Shot Through The Heart
A BTTF: Trilogy Story
By Flaming Trails
Disclaimer: I don't own BTTF. If I did, THE RIDE WOULDN'T BE CLOSING.
Notes: Written for the August backtothefanfic LJ challenge. The photo I used was Doc's expression just after Marty's shot by Buford Tannen in Part III. Coming up with the title was a task and a half -- if I hadn't fortuitously recalled the Bon Jovi song, this story might have remained titleless!
Monday, September 7th, 1885
Hill Valley
8:02 A.M.
"You thought wrong, dude."
People weren't kidding when they said Buford Tannen was fast on the draw. I've never seen a gun jump into anyone's hand that quickly. And before I can do a damn thing to stop him -- he fires.
And Marty drops to the ground.
Horrified, I pull away from the gang members holding me and stare. No. It can't be. It -- it simply can't be. Marty can't be dead. He can't be. Not after all this. Not after all we've been through together. He -- he --
He's lying so still. . . . Don't be dead, Marty, for the love of God don't be dead. I've already lost Clara to my own stupidity -- I can't lose you too. I can't lose you too!
DAMN IT, MARTY, YOU CAN'T BE DEAD!
. . . . He's laughing. That bastard is laughing. He just killed my best friend, and he's laughing! He's proud of what he's done! Suddenly, I don't give a damn what happens to the space-time continuum. I want to go to him, grab his gun, and blow his brains out. I want to kill him for what he's done to me.
But I can't move. I simply can't make myself move. I'm seething with rage, but I can't move. The shock is too much. If -- if I move, if I kill this son of a bitch -- I acknowledge that Marty's dead. And I don't want to do that.
He died because of me.
He could have walked away. Could have tried and made it to the train on his own. Could have at least gotten out of here. He'd be stuck in the Old West, but at least he'd be alive! But instead, he chose to face Buford. Chose to try and save me. Because I had to deliberately ignore everything I know about my biological chemistry and have a shot of whiskey. Great Scott, I might as well have put a bullet in him myself. I thought nothing could hurt as much as last night, when Clara slapped me. But this. . . . In the space of roughly nine hours, I've lost the love of my life and the teenager I've always thought of as a son.
God damn it, why did I ever have to invent that infernal time machine!
Buford's swaggering up to him, grinning and bowing at the crowd. The rest of the townspeople follow him at a distance, eyes fixed on the body. Suddenly, my rage-induced paralysis breaks. I want to run and get that son of a bitch, but his filthy gang grabs me again before I can. I struggle a bit, but they're a lot stronger than me, even with my rejuvenation and eight months of blacksmith work. Damn, if only I'd been able to act sooner!
I can't get over how proud he is that he took some teenager's life. He's absolutely thrilled with himself. I wonder if the Biff of 1985-A felt like that when he shot George McFly. Probably. My rage builds. If I could only to get to you, Mad Dog, I'd--
Wait a minute. Something's wrong. Buford suddenly looks suspicious. He's cocking his gun again. But -- but we all saw the bullet hit! Marty got shot directly in the chest! Why is he--
Marty's foot abruptly comes up and kicks the gun right out of Buford's hand. My heart leaps. Marty's alive! ALIVE! But how?
A moment later, the mystery is solved as Marty reveals the stove door he hid under his tunic. I grin to myself -- I always knew Marty was clever. I watch with a much lighter heart as Marty soundly thrashes Buford, ending with the teen punching him straight into a nearby wagon of manure. Just what the bastard deserves. Like ancestor, like descendant! Or should that be like descendant, like ancestor?
Moments later, the sheriff's deputy rides up, along with a few other officers. I hear one of the gang members holding me say, "You know what I think?"
The others make noises indicating they don't.
"I think Buford's going to jail."
And just like that, they're off. I manage to trip the one closest to me, sending him sprawling. He's back on his feet in a second, but it felt good anyway. A satisfied grin crosses my face as I see the officers take off after the gang. At least now they'll face justice, the cowards.
Another officer hauls Buford Tannen out of the manure. The deputy scowls at him. "Buford Tannen, you're under arrest for robbing the Pine City Stage," he says, making sure to keep his shotgun on the desperado. "Do you have anything to say?"
Buford opens his mouth and spits out a chunk of manure. I can't help but make a face -- how disgusting. "I hate manure," Buford mutters.
I shove my way through the crowd to Marty's side. He's cooling his fists, but he spares me a quick smile as we watch Buford get taken away. I can't believe I nearly lost him. . . . Oh, it's good to see him up and about.
And it's even better when I notice something else. During the fight, Marty punched Buford into a tombstone sitting in front of the cabinet-maker's and undertaker's, breaking it in two. And now that the excitement's over, I realize that it's the exact same tombstone that was in Marty's picture! "Look!" I say, pointing it out to him.
The teenager whips out the picture. As we watch, the tombstone fades away into nothingness. "Yes!" we say in unison. Finally, we can both be sure we'll survive to reach 1985!
Speaking of which, our heads jerk back up as we hear a train whistle in the distance. "The train!"
"Can we make it?" Marty asks me worriedly, stuffing the photograph back in his pocket.
I frown, mentally following the line of tracks. "We'll have to cut them off at Coyote Pass." It'll be close, but as long as our horses don't give out, we should make it. We grab Newton and Galileo and mount.
Before we can leave, however, a kid runs up to Marty, holding the teen's discarded gun belt. "Hey mister! Mr. Eastwood! Here's your gun, mister!"
I watch with interest as Marty accepts his gun belt back, then tosses it to Seamus. God, I'm proud of that kid. His tendency to overreact every time someone called him a name has always worried me. But he's done a lot of growing up over the past few weeks out of time. And now -- now, I'm not concerned about his future at all. You're going to do great, Marty. I just know it. Now all that remains is to get ourselves back home.
The End