Holy...I am SO sorry for not updating here! I've been so damned busy recently! Can you forgive me? Anyway, the chapter. I am in no way pleased with this one at all. I just can't stand it. I'm thinking of re-writing it. Please forgive typos or anything that sounds wrong, I didn't give this enough time whilst running through it.

Fine-Tuning the Future

Chapter 6

George McFly's sleek BMW drew to a halt in front of the wreckage that could have once been classified as a huge red 4x4. The people were still milling around on the road, most of them desperately trying to tidy things away. The sheets of metal that had been ripped from both vehicles were gone, thrown off to the side of the road with little care.

"George?!" Lorraine exclaimed.

"I know, I see it Lorraine," George replied, his jaw set and his eyes dark.

He eventually managed to pull the car into the driveway, the sound of something crunching under the tyres was of no concern as it usually would have been, all that was on George's mind was what the Hell had happened right outside his front porch.

He kicked open the door and tumbled out onto the driveway. He rushed madly to the door and fumbled with his keys, searching through them to find the correct one.

The key was millimetres from the lock when George heard the scraping sound of a latch being drawn across and the thunk of something being unlocked.

George came nose to forehead with his son, and he had such a forlorn and grim look on his face he could have sworn the boy was not his own.

Lorraine bustled past him and almost bowled Marty over. She threw her arms around him and said something so muffled and so quiet Marty couldn't hear it, as she was speaking into his shoulder.

"Marty?" George croaked. He straightened his tie and adjusted his collar, "what happened out there? Did you see it?" he tried again.

"Yeah, I saw it," Marty said blandly. He rubbed his arm nervously and nudged at his mother to let go of him.

"Oh Marty, for a second there I thought it had something to do with you!" Lorraine said, panicked.

"It had a lot to do with me…" Marty replied, giving her a brave smile, "you gonna shut the door or are you going to let us freeze in here?" he added, waving a shaking hand at the door that swung silently in the mild breeze. The rain was pattering into the hall in front of it.

George silently obeyed, shutting the door. The sound of it slam echoed about the entire house, and a deathly silence fell down upon the three standing in the hall, each with dripping clothes and a mournful expression.

The pause lasted eons, and it was until George spoke, breaking the crisp silence, that the atmosphere improved.

"Want to tell us what happened?"

"Not particularly…it was an accident, there were two cars, I think you can guess the rest," Marty replied with his usual tone, sarcasm covering how he really felt about the situation.

"Now, Marty, I know it was more than that," George responded, his brow furrowing. He grabbed Marty's arm and almost ripped his denim jacket from his back. He showed Marty the blood that was clinging to the material.

"I think this explains a little more," His father concluded. He threw the jacket back at Marty, who caught it and in turn sent it to the floor.

"Now can we please have an answer? We're your parents, Martin," George went on.

Marty scowled, they were imposing the old "tell your parents, there's no-one else you can turn to,"

Marty's answer was Doc, and it always had been.

"Well?" George said again, folding his arms impatiently.

Marty just stared at the ground, occasionally looking up with a hurt look in his eyes.

"Look," said George, he suddenly became sympathetic, pity framing his features, "You can tell us you know."

Marty didn't know why he couldn't just answer, it seemed that his throat had closed up and he was now unable to speak. He whimpered slightly, coughing and holding his hand around his throat.

"Marty?" began Lorraine, but Marty had already thundered upstairs and slammed his door. Marty was shocked to feel tears forming in his eyes, as he picked up whatever he found and hurled it across the room. He slumped, face forward onto the bed, moaning to himself. He was so angry with his own stupidity, he was such an idiot.

He didn't know why he couldn't have gone, fixed everything; it would all be fine again. At least, it might be fine if the Doc was around.

The Doc, oh great, there was another wave of tears.

He thumped his fist into the bed as hard as he could, screaming in anger and threw the radio that he found above his bed towards the direction of the window. The glass shattered, reminding him of the windscreen of the road outside. He screamed random words of frustration at the broken window. At that moment, the door behind him was flung open and George and Lorraine entered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Marty?" George shouted. Marty turned on the spot and stared at his father, suddenly seeing him in a new light.

"You can't boss me around you know," Marty said, a coldness forming in his voice. "I can do anything I want… so just leave me alone,"

"Martin McFly, what's got into you?!" Lorraine roared, her voice rising and falling in different places.

"Yeah Marty, what the hell are you doing?" George asked.

"What I should have done a long time ago," Marty whispered, running over to the window and placing one foot on the sill. Suddenly, his parents sprung into action, edging their way around the side of his bed.

"L-look, Marty we can-," Lorraine cut in, she reached a hand out to him, and Marty stared down his nose at her like she was something the neighbour's cat had dragged in.

"Marty, for God's sake, don't jump!"

Marty stared from the ground so far below him, up to the blood red sky and back down again.

With a sudden movement, Marty spun around, jumped over his bed and ran out of the open door. It took a few seconds for his parents to realise what he'd done, but they quickly followed his route from the door and down the stairs.

Upon reaching the hallway, they were extremely surprised to see him lying awkwardly on the floor with Biff standing over him, holding a large exhaust pipe. He had a sheepish grin on his face as he looked from Marty, to George, whose eyes were mirroring his own, and then down to Lorraine, who was hunched over Marty, trying her best to wake him.

"It's no good Mrs. McFly," Biff said coughing slightly and making his voice a little lower. "He's out cold. He just opened the door and ran headlong into this," he banged the pipe, and it made an echoing metallic sound which filled the whole hall way.

Biff smiled weakly, not knowing whether to run or stay.

"It's actually a good thing that happened, Biff," George said, for once meaning every word. "If he hadn't run into that and got knocked out, who knows where he might have gone."

"Thanks Mr. McFly," Biff mumbled. He looked down at the exhaust that Marty had flown straight into. It was a relief; he couldn't afford to lose George as his customer. He even thought maybe it was out of pity or sympathy that he let him work with his car so often, but Biff's simple yet logical mind couldn't quite grasp the idea properly.

Lorraine had a look of shocked horror on her features, but she didn't panic, she just tried lifting her unconscious son to a sitting position.

"What shall we do with him, George?" she sighed. She hated seeing her children distressed, and it was even more difficult to work with any of them when they refused to tell her what was wrong.

"Take him upstairs, I'll try and get hold of someone to clear the mess from outside my house," George stated blankly.

He looked quickly to Biff, who was nervously stepping from foot to foot.

"Biff, you'd better go, I'm sorry you only just got here, but you noticed what's outside, and it needs clearing up," George said to him, clapping one hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah sure, Mr. McFly, I was only gonna drop this off anyways, I mean you were out with you car, so I couldn't exactly offer my services could I?" Biff said with a laugh.

"Of course, Biff…" George showed him the door politely and Biff almost ran from the hall and down the drive.

George presumed he had parked his truck around the corner and come the back way to the front, which was the only way an individual would miss the wrecks lying outside.

George followed Biff outside after a silent second, and stood at the top of the drive. The emergency services had arrived, the flashing yellow lights reflecting from the road, and one of the cars had already been towed away. There were less people walking around now, and the road was clean. Soon there would be doubt as to whether anything had happened at all.

He turned on his heel and strode back into the house. He shouldn't have let Lorraine drag Marty all the way up the stairs, and he entered the kitchen, only to find Marty leaning low over the table.

There was a large red mark across his forehead and crossing his right eyebrow, but it didn't seem to be affecting him.

He heard clattering in the kitchen, so George sat down opposite Marty at the table, the squeaking of his chair scraping across the tiles painfully loud.

Marty never even looked up.

"Hey, you're gonna make yourself sick leaning over like that," George said sternly, yet softly.

Marty grunted in reply. His hand reached out to cover the bruising on his head and he closed his eyes tight.

George sighed and stood up again, shoving his chair backwards. He made his way to the kitchen, where he pulled Lorraine over to him so they could talk quietly.

"Did he come around?" he asked.

"I think it was just a little shock, I don't believe he was out for a minute…" Lorraine replied. She cast her eyes over to Marty, who hadn't moved since George left him.

George nodded slowly and returned to where Marty sat, his eyes still fixed on the table before him.

He knew that his parents were sickly worried about him, but for once, he didn't seem to care.

Stupid Biff, he thought slowly rubbing his forehead and still making eye contact only with the table. Stupid Biff and his stupid exhaust pipe. If he hadn't been in the way, I could have had a clean get away, I could have gone to the hospital, and… oh, I don't know.

He dared himself to take a look upwards, maybe smile reassuringly, but the only thing he could manage was a quiet cough. He closed his eyes as tight as he could, and Lorraine entered, bustling past him, she was pulling the sternest face he'd ever seen her wear.

He felt a tear slowly roll down his cheek, as if his inner self wanted him to go into uncontrollable weeping.

George and Lorraine looked at each other and as soon as their backs were turned again, Marty crept silently out of the door. After closing it quietly behind him and running around the side of the house, slipping occasionally, he couldn't help but giggle at his own cunning. His parents came out a few seconds later, looking around puzzled.

"Where the hell did he get to this time?" George shouted. Lorraine's face was a mix of worry and fury, as she began to run off in the opposite direction. Marty knew the exact place to go, and he was going to run there.

……………………………………………

Marty burst into the hospital, the main doors swinging madly after he had stormed through them. He panted, looking around frightened and worried, where the Hell could she be? He ran over to the receptionist, who gave him a suspicious glance, as if he was likely to shoot her or something.

"Hi…" he said, trying as hard as he could to catch his breath. " Do you know where I could find Jennifer Parker?"

The receptionist hesitated for a breathless second; Marty saw her fingers move fast as lightning after that tense pause. They flew across the desk, sorting through the papers in front of her the way a machine would. She looked through documents that Marty could only recognize as an "in" patients list or something similar. He tapped the desk, steadying his breathing as he waited.

"You want one floor up, she's in room 12," she stated. She gave the boy in front of her a grim look, but it was only a flash and she quickly resumed her work, expecting him to leave her alone.

He shouted something that sounded like "Thank you," but he could hardly breathe all over again.

Quickly turning back after realizing he was going the wrong was he ran back past the reception desk, the receptionist glaring at the back of him, no doubt, up the stairs and along the corridor. The pounding of his trainers against the squeaking surface, freshly cleaned, was loud and threatening. He spotted the room number and skidded to a halt outside, pressing his face up against the small window, making smudges and water vapor appear on the glass.

"Jen," he whispered, his voice stopped abruptly in his throat and he felt tears brimming in his eyes.

"Oh god, not again," he said, slapping himself around the face. He opened the door slowly and brushed his head around it. There she was, lying there, obviously unconscious.

He walked solemnly over to her, not caring if he wasn't allowed in there, or if she had some deadly infectious disease, he just had to see her. He sat down on the available chair next to her bed and sat there in a deathly silence which seemed to last forever. At last he decided to speak, sputtering slightly and smiling at himself.

"Jen," he began. "I'm really sorry. It's my entire fault; you of all people know that." He laughed dryly to himself. "It's all turned out horribly really hasn't it? I mean, I never imagined that this would happen. It's so stupid really."

He felt like an idiot, he knew she couldn't hear him, and yet a part of him wanted her to.

Suddenly, he jumped up in shock. Blood seeped through the sheet, as Marty panicked. Jennifer's eyes snapped open and she gasped for breath.

"Holy shit!" Marty screamed, running towards the door and calling down the corridor for help. As if out of nowhere, two doctors came running towards the room, shoving him out of the way and onto the floor.

He watched in horror as Jennifer's body began to spasm, going out of control, until suddenly, she stopped.

"What the hell's going on?" Marty shouted, sweat was dripping off his face and running down his cheeks like tears.

"She's… gone, I'm afraid," one Doctor said with a sigh.

"What?!" Marty yelled.

"She's dead."