Author's Note: This is sequel to Marty Wept. I just edited this story, to make it more trilogy compliant.
November 13, 1955
7:30 PM PST
Today was the day after the major storm that caused the clock on the clock tower to stop running. After Marty gave Doc a little scare, he finally handed the letter that the older Doc from 1985 to Doc's younger self in 1955. Doc started reading that letter to Marty.
"Dear Marty," Doc was reading, "If my calculations are correct, you will receive this letter immediately after you saw the DeLorean struck by lightning. First, let me assure you that I am alive and well. I have been living happily these past eight months in the year 1885. The lightning bolt that hit the DeLorean caused a gigawatt overload which scrambled the time circuits, activated the flux capacitor, and sent me back to 1885. The overload shorted out the time circuits and destroyed the flying circuits. Unfortunately, the car will never fly again," Then turning to Marty, Doc asked, 'It actually flew?"
"Yeah, well, you had a hover conversion done in the early 21st century," Marty explained.
"Incredible!" exclaimed Doc. Turning back to the letter, Doc continued, "I set myself up as a blacksmith as a front, while I attempted to repair the damage to the time circuits. Unfortunately, this proved impossible - because suitable replacement parts will not be invented until 1947. However, I've gotten quite adept at shoeing horses and fixing wagons!"
Doc then turned to Marty, and he gasped, "1885! Amazing. I actually end up as a blacksmith in the Old West."
"Pretty heavy, huh?" asked Marty, as he was still shocked by that discovery of Doc.
Doc turned back to the letter, and continued, "I have buried the DeLorean in the Del Gato mine adjacent to the old Boot Hill Cemetery - as shown on the enclosed map. Hopefully, it will remain undisturbed and preserved until you uncover it in 1955. Inside, you will find repair instructions. My 1955 counterpart - that's me - should have no problem repairing it so you can drive it back to the future. Once you have returned to 1985, destroy the time machine." Then turning to Marty, Doc asked, "Destroy it?"
"Yeah, well, it's a long story, Doc," replied Marty, as he was still in a daze.
"Do not," Doc continued, as he was reading the letter, "I repeat, do not attempt to come back here to get me. I am perfectly happy living in the fresh air and wide open spaces, and I fear that unnecessary time travel only risks further disruption of the space-time continuum. And please take care of... Einstein for me." Doc then turned to Marty, and asked, "Einstein?"
"He's your dog, Doc," Marty explained. "Einstein, it's what you call your dog in 1985."
Marty was still trying to digest what was said in 1985 Doc's letter. Marty walked over to a chess set, which Copernicus was sitting in front of, and moved a piece.
Doc smirked at the mention of Einstein and continued reading, "I know you will give him a good home. Remember to walk him twice a day and that he only likes canned dog food. These are my wishes. Please respect them and follow them. And so, Marty, I now say farewell and wish you godspeed. You've been a good, kind, and loyal friend to me and you made a real difference in my life. I will always treasure our relationship, and will think on you with fond memories, warm feelings and a special place in my heart. Your friend in time, Doc Emmett L. Brown." Then Doc turned to Marty - and, with tears in his eyes, he added, "This says September 1st, 1885. I never knew I could write anything so touching."
"I know, I know, Doc," replied Marty, swallowing hard, to keep from crying, "it's beautiful."
Copernicius started to whine. Doc came up to him and said, "Oh, it's all right, Copernicus! Everything's going to be fine."
"I'm sorry, Doc," moaned Marty, trying with all of his might to not cry. "It's all my fault you're stuck back there. I never should've let Biff get to me."
"There are plenty worse places to be than the Old West," replied Doc. "I could've ended up in the Dark Ages. They probably would've burned me at the stake as a heretic or something. Let's look at the map. It says here the time vehicle is buried here in a side tunnel. We may have to blast."
After Marty sat on the couch with Doc, Doc hugged Marty. That did it! Marty began to cry, as he buried his face in Doc's shoulder.
"Oh, Marty," murmured Doc, holding Marty close. He began to rock Marty back and forth. As nice as that felt, Marty half wished that Doc didn't touch him to tenderly. Marty really hated crying, as it embarrassed him. Here he was, seventeen years old - and Doc was rocking him back and forth, like a little child. "Just let it all out," Doc whispered, softly.
There we go, again, thought Marty, despairingly. He had to admit, though, that it did feel good to cry. Besides, Doc of this era probably didn't get too many opportunities, if any, to comfort a crying friend like that. Marty decided just let himself cry freely, knowing that it would ultimately make him feel cleansed and refreshed.
Doc himself was blinking back tears. I must be strong, for Marty, thought Doc.
After about half an hour, Marty's sobs have finally subsided. He then ran to the bathroom, to grab a roll of toilet paper, and handed it to Marty.
"Feel all better, now?" Doc asked, softly.
"Yeah, yeah, I feel much better, Doc," Marty stammered. "I'm sorry, Doc. I was trying really hard to not cry."
"Oh, no, no, no - don't be sorry, Marty!" Doc protested. "I must say that I really am touched to know that you care so deeply about me. Honestly, Marty, I don't know of anyone in this current era who cares so deeply for me, as you do."
"Wh-what?" stammered Marty, confused. "Don't you have any friends?"
"Well, no, I wouldn't quite say that," replied Doc. "I have a few friendly aquaintences. It's just that, I don't think they would care so deeply for me - that they would really cry over the possibility to losing me."
"Maybe they just don't believe in crying," suggested Marty, blushing. "I'm such a crybaby. I feel so embarrassed about letting loose like that on you."
"No, no, Marty! Don't say that!" protested Doc. "Look Marty, you are not a crybaby! You are just a very sensitive young man who cares real deeply about people you are real close to." Holding Marty close to him, Doc added, "It's a very admirable trait to have in you, Marty. Believe me, I wish I knew other people who are as sensitive as you. But, no, I guess the guys of my generation get brought up, being told that 'big boys don't cry'. Marty, I absolutely disagree with that whole 'big boys don't cry' mantra. Crying is a very healthy way of releasing emotion. I mean, think, Marty, why do you suppose God even gave us the ability to cry - if we aren't meant to cry."
"Thanks, Doc," Marty replied, digesting everything Doc had told him. "You are totally right, Doc. You really are the doc, Doc."
"Oh, that's not a problem at all," replied Doc. "I suppose we should make some lunch, now, eh, Marty?"
"For sure!" replied Marty, as managed a small smile.
"For sure?" Doc asked, confused.
"That means 'definitely', Doc," Marty explained to Doc, smiling.
"So, how would would feel about some chicken sandwiches and a Pepsi?" said Doc.
"Sounds awesome, Doc," replied Marty, as he gave Doc another hug.
Awesome? Doc thought, confused. Oh, yeah, I guess that's some slang from the 1980s. Doc then went into the kitchen, to make the sandwiches.