extremely hyperactive imagination. He often called it her secret superpower, until she chided him into a very amused silence.

Lorraine was sitting comfortably in a large chair, the picture of serenity. Her nose was currently buried in one of his science fiction novels, the one based off his encounter with 'Darth Vader from the Planet Vulcan.' He did find it slightly strange that in Star Wars the main villain was called Darth Vader also. Perhaps it was just an example of an extreme coincidence. He wasn't exactly going to claim that he was visited by Darth Vader in 1955. He would definitely be ridiculed and glared at for that. Some people were very protective over Star Wars. It would have baffled him, except for the fact that he was very protective over his own characters.

"Hey, honey," said George, giving her a small peck on the cheek before sitting down in the chair next to her.

"Hello. You know, no matter how many times I read this book, I am astonished by it every time. You've really got a gift, you know. Then again, if you didn't have a gift, it wouldn't have been published." She slipped a bookmark between the pages and set it down on the small nesting table next to her chair. "What's that you've got there?" She gestured to the photo George was holding.

"I found it in Marty's room. It's a photo from 1885, and the people in it look very similar to Marty and Doc Brown." He passed it over to her, and she began to peruse it, brown eyes looking very puzzled.

"That can't be Marty. Maybe it is Seamus McFly? He lived in Hill Valley in 1885, didn't he?"

"See, that's what I thought. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. I just find it strange that Marty would have a photo from 1885 in his room. Where did he even get it?"

Lorraine sighed, handing the photo back to George. "Let him have his secrets. He's a teenage boy, we don't need to know the real reason behind it." A devious grin crept over her face. "We can do something else, however."

"What's that?"

"Play a prank on Marty involving time travel."

George was soon grinning alongside Lorraine, reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat.

Marty McFly trudged through the hallway of his house, dumping his bag by the table leg. School was just so...schoolish. That was the only word to describe it, even though it wasn't very much of a word. In the months after his last time traveling adventure with the Doc, everything was just so dull and one dimensional. Sure, there was the adventure of trying to remember things that never happened to him, which was still a challenge to this day. His father was very tempted to bring him to a doctor about his patchy memory, though Marty adamantly refused this every time it was brought up. Despite this tiny, miniscule adventure, the only word to describe his days was monotonous. The colour beige was an apt description.

"Marty, is that you?" The voice of his mother reached his ears, coming from the lounge. "Can you come in here, please?"

"Yeah, sure, just give me a minute." He unpacked his bag, dragging the wad of overdue homework out onto the table. He would attend to the 'pile of hell' later, after whatever his mother wanted to tell him. Hopefully it would be quick, otherwise Strickland would be on his back about it tomorrow. He'd already spent enough time in detention, and didn't want to miss out on anymore of his personal time. This led to him reluctantly forcing himself to complete his homework, even when he was of the opinion that there were far better things to do with his time.

He wandered into the lounge and found his parents sitting somberly in their usual chairs. George gestured to the new, cushy couch for Marty to sit down, which he did. What on Earth was going on to have his parents be in such foul moods? Had he done something that he forgot about? Maybe it was that sandwich that was always sitting on his bedside table and they were going to lecture him about the stink? That had to be it.

George pulled out a very familiar photo. Marty suddenly felt like a deer in the headlights. He was sure that his heart stopped in that moment, or missed a beat. Why were they holding that photo? Sure, it was strange for him to have it, he wouldn't deny that. His parents had never barged into his room before and asked about strange possessions, so this was a first, and threw a spanner into the works. Screw that. It threw a bomb seconds from detonating into the works.

"Why, why, why do you have that?" he stammered, cursing his sudden lead tongue. He was never this tongue tied. Except, now he was.

"We wanted to ask you a question, son," said George, deadly serious.

"A very important one," Lorraine added.

"Okay…" said Marty, gulping down his trepidation. They couldn't know about the time travel, surely. It was just impossible.

"What were you doing in 1885?"

Oh.

They knew. He would have to think on his toes and hope against hope that his quick thinking would get him out of this sticky situation. Surely, they would believe some tail he spun if he was quick enough. Hopefully? Maybe?

"Well, you see, there was a...fair. Yes, a fair at school!" He was tripping over his words now, tumbling down an ever steepening hill and approaching an ominous ravine. "It was to do with family history. I dressed up as Seamus McFly and got Doc in to take part in the photo. That is definitely what happened." Dammit. Why, oh why, did he have to say definitely.

The looks on his parents faces said it all. George was looking mildly offended that Marty expected him to believe such drivel, while Lorraine's eyebrow was raised so high it disappeared up into his hairline. Marty groaned, throwing his head into his hands. What was he going to do? His parents weren't just going to let him up and leave, they weren't those types of people. They would keep him here until the truth was out of him, the truth that they believed.

Not some weak as shit story that a three year old wouldn't believe. So much for thinking on his toes.

The impatient tapping of George's foot began getting louder and louder. It vaguely reminded Marty of a clock, which only added to his despair. It wasn't like he could just tell them, could he?

Wait.

Maybe if he told them the truth, it would be so fantastical that they would think it was a joke. Sometimes, they became so fed up with him they just told him to leave. Perhaps the actual story of his time traveling adventures would frustrate them so much that he would be sent to his stinky room. No, room wasn't the right word. Refuge was. He would go off to his stinky refuge.

"Okay, okay. That wasn't the truth. And judging by the looks on your faces, I didn't need to tell you that." He sighed melodramatically. "Alright, here is the real truth."

"And it better be the real one this time," said Lorraine.

"Yes, Mum, I know. Okay, so you know that DeLorean that was destroyed on the train tracks a few months ago?" There were confirming nods. "Well, that was actually a time machine that Doc made. Inside, there was a flux capacitor and time circuits, and when you sped up to eighty-eight miles per hour, you went to whatever year you put on the time circuits. That time machine took me to 1885, where I met Doc, who was working as a blacksmith…"

And so the storytelling went. George and Lorraine seemed more content with this story. Slowly, Marty went back through the timeline, being very careful about the details about his time in 1955, seeing as both of them were actually there. He made sure to change the names and situations enough so that they wouldn't recognise them. Everything was going perfectly, until he slipped up.

Typical.

"...and then, I managed to scare him by pretending to be 'Darth Vader from the Planet Vulcan.'" George froze. Marty froze. Lorraine blinked in bemusement.

George leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs and steepling his fingers. "What did you just say."

"Nothing. You heard nothing."

"Oh, I heard something."

"No," Marty's voice raised in pitch, "you didn't." He knew he'd messed up.

Big time.

"On the contrary, I know I heard something. See, Marty, there is only one person I told the 'Darth Vader from Planet Vulcan' story to. And it wasn't you. So would you like to tell me how you know that?"

"George, don't you think you're being a bit hard on him? This is just a harmless prank, shouldn't we end it now?" Marty gaped at his mum. It was a prank? A prank? George, however, waved her down.

"No, this is different. There is no way for Marty to know about that, unless he's in contact with Calvin, which would be strange. I think that there is something more than a very well crafted story going on here." He stared even more intensely at a very uncomfortable Marty. "Is there something that you would like to tell us, son?"

Marty sighed. There really was no way out of this. May as well just tell the truth. Doc would never know, as he was off time traveling with Clara, Jules and Verne. He took a deep breath.

"I am Calvin."

"Wait, what?"

"I am Calvin. I accidentally time traveled back to 1955 and had to get you and mum back together so I wouldn't fade away."

George and Lorraine were silent for a second, before:

"No wonder it felt like I was kissing my brother."

"It wasn't nice on my side, either. I am scarred."

"I can imagine," chuckled George. "Oh, this explains so much. Especially how you played a song three years before it came out. When I heard that on the radio I freaked out. Finally, an explanation."

"Yeah, and I was also above the stage at the same time, watching myself perform. Time travel messes with your head."

Lorraine took one look at the hungry expression on George's face and left the room, turning to Marty and saying, "Good luck." She then sauntered off, even her walk looking smug to be leaving the room.

Marty gulped.

A couple of days after the reveal, George approached Marty with a glint in his eyes. Marty tried to sidle away. He knew that glint, very well in fact. It was the writers gleam, when George wanted to write something down and wasn't going to stop until he got it.

"I need to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Can I use the your time travel stories in a book of my own. I'll change the characters, of course, and the story, too, so that it isn't too recognisable."

"I don't see why not. Is that all?"

George scoffed. "Marty, Marty, Marty. When are you going to learn that when I'm like this, it's never 'is that all.' Now, sit down and explain the story again. I've got to write it down."

Marty groaned, but followed his father to the dining room table. This would be the third time he explained it in a short time. Hopefully, apart from a few questions here and there, this would be the last.

It was not the last.

This popped into my head and I just had to write it. It was so fun and refreshing to write something light and on the more humorous side of things. I should do it more often, actually.

Sincerely
Mariadoria.