Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Back to the Future – I think if you've read the first 11 chapters then you'll get the idea. ;-) Here's the next instalment, and I warn you now you it might be a bit squeamish…

Chapter 12

August 5th 1989
10:34 a.m.
Brown family home, Hill Valley

Marty squinted at the morning light entering through the window of the bedroom. He looked up towards the ceiling, allowing his eyes to focus and his mind to wake up. He slowly sat himself up against the headboard, rubbing his eyes free of the grogginess he felt.

He still wore the same shirt and trousers he'd been wearing for the past – what was it? One, two days? He wasn't sure. He didn't have a clue what the date was.

He hadn't bothered to change into fresh clothes. He'd felt so tired that he'd literally flaked out on the bed and gone to sleep where he lay. Not having any pillows under his head had been a bad idea – he now felt the ache in his neck as he pulled himself off the bed.

Yawning, Marty made his way out through the bedroom door into the hallway. He still felt stiff all over, but at least his headache wasn't so bad.

Cautiously he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, noting the empty bedroom he passed belonging to one of Doc's children. As he neared the bottom he became aware of voices coming from the opposite end of the house. Not wishing to earwig into the conversation Marty began to make his way through the living room, pausing abruptly only at the sound of his name coming from the direction of the kitchen. He stood quietly, concerned as to why he had been mentioned. After all, everything was still strange for him, and he still didn't know who to trust.

"I bought some clothes this morning for Marty to wear. Nothing much – just a pair of jeans and a shirt for the time being."

"Thanks Clara. We'll need to sort arrangements soon, but first I need to ask him some questions that might help me to discover a little more on the situation we have here," Emmett answered, a smooth yet slight determined tone to his reply. Marty winced at the thought of the interrogation he might have to face with Doc – one that no doubt would not easily help to solve the mystery laid before them.

Marty cautiously moved closer to the doorway, allowing himself to take a better look at the picture before him. Doc was sat at the table with his back to Marty, evidently unaware of his presence. Clara busied herself around the worktops and table, tidying everything from the night before. She shuffled about the kitchen, placing the few items she had bought in their proper places. She halted suddenly as she caught a glance of Marty standing close to the door.

"Oh! Good morning Marty! How are you feeling?"

Emmett spun around quickly in his chair, checking for himself if it was Marty. He stood quickly to the side, almost as if it were royalty who was present before him.

"I'm feeling…a little better, thanks," Marty replied, a slight smile rising on his face with a taint of uncertainty. He had felt better.

"Do you want something to eat, a drink at all?" Emmett offered, gesturing to the rest of the room with his arm out wide as though there were no limits to his offer. Marty lifted his hand to the offer, shaking his head in refusal. He didn't feel hungry, even though when he'd been searching for the house previously he'd felt ravenous. Somehow the experience of finding hope had knocked his appetite out the window.

"No, thanks." He looked to Doc, who still carried the same concerned expression as he had the night before. Feeling a tad guilty for refusing, Marty added, "I think I might take a shower, if that's all right."

"Of course! Here – there's some fresh clothes for you to change into." Doc handed him a white plastic bag with the jeans and shirt for him to wear. Marty took it graciously, though the atmosphere between them felt stifled and thick, as though neither of them wanted to do something that would upset the other.

Turning to head back towards the stairs, Marty felt the weight of the brief conversation fall from his chest, as though he hadn't exhaled for the past couple of minutes or so. He still felt nervous around Doc, and still felt so alone and lost about everything – even himself. He needed answers, but yet at the same time he dreaded learning what they might be. He slowly made his way back up the stairs towards the bathroom, not daring to look behind him to see if Doc had followed.

As Marty left the kitchen Emmett sighed quietly to himself. He watched as his friend disappeared at the end of the hall, feeling a heavy weight press down upon his mind. He so desperately wanted to help in any way that he could, but yet he felt reluctant to seek the truth he so eagerly desired. He needed answers.

The warm, soothing water of the shower helped to relax Marty somewhat, allowing his mind to escape the pressure that had been building up since his arrival at the house. The water helped to remove the dirt that still reminded him of his unknown origins; where his journey had began. A journey that was far from over.

Stepping from the shower, he quickly dried himself. The white carrier bag with his new clothes sat on the toilet seat, beside his torn clothes that now lay on the floor. Peering into the shopping bag, Marty carefully removed the jeans and shirt and put them on. They felt so good and fresh against his skin.

Feeling refreshed and a little more comfortable Marty walked to the top of the stairs. Feeling the dread in him once again rise at the questions Doc would have for him, he took in a slow deep breath to prepare himself mentally. He allowed his legs to take control down the stairs while his mind lay elsewhere. He really wished he could be transported somewhere away from here.

It was no use though. The subject of his sudden reappearance would come back to haunt him again and again, so running away wouldn't solve anything. He just felt he needed more time to let it sink firmly into his brain, to let it register so he could understand it better. He needed more time.

Marty reached the last step and rounded the corner where the banister ended. He gradually made his way to the end of the hall where the kitchen lay, presuming that Doc was still there where he had last seen him. The table had remained occupied by the still figure of Emmett Brown, lost inside his thoughts about the situation at hand. He felt uneasy not to be able to explain to his wife what he at least understood to be happening – he was the scientist, the one who could figure these things out. He wasn't supposed to be in the dark at all.

Marty sensed the condensed atmosphere as he stepped into the kitchen. Everything was still and peaceful, with the only intrusion coming from the clock that hung high above them on the wall - the sound of time passing by. Marty didn't know if Doc had heard him or not, for he never moved. He seemed far away, lost in a place only he knew of.

Marty made his way to the side of the scientist. Doc hadn't heard him, apparent when he jumped at the sudden presence that had appeared beside him. "Marty! It's you! You scared me!" Doc clutched his chest as he breathed hard from the unexpected scare, all his previous thoughts vaporizing away within a matter of seconds. He soon caught his breath again, as Marty sat himself down softly beside the weary shape of his friend.

"Sorry, Doc. I didn't mean to," Marty quietly apologized, almost in fear as though he had done something wrong. This, after all, wasn't his home. He still felt as though he needed to retain his manners here, as though he were a guest. "What were you thinking about?"

Doc placed his head on his hand in support, returning back to his previous train of thought. "A few things," he simply replied.

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know, all sorts really." He sighed deeply to himself uneasily, uncertain. "I just like to lose myself in thought sometimes. It helps me to relax a little. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"

Marty shifted a little in his chair. He was feeling the guilt of dumping all this on Doc out of nowhere. "I'm fine – I'm feeling better than I did last night that's for sure. Where's Clara anyway?"

Doc smiled faintly at his answer. Marty was so transparent when he lied – Doc knew he could sometimes be a little stubborn in telling him whatever was pressing on his mind.

"Clara's gone to do some shopping. Marty – I know you've been through a lot recently, and believe me, I want to help you however I can…"

"Doc-"

"Marty, I want to help." Doc cut him off, looking at him sternly but kindly. He wasn't prepared to take no for an answer this time. "Whatever you're thinking, whatever you're worried about, you can tell me. I can't help but feel some guilt for what happened that day, knowing that it was my fault. You know you can trust me, I am your friend you know."

There it was again – "you know…" Marty sighed softly as his mind felt heavy once more. Doc was looking concerned for him again, so Marty endeavoured to explain.

"That's just it, Doc, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Ever since I arrived here last night I've felt so lost and alone not having a clue as to who you really are. I can't remember a thing, and everyone acts as though they've known me for ages, more so with you and Clara. I'm really sorry, Doc, but I'm afraid I only know your name, not your personality." Marty stared forward onto the tabletop. He could see Doc's eyes drop to the same place, and felt a twinge of guilt for being so cold to the person who had taken him in to his home and his heart - for being his friend.

"I'm sorry for sounding that way, I know that's not your fault. The only thing I know of for certain is that I am Martin Seamus McFly, I'm seventeen years old and I'm a nobody."

Marty paused for Doc's reply at such an unfriendly statement. But the silence remained. Instead of showing the hurt on his face, Doc's expression twisted to confusion as the meaning of Marty's last sentence came finally into focus.

"Seventeen?"

"What?"

"You said you were seventeen."

"I know I did. So?"

"Marty, how did you know what your full name was?"

"I…" Marty paused as he thought his answer over. "I…I don't know. I guess you must've told me."

"I only called you by your nickname."

Marty shrugged his shoulders in response. His mind was doing overtime trying to recall where he had found that information. Doc interrupted that process.

"What exactly do you remember?"

Marty tipped back in his chair and crossed his arms in contemplation. Instead the darkness remained. He simply looked to Doc and shook his head - his only answer.

Doc placed a hand to his chin in thought, scrutinizing all the evidence piece by piece in his mind. First Marty showed up on his driveway, wearing a ragged suit. Then Marty fainted at the sight of him, although Doc wondered if that had anything to do with the gun he was holding at the time. Then he noticed the cuts on Marty's hands and the apparent lack of ageing. Then there was the fact that Marty couldn't remember a thing since coming back, apart from his name and age (which was wrong for the year he was in).

Doc leaned forward in curiosity as he asked, "Do you remember something that happened a while back. Something important, say, on October 26th 1985?"

Marty frowned in confusion as to why Doc suddenly wanted to know this. "October 26th? I…I don't know. What happened?"

"What about January 22nd, 1986?"

"Doc, what's this all about?"

Doc frowned himself. October 26th should have been important to Marty. It was the date Doc had shown him the time machine for the very first time, and it was the day Marty was sent back to 1955. That, for anybody, would be impossible to forget. Yet Marty sat here by his side, not having a clue as to the significance of the date in question. What the hell was going on here? How had Marty ended up here?

It can't be time travel because he can't remember anything, Doc concluded. It can't be he's been missing for three years because he hasn't aged. So, how do you reappear three years later without ageing and without time travelling? It's like he's suddenly woken from the dead or someth-

Doc froze in mid-thought. The statement had meant to be a joke, but now it seemed a very likely possibility. Marty noticed his feared expression in an instant. It was unmistakeable – as though someone had told him the world was going to end.

"Doc?" Marty felt his nerves become over-active, fearing Doc was having a heart attack. "Doc, what is it?"

Doc slowly turned his eyes to focus them on the young man sat beside him, the expression never dieing for one second. "Marty, can you unbutton your shirt for me?"

"What?" Marty spurted out. He didn't know Doc very well, but he didn't think he'd get this response.

"Please Marty, just undo the top few buttons of your shirt."

Marty decided to comply with this. With everything he'd gone through recently, this request didn't seem half as strange as it seemed.

Carefully he loosened the top of his shirt to halfway, not allowing it to open. He wasn't that gullible. "What are you gonna do?"

Doc stood from his seat, noting the suspicion on Marty's young face. "I just want to check something, that's all."

Marty narrowed his eyes to consider the scientist, before allowing him to do whatever it was he wanted to do. Doc moved himself closer warily, and carefully pulled Marty's shirt open just enough to see the centre of his chest. What Doc saw didn't make him any more comforted.

Doc's expression changed quickly to shock as he noted the tiny scars on Marty's chest, each of them no wider than a centimetre. He softly ran his finger over one of the scars near to Marty's collarbone, feeling the rough skin that had grown over a wound that had once existed there. The skin surrounding the injury was deeper in colour, and still looked partly swollen. But it was there, along with five other similar-looking wounds randomly placed across Marty's upper torso.

Deep in shock, Doc searched for his seat and slowly sat back down. Deep inside he fought to keep back the sick feelings that were battling to escape. He couldn't believe it. He had hoped that he was wrong. He had hoped the wounds hadn't been there. A reminder of just what Marty had done for him over three years ago. The six scars of the bullet wounds Marty had received that were meant for Doc…

Just a small note to say thanks to everyone who has read this so far, and for all the reviews.