Title: Forward From Here
Author: This is Da Vinci Speaking
Rating: K+
Pairings: None
Summary: Another take on how Doc and Marty met. He doesn't have to be the local nut job; he doesn't have to be an accidental visitor.
Disclaimer: I want you to take a moment and think about how dangerous it would be if I could claim possession to anything officially BTTF-related.
Chapter: 2 of ??
Notes: I always thought Marty would be some kind of psycho kid at age four. But, you know...adorable-psycho.
Marty
The first week of December in '72 went by just as any other week would; Darwin's arrival had little effect on the daily routine up to that point. However, it was around this time that Emmett realized he was tired of leading the same life day after day. He needed something new.
His wish was pretty much granted one morning as he was taking out his garbage. Not really all of his garbage…just a few weird things his dog managed to find and bring home, much to his owner's chagrin and annoyance. Some things he kept, like two hubcaps Darwin had discovered, and others he pretty much had no use for at all, such as a table leg and half of a steering wheel. Why anyone would cut a steering wheel in half was completely lost on the inventor, but he found no use in it, so he was throwing it out with the table leg and a chunk of an old, ratty armchair.
Emmett nearly laughed out loud as he thought about how he ended up with a dog almost as weird as he was, and as he tossed the bag into the metal trashcan, he half expected the little devil to come trotting up to him with part of an airplane.
What he didn't expect was the sudden sensation of two tiny arms wrapping themselves around his leg. He glanced down and found himself staring at the face of a little boy who he figured was around four or five years old. He looked scared; not terrified, but like he was running from something.
This was starting to become a pattern.
"Hey, fella," Emmett said quietly, still not making any movements at all. "What's the matter?"
"He's comin' after me!"
The scientist frowned. "Who? Who's coming after you?"
The little boy's grip tightened. "Davey. He's mad at me 'cause I ask-i-den-ally dropped a plate on his foot."
Emmett gently pried the boy's arms away and kneeled so he was eye-level. "Can you tell me who Davey is?"
"He's my brother. He's seven."
Relieved that Davey wasn't an abusive parent, Emmett chuckled. "I'm sure he knows you didn't mean it. Why don't I take you home? Your parents must be worried."
The boy reluctantly nodded and made a point of walking beside the older man, but two feet away. Emmett figured he was either going through the phase when he thought he didn't need to have his hand held, or he was following whatever rule his mother had taught him about strangers. Emmett himself made a point of keeping his hands in his pockets so the boy would know he meant no harm.
The scientist looked at the boy after he told him where he lived and raised an eyebrow. "What's your name, kid?"
The boy hesitated, and Emmett didn't blame him in the least. He certainly looked like he could be a psychotic kidnapper, especially since he didn't get a chance to clean the black grease off of his clothes from his work earlier that morning.
"Martin," the kid finally said slowly. Then, as if suddenly deciding this weird guy was okay, he added, "But don't you call me that!"
Emmett smiled. "Then what do you want me to call you?"
"Marty. That's what my fam'ly calls me."
"Marty it is, then."
"What's your name?"
"Doctor Brown."
"Cool."
The rest of the moderately lengthy walk was spent with Marty talking on and on about something Emmett had long ago lost interest in, but for the kid's sake pretended he was fascinated. He started to like the kid, and he realized the reason behind this was merely because he longed for someone to talk to; to listen to. The revelation would've made him sad had Marty not nearly taken a nasty plunge into a drainage ditch.
The boy's foot caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and with a sharp "Whoa!" he flew sideways. Emmett was quicker than gravity, however, and he caught Marty around the waist and hauled him back onto the sidewalk, gently dusting the dirt off of his jacket.
"Careful, now," he said, his voice a lot calmer than he felt. "That definitely would have hurt in the morning." He looked up and blinked. "Oh, I guess we're here, right?"
Marty nodded and hurried up to his front door, wildly pounding his fists on it and yelling nonsensical things. Emmett raised an eyebrow as he approached, thinking this kid had too much sugar, and was about to tell him to calm down a little when the door opened and a little girl stood in the doorway. She took one look at Emmett, one look at Marty, and turned towards the inside of the house.
"Mommy, Marty's back with some weird-lookin' old guy!"
Emmett rolled his eyes and a woman who he could only assume was Marty's mother came to the door, looking vaguely concerned.
"Linda, stop yelling, Mommy has a headache. Oh, there you are! Don't you go running off like that again, Martin McFly!" She then noticed the inventor standing there. "Oh," she muttered. "I've seen you around. You're uh…Doctor Brown, right?"
"That's correct."
"Lorraine McFly," Marty's mother said, extending her hand. Emmett shook it. "I guess you found Marty, then, huh?"
Emmett nodded. "Yes, I did. Well, more like he found me." Lorraine snorted. "Anyway, I thought I'd bring him back home and let you know he's alright." He looked down at Marty. "Now, your mother was right; you shouldn't run off like that again. You could get hurt out here."
Lorraine agreed and started to pull her son into the house. "Come on, you need to wash up before you go Christmas shopping with your father." She looked up. "Thank you, Doctor Brown."
"Bye, Mister Doc!" Marty called as he allowed his mother to drag him inside.
The scientist grinned and turned to walk back home, knowing the kid would be fine and also knowing full well that he'd be seeing him again sometime in the near future. Marty was obviously the kind of kid who wouldn't always take no for an answer.
He just hoped he wouldn't be stupid enough to run from home again.