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The ride back to 1986 was relatively peaceful. Aside from the telltale sounds of time travel, the two occupants of the Delorean rode in silence through the time stream. Emmett didn’t mind. It was certainly preferable to the chaos and panic there had been only a few hours ago. He was sure Marty didn’t mind either, as he could barely begin to imagine what he’s gone through. He had a sneaking suspicion that the boy hadn't told him everything, as far from it as possible actually, leaving him to go off of his memories from 50 years ago to try and figure out what he missed. He knew logically he couldn’t, but there were some times that Emmett really wished he could retain the memories of his alternate selves every time he was written over. Lord knows it would make it easier on the kid.
Speaking of, if Emmett didn’t know better he might’ve assumed the kid was dead by the time the Delorean rolled to a stop with how quiet he was being. Normally Marty seemed like an endless source of energy, buzzing with whatever new task was at hand whether it be getting his parents together or encouraging a teenage Emmett to pursue science. Truly, Emmett had to wonder sometimes how the kid did it. Time travel was, as they had both learned, no easy feat. Oftentimes it felt like one simply didn’t have enough time (ironic, isn’t it?). He can remember barely sleeping back in the 50s on the two occasions where Marty had appeared in search of his help, what with the time limit he had placed on him the first time and the whole tombstone situation. At least, though, he can remember Marty sleeping back then. Back in the 30s? Sure, his memory is fuzzy after 50 years but even then he’s not sure he can remember ever meeting Marty and seeing him not actively running around. Maybe that was why when Emmett turned to the teen and found him sleeping - in arguably the weirdest position, mind you - he wasn’t all too shocked.
It also might’ve subconsciously been why he set them to come back at night. Whether it having been his own experience time traveling or the lack of spark in Marty’s eyes when they retreated to the Delorean for the last time in the 30s that encouraged him to leave enough time for the boy to fully sleep was up for debate, but it didn’t change the fact that he had punched in May 14th, 1986, 9:30 pm rather than, say, May 15th, 1986, 4:00 pm when selecting a destination time. They had returned, as unscathed as their usual time travel troubles could leave a person, and now had plenty of time to catch up on missed sleep. That was the plan, anyway, as he turned the Delorean down the driveway of the Brown residence.
Backing the Delorean into its designated spot beside the time train was as simple as ever, despite the sheer amount of clutter that littered the barn. It seemed that no matter where or when, any garage-like-space owned or occupied by Emmett L. Brown was doomed to find itself cluttered with a plethora of things. He can practically hear his father nagging at him for the absolute disaster their basement was because of him at the thought. Funny, he can think of a time where such a memory would’ve filled him with nothing but dread and disappointment. Now, though, he’s able to look back on it and laugh. How much of that was he to thank Marty for? Without him at the expo, what would his father’s and his relationship have looked like? Ah, best not dwell on it.
With the time circuits and Delorean off Emmett took a moment to breathe. If there had to be one thing he preferred about the Brown farm over the garage, it might just be the silence. There was something so nice about not hearing a car roar past in the middle of the night or a rowdy group deciding to make their night everyone’s problem. Yes, the silence at night was certainly a positive. That, and the lack of kids vandalizing the doors every week. He quite enjoyed no longer having “cover/remove spray paint” on his list of weekly chores, thank you very much.
His moment of tranquility was broken by the sound of rustling fabric, drawing his attention to the seat next to him. In the passenger seat, Marty seemed determined to further contort himself like some sort of human pretzel (seriously, the human body should not bend like that. How on earth does he find such positions comfortable??). Despite his odd position, the boy seemed content to continue sleeping. His expression seemed relaxed for the first time since Emmett had returned to meet him in 1931, mouth slightly ajar and face smushed against the seat of the Delorean. He seemed peaceful, a recent development that Emmett had no intention of breaking as he opened the driver door to step out of the vehicle. He was as quiet as he could be from the time he closed the driver door to the time he had made it around to open the passenger one. Marty barely reacted to the movement, only slightly stirring when Emmett shifted him into a more holdable position than the…advanced yoga contortion he had previously settled into. He paused, only for a second to make sure Marty wouldn’t wake. The teen shuffled in his arms, weakly smacking at Emmett’s chest in his sleep.
”Marty?” The name was spoken softly with the goal to not wake the boy, given that he wasn’t already awake. Upon hearing his name the teen lifted his head, eyes fluttering open only to squint at Emmett for a few seconds before his head dropped again.
”Th’ 30s suck.” The statement, although 90% mumbled and further muffled by the fabric of Emmett’s coat, only served to make the scientist laugh. It was good to see that even while half asleep Marty was more than capable of his strong judgments of every year that wasn’t 1986.
“The 30s only suck when you spend your time there running from the mob and committing crime after crime, my boy,” Emmett mused as he closed and locked up the Delorean, starting their journey to the house.
“Ah yeh, m’ horrible cr’mes,” Marty grumbled, shifting again, “like harassment.”
”Harassment is a federal crime, Mr. Corleone.” The words tumbled from Emmett’s lips before he could think twice, an old memory of himself and “Michael Corleone” (really, Marty, you couldn’t have come up with a more clever name by now?) playing in the back of his mind. Marty groaned, further burying his head into Emmett’s lab coat for the remainder of the walk.
By the time Emmett made it inside, Marty was once again entirely dead to the world. Einstein had met the two at the door, circling around them yet making no sound. Always a smart dog, Einstein. All of his canine companions were. Only a minute after Einstein had, Clara rounded the corner as well to join the small welcoming party at the door. The sight of the two familiar faces, no matter how tired either of them looked, cemented a warm smile on her face.
”Just a quick trip to the 30s, hmm?” She hummed, raising an eyebrow,
“Things…may have gone a little off course,” Emmett chuckled as he nudged the door closed behind him.
“Of course they did.” With a fond sigh Clara pressed a soft kiss to her husband’s cheek, leaving him to put their practically-adopted son in a proper bed. They’d discuss the events of the duo’s most recent adventure in the morning, she was sure.
Emmett wasted no time making his way to the guest room, which at this point might as well have just been Marty’s by now. The kid seemed plenty content to settle down into an actual bed, rather than a car seat or uneven arms, as he wasted no time once he was deposited onto the mattress to once again contort into a position Emmett was convinced only a teenage boy could find comfortable. Despite having closed the door behind him upon entry, Einstein seemed determined to follow his human friends into the room. Before long the fluffy companion was hopping onto the bed beside Marty, curling up beneath the boy’s arm. Emmett might have told Einstein to leave Marty alone, had the boy not looked so happy to have the dog there beside him even in sleep.
“Sleep well, Future Boy,” Emmett hummed, a small smile tugging at his lips. Gently, he ruffled Marty’s hair, making the already existing disaster arguably worse. It didn’t matter, Marty would fix it in the morning anyway. A small sound, one almost mistakable for the light breeze outside, caught his ear.
“G’Night Doc.”
With the click of a doorknob the Brown household fell to silence. It would remain that way until the sun arose, with it rising the scientist. His family would follow, one by one. Finally, Marty would find consciousness returned to him. He would wake up, back in his preferred year of 1986, most likely with Jules and Verne poking at him in an attempt to rouse him before he “slept the morning away.” He’d laugh, letting himself be dragged along by the two, enjoying the peace before it would be inevitably broken by something. Oh well, he’d take what he could get for now. The universe would continue to throw all the time travel bullshit at him that it wanted, he couldn’t stop it and frankly it didn’t matter. So long as he wasn’t alone he was sure he could handle it.
Although a moment to nap here and there would still be nice.