hello! as you may be wondering, this story disappeared from the site for a short while. for those of you who didnt catch the A/N recently posted, the original author of this fic, JahMasterWikiwuki (previously Jah-myster784), had been looking for a new (for lack of a better word) owner of the story before it's deletion. i took it up, so as not for the story to die (and little Verne along with it). i hope not to disappoint those who have read it previously, i have a vauge idea of the plot in mind and i WILL be updating this. im keeping the original three chapters intact so as not to confuse anyone. i did not write them.
and for those of you who didnt know this fic existed until now, i apologize for the babble, enjoy ;)
-"Irene"
Summary: When Verne dies in an accident with the DeLorean, can Doc and Marty travel back in time to save him without screwing things up further?
"That's no stinkin' fair!" Verne Brown, a blonde, ten year old, coonskin cap wearing, trouble making boy, who was standing before his parents, yelled at them in their house's living room. "Grounded for a month?"
"Maybe next time, you'll think twice before stealing the DeLorean again," his white-haired father Emmett L. "Doc" Brown, town scientist—and town nutcase, as some believed—who was seated on the couch, replied simply to his son.
Verne had once again stolen the family car, which just happened to be a time-traveling/teleporting DeLorean, and traveled back to Hill Valley, their home, during the Dinosaur age. Using every single one of their resources, his family managed to locate where and when he was and used the "Jules Verne Time Train" to bring him back home. His family was his dad, Doc; his mom, Clara; his older brother, Jules; a friend of the family, Marty McFly; and the family dog, Einstein (who was smarter than the average dog).
"That's crazy! I don't deserve to be grounded for a month!" That had had to be at least the fifth time Verne had said that.
"Verne," his mom, Clara, said from her seat next to Doc on the couch, "we have never grounded you for stealing the DeLorean, which is a miracle by itself. A normal family would have grounded their son a hundred times by now."
"But for a month?"
"Verne, you heard us!" Doc stated sternly. He got up from his seat on the couch and pointed to the stairs. "You're first night is tonight, so march up to your room right now."
"But dad—"
"I said now!"
Verne stomped over to the stairs, as loudly as possible, just to show his parents how mad he was. But it didn't work; they didn't even bat an eyelash.
Once he was up the stairs, which he had done quite loudly, Doc sighed, rested his head against the back of the couch, and said, "What are we ever going to do about him? He's constantly stealing the DeLorean."
"I don't know, Emmett, I don't know." Clara looked just as tired as Doc looked and felt. He never would have guessed how much having a troublemaker as a child could wear someone else. Sometimes, he couldn't wish more that Verne was a little more like Jules, the oldest child. He rarely mouthed off at his parents and almost never got in trouble.
Doc suddenly sat up straight and looked concerned. "Do you think we were too hard on Verney?"
"Absolutely not," Clara assured him. "And I bet he will come to realize how this will help him in the future and thank us for this, eventually."
Actually, Verne was not about to thank his parents, nowhere close to it. In fact, he wanted to give his parents a piece of his mind. The only thing that kept him from doing just that was the fact that he would probably be grounded for another three months.
He was up in his room, lying on his bed. He had taped a family picture on top of his dartboard (he had cut himself off, of course) and was throwing darts at the picture, occasionally hitting someone, who he wanted to be the Doc or Jules (who he thought was the most annoying person on Earth) the most.
"Those stupid, stinkin', lousy…" he mumbled to himself. He jumped from his bed and walking over to the dartboard to collect the darts. "Who do they think they are anyways?" He already knew who they thought they were: his parents. His parents who demanded respect, even when they didn't deserve it.
A new wave of anger came on, and he almost kicked the wall in front of him, but he didn't because he knew his parents would hear. He really needed to blow off some steam and to try to calm down. There was no way he could do that without his parents hearing.
"I should give them a piece of my mind…but those lousy cheaters would ground me." He always called his parents "cheaters" whenever he was mad at them on account of them closing the discussion, or in this case, grounding him, whenever they got into a heated argument instead of fighting it out.
"Maybe I'll run away…they'll never find me. I won't leave any messages or nothing." He remembered the time about a year ago when Jules convinced him he was adopted. He had come to the conclusion Benjamin Franklin was his father due to one of his father's wacky inventions and ran away to Philadelphia in the 1770s. Marty had figured out where he was going by zooming in on the Time and Location Circuits of the DeLorean during the video message Verne had left his family. "I won't go anywhere historical, either," he added. He had once traveled to the Civil War, and Doc, Marty, Jules, and Einstein found him by locating his picture in a Civil War book over a location and date. "I'll show 'em."
He ran over to the one window in his bedroom and looked out it. He could see the garage, which Doc also called his lab. Within the garage was the DeLorean, his ticket to freedom. He would have ran down stairs, out the door, in the DeLorean, and off to some unknown time if it wasn't for three things. One: Doc and Clara would definitely see him as he ran out the door. Two: Down in the garage, he could see Marty and Jules just standing around all bored-like, just talking. They also would definitely see him.
And three: He had absolutely no idea where to go. He couldn't go to the Dinosaur Age, as he called it. He would be eaten in five minutes. To the future? Maybe, but in the future, you needed parental guidance to do everything, just like in today's time. But, if he went to the past, where you didn't need parents to do anything, he would be free. He just needed to get pass his parents and Jules and Marty.
Then, as suddenly as lightning could strike, an idea struck him. He remembered his father had installed mini rotor blades in his coonskin cap (A/N: don't ask me how or why), like the kind on helicopters. He could just fly out the window! Not thinking how he would get past Marty and Jules, he opened the window and pulled on the tail of his coonskin cap. Instantly, the rotor blades came out. He got up on the window sill and jumped out into the night (having done this many times before, as you can tell), pulling the tail of his cap again. The rotor blades started spinning, and right as he was about to hit the grassy ground, the rotor blades' usefulness kicked in and suspended him over the ground.
It was just then Verne realized he was hovering right in front of a window—the kitchen window, to be exact—and right in front of the window was his mother. He nearly had a heart attack, but realized that his mom wasn't facing the window. She had her back to the window, talking on the phone with someone. Verne thanked god she didn't see him, and pulled the tail of his cap once again. The rotor blades instantly stopped and disappeared back into the coonskin cap.
He crept over to the garage without being seen, and poked his head through the doorway a tiny bit so that he could barely see inside, making sure that his body couldn't be seen from the inside. In the middle of the garage was the DeLorean, with its big, black jets on the back that propelled it forward when it flew (It could also fly; when it does, the wheels fold up as it ascends), its many tubes, the biggest ones lining the bottom of the car and going across the top of it, and the Mr. Fusion on the back, between the jets, which took trash as fuel to enable it to time travel. He saw Marty and Jules, both of their backs to the doorway. Jules was, very actively, telling Marty about something, while Marty looked very bored, leaning against the DeLorean, sipping a diet Pepsi.
Must be one of Jules' inventions, Verne couldn't help but think, before thinking about how to get inside the DeLorean without being discovered. He started looking around, looking for something that would help him, when his gaze fell on the intercom system, where someone from inside the house could talk to someone inside the garage. Under it was a tall table with junk covering it. As luck would have it, their backs were to it.
"Perfect," Verne whispered as another idea formed in his head. Slowly, quietly, and carefully, he crouched down and started to softly walk to the table.
"And because of Newton's third law," he heard Jules explaining, "I knew the hypotenuse of the square root of pie to the point three hundredth of a power…" Poor Marty looked like he wanted to bang his head against the side of the DeLorean, and started downing the can of Pepsi.
Verne, still down low, got to the table and hid behind it. He listened carefully to make sure no one had heard him. No one had.
Cupping his hands over his mouth and speaking in his best voice impression of Doc, which was really good, he made it sound like Doc's voice was coming from the intercom system just above him.
Jules was interrupted by the sudden sound of "Doc's" voice.
"Marty, Jules, meet me down in the holding room for the Train under the garage. I have something important to tell you."
Thinking it was Doc's voice coming from the intercom, Marty jumped at the situation as a reason for Jules to just stop talking about his new invention. "Sorry Jules," he said quickly, "better go down and see what the Doc wants." He started pushing Jules towards the elevator at the back of the garage, throwing the Pepsi can in a corner of the garage.
"But Marty," Jules objected, "what about my invent—" His voice was cut off as Marty pushed him in the elevator, got in himself, and closed the doors.
The second the elevator doors closed, Verne jumped out from behind the table. He sprinted for the DeLorean. Opening the door, he literally jumped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Marty and skunk-head"—Jules—"will be back any second," Verne muttered to himself. "Gotta think of a date."
In front of him were the voice-activated Time and Location Circuits. Basically, the date and location display that displayed where and when you were going.
"Um…Hill Valley, California…May 12, 1878," Verne said randomly off the top of his head. The date and location appeared on the Time and Location Circuits. He ran the date through his head one more time.
Sounds fine, he thought.
He quickly jumped down to the floor in front of the driver's seat and stuck his arm under the driver's seat. He quickly found what he was looking for. He pulled the keys to the DeLorean from under the seat (which his father kept there to prevent them from getting lost). He jammed them in the ignition and turned them, the DeLorean roaring to life.
Yes!
Ding!
Crap!
Verne instantly knew what that ding was: The elevator! Marty and Jules had returned quicker than he had thought. He instinctively turned around the seat and looked at the open elevator—straight at Marty and Jules, who were looking at Verne in the running DeLorean.
"Verne?" Marty said.
Verne didn't stay around to hear the rest of what Marty had to say. He quickly stepped on the gas, and the DeLorean jerked forward, speeding through the doorway of the garage.
"Ha, ha, suckers!" he couldn't help but call back, snickering.
He looked at the speedometer. It read 25mph. Once the DeLorean hit eighty-eight miles per hour, it would break the time barrier and go back to the year 1878.
"Come on, Clara!"
"Emmett, for the last time no!"
"Please?"
"No!"
Doc was in the kitchen, trying to get Clara, who was bent over the oven, to give him some of the sugar cookies she was taking out of the oven, but as always, she was giving them to the neighbors and wouldn't let him have any.
"But why?" Doc pushed.
"Because—" Clara started, but was interrupted by a loud beeping.
Clara jumped a little bit. "What in the world is that?"
"It's my security system." He replied. "It's supposed to tell me when the DeLorean door is opened." He suddenly realized what he had said. "Great Scott, the DeLorean! Who would ever enter the DeLorean without permission—?"
"Verne!" they both answered at the same time.
Doc dashed towards the door that led outside. He shoved the door open and ran out just in time to see the DeLorean burst from the garage like, as some people would say, "A bat out of Hell." In the driver's seat, he could clearly see Verne, and he could honestly say that he was not surprised.
The DeLorean continued to accelerate as Doc looked on, unable to do anything whatsoever. Eventually, the car reached eighty miles per hour and every tube on the DeLorean started glowing bright blue. A blue ball of light appeared in front of the DeLorean, mini red and orange fire trails following the tires.
It was then Doc noticed something. The launch ramp that usually sprang up in front of the DeLorean so it was launched into the air wasn't up yet. In fact, the DeLorean was right over the spot the ramp usually—
BANG!
The ramp suddenly sprung up with speed that consisted of built up pressure. The DeLorean was almost out of the way, but the top of the ramp managed to catch the back of the car. The DeLorean was flung into the air, doing one, huge flip. For Doc, the entire thing went in slow motion, until the DeLorean hit the ground upside-down, when all the speed rushed back. It hit with a very loud crash. The Mr. Fusion was snapped off like a twig. The big, black jets on the back were flattened like trash in a compactor. Multiple tubes were ripped and torn, and there was no glass left in the windows of the DeLorean. But none of this concerned Doc. All he could think about was one thing:
Verne.
The DeLorean slid on the ground upside-down, making the damages worse. Eventually, it stopped about a hundred feet away from the ramp, making the night seem unusually still.
"Verne!" Doc ran in a blind panic towards the upturned DeLorean. Verne…please be alright…please be alright…When he reached the DeLorean, he dropped to his knees. At least he didn't have to pry open the door…it lay about fifteen feet away. Inside he could see Verne, and he was in bad shape.
Verne now lay unconscious on the roof of the DeLorean (the new floor) because he had forgotten to put on his seatbelt. He had a huge gash from the middle of his forehead to the middle of his left cheek. His right arm was twisted in an impossible way, the same with his left foot. And there was blood all over him.
He looked behind him and saw Clara, crying her eyes out, turning away from the horrific scene. In the distance, Doc saw Marty and Jules. Jules's face was pressed against Marty's shirt, and Marty, who would usually try to get Jules off of him, now hugged him. It was then Doc noticed he was to crying.
"Clara!" he cried. "Call an ambulance!" He didn't care what they would say about the take-off ramp in the middle of their property, or of why Verne stole the DeLorean in the first place. He just wanted his son to survive.
He crawled half-way into the DeLorean and carefully took one of his son's hands and checked the pulse. There was none.
Doc jumped into the DeLorean head first and started giving Verne CPR. He kept at it for about two minutes, and kept checking his pulse to find out there was none.
And, even as the ambulance sped into their property and all the medics jumped out, and even as he continued to give him CPR, he had a feeling he already knew the horrible truth.
His son was dead.
(Chapter 2)
The automatic doors of the Hill Valley Memorial Hospital slid open as Doc, Marty, Clara, and Jules rushed in. They all were crying, except for Doc and Marty, who were trying to be the brave ones, even though they too wanted to cry. Doc's ten year old son, Verne, had just been in a car accident while trying to run away through time in the time traveling DeLorean out of anger (he had just been grounded), which resulted in the DeLorean flipping over, and leaving Verne (as Doc had observed) without a pulse. The ambulance had promptly arrived and lay him on a stretcher and put him inside, taking him to the hospital. Doc had no idea of what the doctors had said of Verne's condition, except "unresponsive," which he had accidently overheard from the medics in the ambulance.
Doc ran ahead of his family and straight to the service desk, which was in the center of the small, carpeted hospital lobby; the service desk was a small, circular space enclosed by a circular, stainless steel metal counter just above waist high. Doc ran up to the counter and slammed both his hands on its surface, mainly to stop himself from flying over the top of the counter.
The female employee at the service desk peered over the top of her glasses and noticed the anxious, white haired man right as he said, "Hello, can you help me? I'm looking for information on my son, Verne Brown. He was in an accident." He said all this so fast that the employee could barely understand him, but she managed.
"Uh, just a second sir," she said. She typed in the name "Brown, Verne" on her computer—which was linked to every file in the hospital and could find any patient that had been here for at least a couple minutes—with the speed and accuracy of many years of practice. About ten names appeared on the screen before her. "Does he have a middle name?"
"Newton," Doc answered quickly, wanting to find out if his son was okay or not as quickly as possible.
The employee searched the list. After about a second, she came to the name "Brown, Verne Newton."
"Ah, here we go," she said, half to herself. She double clicked on the name with her mouse and all of the patient's information came up on the monitor:
Brown, Verne Newton
DOB: Oct 29, 1982 (10yr. Old)
FATHER: Emmett Lathrop Brown
MOTHER: Clara Clayton-Brown
ALLERGIES: None
(Etc, etc.)
Doc watched her as she scanned the information on the computer screen, and noticed as her face took on a kind of an "Uh-oh" expression. This worried Doc even more, so he decided to speak up. "What's wrong?"
"Your son, Mr. Brown, is in the Intensive Care Unit," She responded. She read more of the information. "So far…uh…" she suddenly stopped, as she didn't wish to be the bearer of the information on the screen before her. She tried to stall him. "I'm sure if you take a seat in the—"
"What?" Doc questioned, annoyed that she didn't finish her synopsis on his son's condition. "What is wrong with my son?" He yelled, quiet loudly, grabbing the attention of a few bystanders. He slammed his hands on the counter once more. This time, however, it was to show that he meant business, and wasn't taking "no" for an answer. This drew more attention.
"I'm sorry to say this Mr. Brown…" she paused, obviously trying to find the right words to break the news with, which meant it was bad news, "but you son is…unresponsive."
Unresponsive…there was that damn word again. At the mention of this word, Clara, who had been silent this entire conversation, starting crying loudly, Marty and Jules (who was also crying, but very lightly) came to her aid. But Doc hardly noticed. He was focused on his son. His Verney couldn't be unresponsive…he was just ten years old! He couldn't die. Not now. He was too young!
"I'm sorry, Mr. Brown. There are a team of doctors working on him right now. I'm sure they'll make him as good as new." She was trying to comfort Doc, but Doc could tell by the sound of her voice that she wasn't so sure of anything that she had just said. That just made him despair more. "I'm sure," she continued, "that if you sit down for a while in the waiting room and just wait it out, everything will turn out just fine."
Doc wanted to keep prodding for information, get more out of her. But he knew that that would get him nowhere fast. Plus, he wasn't in the mood for any arguments. So, he just nodded, turned away from the service desk, and headed for the waiting room door a few feet away, labeled "WAITING ROOM," his now-quiet family, and Marty, close in tow, comforting each other. Normally, Doc would have helped comforting them, but he was in kind of a hypnotized state; he couldn't believe his son could be dying, or—
No! He didn't want to think about it. Not right now, at least. Right now, he should be comforting his family, making them feel better. It was then he came out of his hypnotized state and noticed he had subconsciously sat in a chair in the white-walled, red-carpeted, chair-lined waiting room, his family on both sides of him, Clara crying right next to him rather loudly. Sighing sadly, he turned to her, taking her hand into his.
"Now, now, Clara," he soothed her, "everything will be fine. Verne's a strong boy. He'll pull through." But, even as he tried to convince Clara that everything would be alright, he knew that it was really himself he was trying to convince.
And he wasn't buying it.
"Mr. Brown?"
Doc slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was still in the waiting room in the Hill Valley Memorial Hospital. His family and Marty were sleeping in their chairs, Marty snoring loudly. He realized he was slumped down in his chair and slowly sat up straight, yawning on the way up.
"Must've fallen asleep…" he muttered to himself. He just didn't know for how long. He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes and yawned once more and stretched.
"Mr. Brown?"
Doc looked up at a tall, bald, male doctor in front of him, who was wearing a pair of glasses, a white coat, and was holding a clipboard with several papers clipped to it.
"Yes?" Doc asked, standing up so that he didn't have to look up at him. He rubbed his eyes again and stretched as he stood up fully.
"Are you the father of Verne Newton Brown?"
"Yes I am. And you are?"
"Dr. James Meroe, lead doctor of the Intensive Care Unit." He said.
Doc felt his stomach drop. He knew what this visit was about. Obviously, it was about Verne. Doctor Meroe was about to tell him about the condition of his son. He started to get a severe case of anxiety and felt like he was going to throw up. Almost immediately, he asked, "How is my son, doctor?" He wanted to know now.
Doctor Meroe gave a sad sigh, the kind that made people worry even more; that is exactly what it did to Doc. "You better sit down." That was exactly what doctors said to people before they gave them bad news.
Doc quickly sat down, not wanting to argue. If he didn't get information on his son soon, he thought he might have an anxiety attack. He looked up at the doctor intently, wishing he would just get on with it.
Meroe, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to hold it off for as long as possible, but for Doc's sake, decided not to. He gave another sad sigh, and got on with the news. "Your son, Verne…well…he—" He searched for the right words, so he could put this as delicately as possible. "Your son…didn't make it."
Doc's heart stopped. He must have heard the doctor incorrectly. He couldn't have just said Verne didn't make it. He looked up at the doctor, as if he expected him to reveal some kind of Verne's prank, and to tell him that his son was okay. But, when he looked into the doctor's eyes, all he saw was sadness and sympathy.
"I'm so sorry," Doctor Meroe said with great sympathy, acting as if he had actually known Verne.
For Doc, the entire world seemed to stop, and for a few seconds, he felt nothing. No sadness, pain, shock, nothing. He was still processing what Meroe had said. Then, it hit him, like a train. His son was dead. The last words he ever had heard from Doc were harsh ones. He hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye. This time, there were no stopping the tears as he broke down and started sobbing the hardest he ever sobbed.
(CHAPTER 3)
It had been a week since Verne's funeral had taken place; the worst time Doc ever had in his life. It had been moderately big. Since Hill Valley was not such a big town, news traveled quickly. And soon, more than half the town knew of the death of Verne Brown, and half of the half had come, even if just for a few minutes, just to say how sorry they were, and that he was so young. Besides Doc and the townspeople were Clara, Jules, Einstein, Marty McFly, and even Marty's siblings, and his parents George and Lorraine.
Ever since the funeral, the Brown household hadn't been the same as it usually had. Usually, it had been loud with argument (mainly between Jules and Verne) with many time travel trips, but now, everyone was depressed, even Einie and Marty, who spent about ninety percent of his free time with the Browns to comfort them. The house was now quiet and gloomy. Verne's room had been locked; no one could bear to go in again.
One night, when Clara had to eventually leave the house to get groceries and Jules accompanied her, Doc, Marty and Einie had the houses to themselves. Not that they were doing much, however. They just sat on the couch in the living room and watched television—The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It was absolutely silent…until Doc suddenly jumped off the couch and onto the floor with a loud THUMP! Both Marty and Einie jumped.
"Doc!" Marty said, placing a hand over his heart. "Don't do that, or you'll scare me to—" he stopped in mid sentence, and corrected, "I mean, you'll scare me a lot." He didn't want to mention death right now.
"I've got it!" Doc yelled happily, jumping up and down. This surprised Marty; he didn't expect to see Doc this happy for a long time.
"You've got what?" Marty asked his friend, standing up, too (Einie going back to sleep). He had the feeling that Doc had an idea, so he wasn't sure whether to be excited or scared. Doc's ideas always led to adventures that always led to deep trouble.
"I have a time machine! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner!" He slapped his head with his hand.
"Think of what?" Marty asked again.
"I'm so stupid!" Doc continued, apparently unaware of Marty's questions. "I—"
"What?" Marty yelled, really annoyed by now. "Doc, what are you talking about?"
Doc grinned from check to check. Marty knew that grin. It was his "I have an idea" grin. "We'll go back in time," Doc said, "and prevent Verne's death from ever happening! I should have thought of it sooner!" he stated again. He looked straight at Marty. "Marty! Will you assist me? Please!"
"Listen Doc," Marty said, "I'm all for it, but what about the Space Time Continuum?" Marty had had to learn the hard way from his past adventures through time that the littlest things that are altered in the past can severely alter the future; he had almost made himself disappear by preventing his parents from meeting originally, and it took a lot of work to fix it.
"To hell with the Space Time Continuum!" Doc yelled. "Right now, we're focused on saving my son."
Marty thought he would never hear Doc say that. Usually, it was all about the Space Time Continuum. But, he guessed when your son was on the line, all of it went to hell. "Well, you're the doc, Doc. So, how are we gonna pull it off?"
"Here's what we'll do. We'll go back to the date Verne's accident occurred on: November 12, 1992 at about seven o'clock PM—thirty minutes earlier than the actual time of the accident, just to be safe. Since it was night, we'll turn off all lights in the Train, so we will be perfectly concealed by the night. Then I'll drop you off and go into hover mode. You'll then sneak into my lab without being seen by your other self or Verne, and grab the remote control to the DeLorean and put the emergency brake on by remote control, which can't be disabled except by the remote control. That way, Verne can't take off in the DeLorean before we discover him, preventing this entire mess from ever occurring! You'll then go out in back of the lab, signal me with a flashlight, I'll pick you up, and we'll see if it has worked!"
"That's genius, Doc!" Marty exclaimed. "When will we take off?"
"How about now?"
"Works with me, Doc."
"Great! We'll just have to pick up the supplies we need and then we'll go!" With that, Doc then ran (powered by excitement and determination) full speed out of the living room, through the kitchen, out the door, through the backyard, and into the lab. He ran right to a big table against the wall that had a drawer. He pulled open the drawer and started digging through it, quickly pulling out a black flashlight and the DeLorean's remote control just as Marty came through the doors of the lab, huffing and puffing from the run.
"Okay, Marty. Here's the remote control. You can't use this one—you'll have to use the one in the past—but they're the same." Doc said, running over to Marty, who was still recovering from the run. "See this little, red switch?" Doc said, pointing to a little, red switch on the left side of the remote control. "This is the emergency brake. Just make sure it's flipped down, put it back in the drawer, run to the back of the lab, signal me with this ultra-powered flashlight"—he handed the flashlight to Marty, who clipped it onto his belt with the clip that was attached—"I'll pick you up, and hopefully, everything will be fine. Got it?"
"Yeah, Doc." Marty found himself lucky that the table the remote was in would be to his other self's back. That made it a lot easier to sneak to it. "Let's just get this over with. The suspense kills me."
Doc put the remote back into the drawer, and they ran over to the elevator and got inside. Doc jammed the down arrow button, and the elevator jerked downward, heading to the Train's holding room. The elevator jerked again as it stopped. The doors opened, revealing the Jules Verne Time Train—which had hundreds of add-ons attached to enable it to time travel—in the middle of the huge holding room on a little section of track.
"Come on, Marty!" Doc ran to the Train and quickly climbed in, Marty seconds behind him.
Doc faced the Train's voice activated Time and Location Circuits, which were identical to the DeLorean's, and said, "Hill Valley California, November 12, 1992 at seven o'clock PM." The location, date, and time instantly changed to the date Doc had just said. He turned to Marty, excited and anxious. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be, Doc. As I'll ever be…" Marty was nervous. What if he was seen by his other self? What if the Universe was destroyed? Well, there was no turning back now.
"Here we come, Verney!" Doc yelled as he pulled a lever back. The section of track the Train was on was quickly lifted up into the air by a huge mechanical lift, which had been hidden under the track. The track kept rising until it was lifted to the level of another track in front of it that led to a door (that was on the side of a little cliff in their back yard) that automatically opened when Doc had pulled the lever. The two separate tracks extended out towards each other and connected. Doc then pulled the acceleration lever back and the Train shot forward, the number on the speedometer rising by the second. The Train flew through the door on the side of the cliff and into the air as Doc activated the Train's hover mode. The wheels folded up, Doc pulled the acceleration lever back even more, and the Train shot forward like a bullet, soon reaching eighty-eight miles per hour, disappearing in a blue explosion and leaving a pair of fire trails in the air.
Three sonic booms, accompanied by three, little, blue explosions in the nighttime sky, signaled the Jules Verne Time Train's arrival to Hill Valley California, November 12, 1992 at 7:00 PM, the Train emerging from the third blue explosion, soaring through the sky. Automatically, due to an invention of Doc's, the second the Train sensed it was nighttime, every single light on and in the Train switched on, as so its occupants could see inside and ahead of it. Since Doc wanted to be under cover of darkness—he didn't want to be seen by anyone, especially his and Marty's other selves—he flicked a few switches, and the lights were switched off. Since the Train was a good ninety percent black, it was practically invisible in the middle of the vast, dark sky, the only things giving them away were the Train's lit up jets on the back and the sound it gave out while flying.
Below the Train was Doc's property; his house and lab (which was out back), every single light on. Doc already knew that he and Clara were in the living room of the house, Verne up in his room (since he was grounded for stealing the DeLorean) and Marty and Jules in the lab, talking about something.
Doc's determination and excitement suddenly turned to nervousness and anxiety. If all of this went well, his son, Verne would be saved from the DeLorean accident and would never die, but if Marty saw his other self, or did something to drastically alter the future, the entire Space Time Continuum would be screwed up, which might result in the destruction of the entire Universe, or at least their own Galaxy. Or, it might just result in another "Hell Valley," like the one where Biff, the villain who had previously stolen the old DeLorean back in 1985, was powerful, corrupt, and married to Marty's mom (as opposed to now, where he was poor, single, and working for Marty's dad, who was a famous writer). But that was the least possible scenario.
Doc kept flying the Train until they were well in back of the lab.
This must be good enough, Doc thought, opening the window and carefully glancing around to make sure no one was watching them. He started lowering the Train to the ground as carefully and quietly as possible so he wouldn't attract attention and jeopardize the mission. He flicked up a switch, which returned the wheels, which were folded up for flying purposes, to their normally position; upright. The Train softly made contact with the grassy ground as it landed, rocking slightly.
Doc turned to Marty very suddenly and intently making Marty jump a little (partly from being nervous about the upcoming mission). Seriously, and quite quickly, he said, "Okay, Marty, here's your mission. Sneak into the garage without being seen by your or Jules' past selves, go to the table I showed you, open the drawer, find the DeLorean's remote control, and flick the red switch which enables the emergency brake, which cannot be disabled except by the remote. This should give one of our past selves enough time to discover Verne while he's trying to get away, and by doing so, preventing the accident with the DeLorean, thereby saving Verne's life and restoring our family. Any questions?"
"Uh…no, Doc." Marty said. He knew exactly what he needed to do, though he didn't quite know how he was going to do it. I just hope I don't get caught, he thought, because it could cause a Paradox. Just thinking the word made his insides twist in anxiety; he hated paradoxes. Why do I always have to do the front line work? Why can't Doc be the one to sneak around, and put himself in danger of destroying existence? He had no idea.
"Good," Doc responded. "When you're done, run around to the back of the lab and signal me with the ultra-powered flashlight. I'll come pick you up and we'll head back to the future. And please, don't get caught...for all of our sakes. Good luck, Marty."
With that, Marty walked to the opening in the back of the engine of the Train and hopped out. He walked forward a couple of steps, and turn around just in time to see the wheels of the Train fold up underneath it, lift up into the air, and soar like a bullet into the nighttime sky, concealed by the darkness.
Inside the Brown household, Verne stomped over to the stairs, as loudly as possible (he had just been grounded for a month for stealing the DeLorean), just to show his parents how mad he was. But it didn't work; they didn't even bat an eyelash.
Once he was up the stairs, which he had done quite loudly, Doc sighed, rested his head against the back of the couch, and said, "What are we ever going to do about him? He's constantly stealing the DeLorean."
"I don't know, Emmett, I don't know." Clara looked just as tired as Doc looked and felt. He never would have guessed how much having a troublemaker as a child could wear someone else. Sometimes, he couldn't wish more that Verne was a little more like Jules, the oldest child. He rarely mouthed off at his parents and almost never got in trouble.
Doc suddenly sat up straight and looked concerned. "Do you think we were too hard on Verney?"
"Absolutely not," Clara assured him. "And I bet he will come to realize how this will help him in the future and thank us for this, eventually."
So far, the events of the past were right on schedule, which wasn't a good thing. If they continued this way, ten year old Verne was doomed.
Marty, pressed up against the side of the lab, slowly made his way towards the front of the lab, towards the door. Right now, he was on the left side of the lab. If he remembered correctly, he is standing with Jules talking about one of his nerdy inventions (well, Jules actually did most of the talking) on the left side of the inside of the lab right about now, and the table with the remote in it was on the right. That meant he would have to get to the door and crossover to the other side of the doorway without being seen. Luckily (if he remembered correctly again), the DeLorean created a wall between the table and his other self and past Jules (perfect to hide behind to prevent being seen), and his other self and past Jules will have their backs to the table the remote is in and the doorway at the same time, so he shouldn't have a problem sneaking around, if he was quiet. He prayed to God that he wouldn't make a noise.
He came to the corner where the side wall of the lab turned into the front wall of the lab, where the doorway was. Very carefully, he peeked around the corner to find no one. He nervously and very quietly made his way to the doorway, flinching every time the grass crinkled under his feet; he managed not to attract attention. He finally came to the doorway after what seemed like forever. His heart pounding, he peeked around the side of the doorway.
There was himself and past Jules—well, his other self and past Jules. They were leaning against the left side of the DeLorean, looking towards the corner the back and left wall made. Their backs were towards the table, which was on the other side of the DeLorean, and the doorway. Usually, everything was hard for Marty, like someone would be facing his way, or something else went wrong on his occasional time travel excursions. But this time, luck seemed to be on his side. He looked towards the table. It was only twenty feet away, if that. It was so close.
Cool it, McFly, Marty thought to himself, and realized he was sweating a lot. It's so close. Just crouch down, sneak over there, and get that remote. It's so simple.
Slowly, as not to make noise, he crouched down low, and, with one last breath, he began to walk across the doorway, staying on the grass for now. The last thing he needed was to make noise by stepping too loudly on the concrete floor of the lab and making noise. He crouched down lower, as if it would reduce his chances of being seen. He kept a cautious eye on the backs of his other self and past Jules, intently watching for any signs of them starting to turn around. There were none, and eventually, a wall blocked his view; the other side of the doorway! He made it.
It's not over yet, he reminded himself. He still needed to get that remote and activate the emergency brake of the DeLorean. He once again poked his head around the side of the doorway. The table was now only ten feet away. Getting down low again, he slowly walked for the table, making as little noise as possible. After a foot or two, he was concealed by the side of the DeLorean and loosened up a little bit, and felt a little relieved. That apparently was a huge mistake. The second he loosened up, his foot hit an old Canada Dry Ginger Ale can, sending it flying a couple of feet, making a loud noise, which was loud enough for the other Marty and past Jules to notice.
"What was that?" Marty heard the other Marty ask past Jules.
"I don't know," he replied. "It came from the other side of the DeLorean."
Marty instantly heard footsteps and momentarily panicked, looking around for a place to hide. Spotting a location, he lay on his stomach and quickly rolled underneath the DeLorean, nearly hitting his head on the bottom. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped, and he noticed two pair of feet where he just was seconds ago. He quieted his breathing as much as possible and listened.
"Must've been nothing. Oh well." From underneath the car, he saw the other Marty lean up against the right side of the DeLorean, followed by past Jules, who continued talking about his new invention.
God damn it! Marty screamed in his thoughts. Could anything go right on just one of his time travels? Apparently, the answer was no. It looked like luck, which had just been on his side, had just as suddenly turned its back on Marty McFly.
Verne was lying on his bed up in his room, still furious about being grounded for a month. Right now, he hated his parents, which he did about once a month (at the least) when he got mad at them for something. He had always thought they were too hard on him, which they weren't. He took off his coonskin cap and threw it across the room in anger, to try to blow of some steam, to no avail.
"I can't believe they grounded me for a month!" he said to himself. He jumped off his bed and stomped across the floor to his coonskin cap, which lay on the floor in a heap. He angrily snatched it off the floor and slapped it on his head, growling. He ran back to his bed and jumped back on it.
More than ever, he wanted to run away through time in the DeLorean. He would've gone right then, but knew it would be a lost cause. His parents would catch him in a second. He sighed in frustration, suddenly jumping off of his bed and running over to a family picture that was on his desk. He quickly removed it from the frame, and, without a second's thought, grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his face out of the picture. He walked over to his dartboard, and once he was over there, stuck the family portrait, minus himself, in the center of the dartboard with the help of tape. He collected the darts off the board and ran over to his bed. Just as angry as ever, he took aim, and threw the first dart at the picture, not even vaguely aware of the grim fate that (still) awaited him.