I do not have any excuses apart from the treacherous villain known as 'writer's block'.

Disclaimer: I do not own the movies 'Back To The Future'.

Marty solemnly raised his head to stare wearily at the faded white padded wall opposite him. They had him in one of those jacket restraints you see on tv. Although they looked a lot more comfier for the actors than how he's feeling right now. Marty ground his teeth for a second, and just like that he sighed.

A long tired sigh.

He's so done with everything. He's done with the doctors. He's done with his pretend family. And most of all he's done with Doc.

That doesn't mean Doc's off the hook for what he did. Marty wouldn't let him go that easily, the fight in him might be temporarily at bay but when it comes back he's gonna be out of this psychotic place and out of town. A wistful smile faintly etched itself onto his lips. His dark eyes glassed over in thought.

He'll go to New York. Get a job, play his guitar in open bar nights and maybe get a contract with a music industry. He'll meet a nice girl and go on a few dates. Everything that happened in this God forsaken town will be all behind him. And when somebody asks about my family he'll respond with 'what family?'.

As time passes he'll finally forget about everything.

…he'll forget…

And he'll be okay.

Finally, he'll be okay. Just for once.

Was that too much to ask?

Was it?!

Why did everything have to happen to him! Why of all people did time have to screw over him? What did he ever do to deserve such hatred and despair!

Without so much as a warning a dry wet sob escaped him, like a desperate cry for help. His lips quivered, heart pounded, and eyes stung. Scrunching up his face Marty tried desperately to calm himself. He wouldn't allow himself to be venerable. And he hoped that whoever was out his door didn't hear him. Holding his breath and gripping his stomach Marty willed himself to be quiet.

But that didn't stop the tears from falling like rain.

They were hot and salty, leaving his eyes burning red and cheeks itchy.

In seconds his lungs burned for air and Marty let out a faint yelp and cry for the loss of breath. Gasps and heavy sobs along with his beating heart was all he could hear.

And just like that he screamed.

Simon rubbed his temples. "Marty thinks he's a time traveller? Buddy, I can't accept this level of bullshit so early in the morning."

Dave sighed from where he was standing and gave the detective a glare that could light a match.

Simon sipped his coffee with an innocent expression.

"The guy guarding Marty said you'd help me." His nose wrinkled. "But so far all you've done is piss me off."

"I get that a lot – Wait," His eyes sparked. "What was the guard's name?" Dave blinked at the change of attitude.

"Err, I think it was Brian?" the older man instantly straightened in his seat and became focused.

"What do you need help with?" gesturing for him to take a seat next to his desk.

Dave blinked rapidly and sat down like an obedient puppy. "The guard says Marty trusts you and I wouldn't be here if I wasn't desperate but Doctor Callery isn't really doing anything productive, my family is at war with my sister and Marty is just…" the words felt physically hard to say. "He's…not doing so good." He couldn't meet the man's eyes, he felt almost ashamed at his brother's current state of mind. As if it was all his fault Marty turned out like this.

"'Not doing so good?' In what way do you mean? Because the last time I saw him he also wasn't 'doing so good'. What's changed?" Dave internally fought himself to not lash out at the cop's nerve.

"He…it's…" Dave tripped over his words. There it was again. Words caught in his mouth. Stumbling over one another like a pile of ants then stopping at his lower lip.

"Easy there, buddy." Simon said, as if reading his trouble with words. "Take your time to explain. It's not like I've got cases to solve." The younger man glared at the cop again.

He was really getting on his nerves.

"Marty punched his friend and is now unconscious in containment. Wrapped up like a pack of sardines." Dave felt a rush of breeze go by him and within a blink he was staring at a spinning empty chair the detective once sat at.

"How are you feeling Marty? Any improvements with the medication? Any side-effects?"

Marty blinked slowly, as though he was testing out a pair of new eyes.

"I heard you caused quite a ruckus last night. Want to talk about what that was all about?"

His gaze drifted from the view behind Callery to the snow globes on the shelves. They were coated over with a new layer of dust.

"Brian told me you think you're a time traveller."

The teenager felt strange. As though he wasn't alive. No, not numb, not depressed just…not all that there. As though his spirit was somewhere else.

For a split second he thought the doctor had given him bad weed.

"If you don't mind I'd like to ask you if you've had any…black outs."

Marty raised an eyebrow at the weird question then internally groaned when Callery smiled triumphantly at his response.

"Have you experienced any blackouts?"

What kind of question was that? How can you tell if you have a blackout? Does some sort of ding go off?

"How the hell should I know? And why are you even asking me that?" Dr. Callery didn't seem the slightest bit phased by his temper. In fact he was writing more notes. "Is this one of those side effects from the drugs you give me." His scribbling ceased and he looked almost hurt.

"Do not treat your medication as if it's heroine. Your medication is there to help you get better." Marty smirked at his reaction. The Doctor took a breath and starting writing again.

"My oh my, you lost your temper there Doc."

The man cleared his throat. "I apologies, it was unprofessional of me. And you still haven't answered my question." Shrugging Marty leant back in the chair and blinked away the blur that was beginning to intrude his vision. "You seem tired, bad sleep?"

Marty bit back a yawn. "Yeah."

Scribble, scribble.

His response must have interested him since the Doctor was far more interested in writing something down for about a minute.

"How are you feeling right now?" Repeating the starting question of their session.

Marty groaned. "Obviously I'm not okay since I'm in this quack house." Dr. Callery's exciting mood turned dim at the word 'quack house'.

Oh dear, did he offend him?

"Please, Mr. McFly amuse me." The thought of the man begging him made Marty feel sick and a little bit sadistic at enjoying it.

Seconds went by and nothing happened. Realizing he had to 'amuse' him Marty threw his head back and grumbled.

"Fine! I feel…I don't know." Marty shifted uncomfortably. Feeling exposed even though he could very well tell the Doctor to shove hi answer up his ass. "out of it?"

"Hmm." The man scribbled something down. "Your family told me that you used to be into drugs and involved yourself in dangerous situations."

"What's this got to do with the theory of me being a psychopath?"

Dear God the man looked sheepish.

Was the world ending?

"I admit that wasn't a proper diagnosis – "

"Wait what?" Marty stood up so quickly his chair clattered to the ground. "You mean to tell me you put me through hell all over a miss-diagnosis!?" Callery's eyes widened and I saw his hand slip under his desk. Marty wasn't an idiot and knew that was a panic button. "My family thinks I'm a psychopath! Or sociopath!"

"I called them this morning and related the news that I was wrong and you do not in fact have psychosis –"

"HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET THAT WRONG!?"

"You have similar traits with past patients and I'm afraid the intern got some notes mixed up –" the man didn't get to finish his sentence as Marty jumped up onto his desk and kicked him off of his chair. In an instant the door flew open behind him and the guards attacked.

Damn Callery. Back at it again with the idiocy.

...I couldn't help myself.

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