Summary: Marty can't keep up this charade for long. He doesn't know his family anymore, and it's only a matter of time before they figure out his secret. Its been one week since Marty's time travels, and already his family is falling apart. First Person, Marty's POV.

Authors Notes: The Forgotten takes place one week after the ending of Back to the Future I. Please disregard Bttf II and III, as it doesn't make sense to include them in this fiction.

The Forgotten

Saturday, November 2nd, 1985

Doc's Garage

11:24 A.M.

"They know," I say as I kick up my skateboard. "I can just tell they do. They look at me sometimes, and say things like 'Gosh Marty, you know you really remind me of someone.' And then they just wait and stare at me until I can fill in the blanks."

"Marty, that's nonsense. Your parents know nothing." Doc says from somewhere beneath the car. I sit on the pavement beside Doc's feet.

"Well see, that's what I want to think." I admit hopelessly, "But then I look into their eyes and there's something there. It's like they already know and are just waiting for me to confirm it." Doc fiddles around with something and then asks for a wrench.

"You are listening, right?" I hand him the wrench, but instead of taking it Doc rolls out from under the car and sits up to look at me.

"Marty, I always listen." He says, and looks mildly disappointed.

"Yeah. Um. Yeah I know you do." I say quickly. He gives me a look. That kind of all-knowing look Doc has intensified by his wild hair and hard gaze.

"Marty, are you sure you just don't want them to know?" I glance away.

"No. Maybe. I don't know." Sometimes even I don't know why Doc puts up with me. I've got to give him credit though. He doesn't sigh, just puts a hand on my shoulder

"Look at me." He says gently. Reluctantly I glance up. He's smiling. "You've been through a lot, Marty. I can understand if you'd want to share this adventure with your parents. You are only seventeen." I must have frowned, because Doc chuckles and adds, "And I know you think you're an adult Marty, but really you're still just a baby to most people." I raise my eyebrows at this, giving him the best "Don't mess with Marty Mcfly" look I can manage. He treats it as if I were a puppy growling.

"Right, well…" I say, and look away again. Doc takes the wrench, and dives back under the Delorean. "I can't tell them. It's settled." I stand up, dropping my skateboard back to the ground.

"It's just too risky, Marty. You might end up causing an interruption in the space-time continu—"

"Been there, done that." I say with a smirk. "Catch ya later, Doc." He waves a hand at me from underneath the car before I speed off towards home.

It was only a ten-minute journey since I was able to car surf on the way back, but something seems strange as I enter. Linda and Dave aren't home, and Mom and Dad aren't reading in the living room like usual. There are noises coming from my bedroom, and I'm a little hesitant to go in there. I approach the door quietly. It's slightly opened, and I see mom sitting on my bed. She's crying. Why is she crying?

"Oh Marty." She says, and gives the pillow she's holding a squeeze. "Oh Marty I'm so, so sorry." I almost think she knows I'm there, but her eyes are closed and she buries her head in the pillow. "So sorry." She continues to sob, until it becomes a chant. I back away slowly from the door, careful not to step on the creaky panels in the floor.

"Marty?" I jump, slamming my head into the wall behind me. "Woah, easy there it's just me." I turn my head to the left, seeing a few stars dance in front of my father's face.

"Oh. Hi Dad." I mutter. I sure would make one hellova spy. Dad looks at me with some concern, and I remember that he's not the father I once knew.

"You alright there, son?" I rub my head, but it doesn't seem to help much.

"Yeah. Sure. Fine." God, I'm practically squeaking. Dad doesn't seem too convinced. The other George Mcfly might not have cared so much. "It's just um, Mom." I say, and gesture helplessly at my door. To my surprise, Dad sighs.

"Yes, she's been doing that a lot." He says softly, and glances towards my room with hopeless eyes. "I've tried to speak with her about it, but she won't talk to me." I blink, wondering what the hell I've done now.

"Wait, so what'd I do?" I ask, and Dad doesn't look at me.

"I'm going to go make some tea." He finally says, and starts towards the kitchen. I'm left standing outside my room with a headache the size of Mount Rushmore. I wonder if Dad's newfound confidence also came with a resilience to no longer pay attention to his kids. Whatever.

Mom's wailing seems to subside and I think she might be sleeping. I think of the Lorraine from thirty years ago, pretty and young without a care in the world. I don't like seeing mom like this now, but I don't know what to do about it either. I walk away from my room towards the kitchen and face plant into the couch. I hear Dad fumbling with a teapot nearby.

There is a moment of silence before Dad asks kindly "How much sugar?"

"No sugar." I tell the couch. Dad pours a cup for me, and adds sugar to it anyway since he knows I'll complain if he doesn't. He takes the seat in the armchair next to me.

"I'm worried about you Marty." He says, and takes a sip of his sugar with tea. Thanks, Dad. I'm worried about me too. You know, after all those murders I've committed and the babies I've eaten.

"Why?" I say instead, and reach an arm out to grab my cup. "Shouldn't you be worried about Mom? I mean, she is the one crying and all." Dad doesn't say anything for a minute. I sit up, just letting the drink warm up my fingers.

"That's just it." He says seriously and stares at me. "Why aren't you upset?"

"What do I have to be upset about? I've got a band and a girlfriend." I say with a bashful smile. Dad lowers his drink to the table. "Is this what you love, Marty?" I feel the smile slide off my face.

"Well, yeah. And you guys of course…Dave, Linda…" Dad shakes his head solemnly. I shift the mug around in my hands.

"What did you love about us Marty?" Dad says, and I somehow think he's looking through me rather than at me.

"Did?" Dad doesn't say anything. I think I might be sweating.

"Um, well there's a bunch of things Dad. I like, you know…" I stop suddenly, realizing that anything I say might never have even occurred in this dimension.

"I'm glad you write." I say stupidly, but it's the only thing I can be sure of in this timeline. The man is completely different from the George McFly I knew. Right down to his shampoo.

Dad nods, and beckons me to continue. "I'm really glad mom's not an alcoholic, Dave has a job, and Linda isn't whining about dates." Dad smiles, though it looks forlorn and lost.

"Me too." He says. "Your mother and I love you very much Marty. If you ever want to talk to us about anything, you just have to ask." I swallow (my throat feels dry), and nod.

"Okay."

Dad abandons his chair, bringing his mug to rest on the kitchen counter. "And Happy Birthday Marty." He says, "If you'd like to go out to dinner tonight we could—"

"It's not my birthday." I interrupt him as if he's crazy. "It's only November 2nd. I'm a summer baby, remember?" I raise my eyebrow at him impatiently. Could he really have mixed me up with Dave again?

Dad turns around with a blank look.

"Marty," He says, expression unreadable. "You've always been born in November." I wonder if he's playing a joke on me, but his eyes aren't lying as they analyze my face. It's only then that I realize that my birthday could have changed in this alter 1985. Dad walks up to me and puts his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look at him.

"What happened to you?" He whispers. I feel myself freeze up.

Shit.