He was back in that scene again, watching the events unfold right in front of him. Certain details seemed more prominent than others: the soft thud as Doc's dying body hit the ground, the shine of moonlight on the barrel of the gun, the sparkle of early morning precipitation on the asphalt. If it hadn't been for the severity of the situation, Marty may even have thought it were beautiful.

But there was nothing beautiful about being shot. Not a single thing. He felt the pain erupt in his chest like a miniature explosion; he saw the gleam of anger in the Libyan's eyes; he smelled the stench of iron in his blood. The scene was seemingly much more graphic than he first remembered it, but maybe the adrenaline rush had obscured reality for him. Either way, the event was no less horrifying.

This time, however, things were different. There was no phone for him to run to. In fact, the entire town around him seemed to dissolve into a haze of swirling shapes and colours. All that remained clear were himself, Doc, the DeLorean and Doc's truck. He managed to scramble over to his friend, holding the scientist's hand in both of his.

"Doc, listen, y-you're gonna be okay," His voice cracked as his words stumbled over themselves as he tried to speak, feeling as though his throat was full of treacle. "We'll get you to a h-hospital, a-and you'll b-be fine!"

Doc turned his head weakly to look at the teenager. A thin trickle of crimson blood flowed slowly from the corner of his mouth. "M-Marty… there's nothing m-more you can do for me,"

Tears were streaming down Marty's cheeks as he abandoned all attempts to keep his emotions under control. "Doc don't t-talk like that, p-please!" He stammered, petrified at seeing the light gradually leaving Doc's eyes. "You're gonna be okay!"

Doc shook his head ever so slightly. "Goodbye, Marty," his voice was faint, but in the silence of the night it sounded like a foghorn. With that, his head rolled to the side and his eyes drifted shut.

"DOC!" Marty screamed, shaking his friend's shoulders, attempting to rouse the still-warm body of the scientist. "Doc you can't die! PLEASE!"

Marty was sobbing by this point, overwhelmed by what had happened. His own pain was entirely insignificant at this point, merely a blur. He knelt over Doc's corpse and wailed, praying that some higher being might pull his friend from death's cold grip.

"DOC!" Marty awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. His heart was pounding and he was drenched in cold sweat. As he went to rub his eyes, he felt warm tears still flowing from his eyes. Growling to himself, he wiped his face with his sleeve and laid back down, staring at the ceiling.

After a while, his mind began to conjure up shapes and swirls drifting across the ceiling. They chased and danced round each other, creating a beautiful ballet of colour. Marty blinked a couple of times, and the shapes vanished, retreating back to the corner of his imagination. The teenager looked to his clock, the glowing numbers reading 2:37am. He had school in the morning. He would have to get more sleep. Relaxing back into his pillow, he closed his eyes again and allowed the swirls to return, which performed a complicated series of dances across the insides of his eyelids.

He must have fallen asleep at some point during this time, as all of a sudden the swirls became visions of himself, playing guitar, skateboarding and doing other regular daily activities. He was thankful the nightmare didn't return to haunt him again and deprive him of any more sleep, but he secretly dreaded the time when it would.

Marty was still yawning as he trudged into school the next morning, his bag hanging off one shoulder. He was on time, something he didn't expect. Mr Strickland looked at him as he walked in, eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Well McFly, I'm impressed. You must have put extra effort into getting up this morning," he said, his facial expression reflecting that of a parent whose child had managed to not touch anything at the museum. "Keep it up and you might avoid demerits,"

Marty rolled his eyes, muttering "thank you" under his breath before heading to his first class of the morning: math. He hated math, not to mention his teacher was the most boring old coot that ever lived. It was as if the school had decided to employ someone with absolutely no clue of how children worked. Frequently the teacher, Mr Farthing, would ramble on about how 'back in his day' children were seen and not heard, along with other such drivel.

Marty tossed his bag down under the desk and started to fish inside it for his homework, which was due that lesson. Being in the hospital had meant he had had no opportunity to complete it, so he figured the five minutes at the start of the lesson where everyone was still filing in would be the ideal time to do it.

As he searched his bag for a pen, Mr Farthing walked up to him, peering at him through his inch-thick spectacles.

"What's this? Forgot to do your homework, McFly?" he said in his monotonous voice, "Tut tut,"

"Didn't you hear sir?" Marty replied as he looked up, his left hand clutching a biro pen. "I was in the hospital all weekend,"

"I heard, surely all of that time lying down didn't mean that you had no chance to do your homework?" Mr Farthing looked at him scrutinizingly. "Until you give me a valid reason, I'm afraid you will have to stay after school to complete it."

"But sir, me and Doc were shot!"

"Dr Brown is bad news, McFly, he is a complete nutcase. You will do well to stay away from him,"

"He is NOT a nutcase!" Marry snapped. "He's my friend!"

"It seems as though he has already had a negative effect on you," Mr Farthing droned. "Too bad,"

Marty growled. As more students arrived, the teacher went on with actual teaching. Marty sat through the lesson in silence and, as he was leaving, dumped a fully-completed homework sheet on Mr Farthing's desk before following the others out.

"Hey McFly!" A voice called to him as he was gathering his books from his locker.

Heaving a sigh, Marty turned round to face the source of the voice: Tiff Tannen, Biff's kid. There he was, as usual being followed by his trio of delinquents, Michael, Katrina and Alex. "What do you want Tannen?"

"Nothing," Tiff said innocently, looking at Marty with fake sympathy. "I heard you and your 'friend'," he said the word as though it were made of caramel, "were shot,"

"Yeah, what about it?" Marty said, crossing his arms.

"Serves the dangerous old fart right," Michael sneered.

Marty growled. "Hey leave Doc out of this,"

"Sticking up for your precious 'Doc'?" Tiff sneered. "Don't be so pathetic, McFly,"

Marty rolled his eyes and turned away, heading towards his next lesson.

"What's the matter McFly? Feeling butthurt?"

Marty groaned and kept walking. He wasn't going to let Tiff ruin his day.

"Why don't you teach me a lesson, huh?" Tiff's voice continued to echo down the hall. "Or are you too much of a chicken?!"

Marty stopped dead in his tracks. Ignore him, he's just trying to wind you up, he told himself as he kept walking.

"Little chicken McFly!" Alex laughed.

A growl escaped Marty's throat as he stopped again. Chicken, eh?! I'll show him who's chicken! He had turned halfway to face the group, but the bell rang. He took that as his cue to get to History before he got into trouble. Saved by the bell, as it were.

That was a close one.

The rest of the day passed without incident, thank goodness, and Marty was relieved to finally hear the bell at the end of the day. He collected his things, shoved them roughly into his backpack and began heading for the hospital.

It took twenty minutes to walk there, during which time Marty had the opportunity to think. To think about what had occurred over the past few days. He also couldn't help but think about the DeLorean and what it was capable of. He'd seen it jump through time with his own eyes and his mind grew curious as to what exactly was possible when one possessed the ability to manipulate time. Maybe he could go forward thirty years and see what his future held, or perhaps backwards to see how his great-great-grandparents had lived, possibly even stopping the Tannen family from causing so much trouble.

Time, Marty thought, seemed to be a pretty fragile thing. If he were, to say, break up his parents' marriage before he was born, would he cease to exist? What if his parents were killed when he was a kid? Whose hands would he fall into then? It seemed to him that even the smallest change could have serious repercussions on the fabric of time.

Listen to me, Marty chuckled to himself. I sound just like Doc.

Speaking of the scientist, he felt bad having left him all day in a hospital bed on his own. He could at least have brought something with him. Passing a shop, Marty stopped for a moment. He fished inside his bag for something and his hand soon withdrew a slightly crumpled but still fully valid five-dollar note. Stepping inside the shop for a moment, he purchased a small packet of lemon sherberts before heading onwards to the hospital.

The double doors to ward H swung open as the teenager walked in, heading straight to room 12. Doc was looking at a newspaper, a pencil held in one hand. Almost effortlessly, he filled in the various puzzles in the back before tossing the pencil aside.

Marty stepped in, smiling. "Hey Doc,"

"Hello Marty," Doc smiled as he put the paper down. "How was school?"

"The same boring place it's always been," the teen replied with a smirk. "What about you? How are you?"

"Not too bad, I suppose," Doc answered, sitting up a bit. "Still sore,"

Marty frowned and handed him the sweets. "I got you these on the way here,"

"Thanks," Doc grinned, taking them from him. "So what happened at school to make it so boring?"

Marty groaned loudly sitting down in a chair and slouching, causing the collar of his body warmer to slide up over the lower half of his face. "Everything,"

Doc laughed. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad, Marty, you're over exaggerating again,"

"Am not!" Marty retorted, but let a faint smirk fade onto his face. "First off I had Strickland's snarky comment about how I was actually on time for once, then my math teacher said that being in the hospital from being shot for God's sake was no excuse to have not done homework. THEN Tiff started having a go at me for one reason or another, called you a 'dangerous old fart'," - at that Doc let out a laugh - "and then started calling me chicken cause I walked off to class. I woulda punched him, too, if it hadn't been for the bell,"

Doc sighed, sitting up straight on the bed. "It seems to me that Tiff managed to get to you, again. This isn't the first time he's called you chicken, is it?"

"No," Marty admitted. "It really pisses me off, I just wanna punch that guy in his stupid fat face,"

"Marty," Doc's tone of voice changed from amused to serious in the blink of an eye. "You have got to stop taking offence every time someone calls you a chicken. If you keep reacting like that one of these days you'll land yourself in serious trouble,"

"I know," the teenager sighed. "I just can't help it,"

"Well you'll have to learn to 'help it'," Doc sighed. "You can't punch someone whenever-"

"I know!" Marty snapped. He knew Doc was telling the truth, and he knew he should listen, but he was just so frustrated and tired that his anger got the best of him. "I came here to see how you were doing, not for you to lecture me on my behaviour!"

"Marty," Doc warned. "One of these days you'll realise that reacting to something like that will get you in trouble. I understand your day has been tough but you'll just have to soldier on and get over it,"

"That's easy for you to say!" Marty exclaimed. "You've spent all day in a nice safe hospital room with nice nurses and not having to worry about anything!"

"Marty listen to me!" Doc snapped. "I'm serious, you will get hurt if you keep reacting to people calling you names. They do it to get a reaction, so by retaliating all you're doing is giving them what they wanted,"

Marty growled. On the inside, he knew the scientist was right. A part of his mind was telling him to calm the heck down and take a moment to breathe. Unfortunately the rest of his brain was still furious. "Why should I listen to you, huh?! It's not like you'd understand!"

With that, he stood up and exited the room, leaving without so much as a 'goodbye' or even looking at Doc. He stormed down the hall and through the double doors, ignoring the annoyed looks from various staff members he received as he went.

Stupid old coot, what does he know?! It's not like he knows how much of a pile of manure my life is.

Doc sighed. He figured Marty just needed time to calm down, think things over. The teen was going to get himself in serious trouble one of these days, he just hoped it wouldn't be soon. He knew what he'd said would annoy the teen - of course it would - but one day Marty would understand what he'd meant and would come to appreciate it.

Doc was released from hospital a few days later, and was given a lift back home by a friendly doctor. He smiled as he noticed his van and the DeLorean were parked outside; that meant no awkward explanations as to what all the equipment was and what he was even doing with a DeLorean in the first place. Not only were they rare, one converted in such a way as his would really get questions flying his way.

He fished out the key from under the mat on the doorstep and unlocked the door. The place inside was exactly how he'd left it about a week ago - a complete mess. Papers were littered across the floor and half-finished pieces of machinery and other technology were scattered round the garage. He noticed Einstein's bed and bowl were missing, most likely at the McFly's house.

Speaking of Einstein, he headed across to his phone and began calling the McFly's home number. After a few moments, Lorraine answered. She sounded drunk; after all, Marty had informed him that she did have a tendency to drink. "Hello?"

"Hello Lorraine, it's Emmett Brown," Doc greeted the woman. "I've just arrived home from the hospital. Would it be alright if I came round to pick up Einstein?"

"Yes of course, he's your dog after all," Lorraine replied. "He's incredibly well behaved, he's been no trouble at all,"

"That's good to hear," Doc smiled a little. "I'll be round in fifteen minutes,"

"Alright, see you then,"

"Bye," Doc hung up the phone and took the keys to his truck (which had been conveniently been placed on the table), pocketing them. He opened his front door, locking it behind him as he headed to the truck. The scientist climbed in, started the truck, and pulled out of his driveway, heading towards the McFly's house.

"Marty! Doc will be round in fifteen minutes!" Lorraine called to his son.

Marty was sitting on his bed, holding his guitar in his hands, a glazed look in his eyes. His left hand was perfectly fine, his right, however, was encased in a cast. White plaster kept his hand still and covered his arm from the wrist up to the elbow. He'd been in a car accident the previous day: Needles had egged him on in a drag race with the family car and, upon being called chicken, accepted the offer. He'd collided with a Rolls Royce, broken his hand and nearly destroyed the family car completely.

His mother had been furious: that meant another few thousand dollars to have the car replaced plus the Rolls Royce owner's insurance meant that they had to pay for the damage to that as well, coming to a total of $5000. Overall that meant over ten thousand dollars in costs. All because Marty had retaliated when someone called him chicken.

Now he was sat on his bed moping, staring at the guitar longingly. He was under orders to use his right arm as little as possible for the next seven weeks until his cast was removed, then three weeks after that. That meant absolutely no guitar. It also meant that he would have trouble at school with his work - he was right-handed after all - which would lead to disappointed looks from the teachers.

I'm such an idiot, he scolded himself for his stupidity. Doc was right, and all I did was shout at him. Now look where I've ended up. I deserve this.

The sound of the doorbell pulled him from his thoughts as he got up, opening the door and going into the hall. He pulled the door open to reveal Doc, with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, hello Marty,"

"Hey Doc," Marty stepped back to let him in, refusing to look at him. "I'm sorry about the other day, you were right,"

Doc sighed, noticing the teen's injured hand. "What did I tell you?"

"I know, I was being an idiot and I deserve this," Marty sighed, gazing at his feet. "I'm sorry,"

"Hey," Doc placed a hand on his shoulder, lifting Marty's chin up to face him. "It's okay, I'm sorry you got hurt, but hopefully you'll know better in future, right?"

Marty smiled a bit. "Yeah,"

A couple of loud barks were heard as Einstein came barreling into the room, tail wagging frantically as he ran over to Doc. Doc's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye and he grinned widely, kneeling down and ruffling the dog's fur. "Hello Einy! I've missed you!"

Einstein put his front paws up on Doc's knees and licked his face, tail still wagging like a mad snake. Marty grinned. "Someone's missed you,"

Doc laughed, attaching Einstein's leash and getting the bowl and the bed. "Thanks for looking after him for me,"

"It was no trouble at all," George smiled. "It's good to see you back on your feet,"

"Good to be back on them," Doc chuckled. "Hospitals are not fun places, and being stuck lying down in one all day did my head in,"

"I can imagine," Marty muttered. He lifted his right hand up, running his eyes over it before letting his arm fall back down to his side.

George frowned and crossed his arms. "Now Marty, you knew that was a stupid thing to do, so stop acting like it's the universe's fault when really it's your own,"

"I know Dad," Marty rolled his eyes. "And I'm banned from playing the guitar for two months, so I think I know not to do it again,"

"I know son, I'm just teasing," George smirked and ruffled Marty's hair, causing the teenager to yelp and swat his hand away, flattening his hair down.

"Dad!" He whined, casting a split-second look over his shoulder at Doc.

Doc chuckled. "Relax Marty, it's not like he's attacked you,"

Marty rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

"Well, I'd better get Einstein here home," the scientist said. "I'll see you later,"

"Bye," George smiled and headed back into the kitchen, where he was working on some papers.

"See ya later, Doc," Marty waved with his left arm as Doc and Einstein got into the truck and reversed out the drive, going up the road and out of view.