Ps. I own nothing. Duh :P

Authors Note

Here it is my lovelies!!! THE END! The third and final installment of the "I'll Stop the World" series!!!! I know, I know, it took FOREVER to arrive, but that's only because I was so sorry to see it go! :( You must understand, this series has been in my life for the better part of a year. Well, now it is yours, my dears, yours to eat up. I admit that this first chapter is a bit slow, but the pace will pick up from here on out, trust me! I hope you enjoy!

In true BTTF tradition, let us continue where we left off...

1985—Hill Valley

November 25th

3:30 pm

"We've had that at our office for the past…well…hundred years or so," the delivery man said, looking at the letter in complete awe. "We've had a bet going for ages. Some of my coworkers doubted you'd be here, you see. I mean, can't blame them, not with a letter that old. I, however, said you would be here," he stated proudly. "And here you are! And here I go to collect my two hundred and fifty dollars. Have a nice day, Miss."

And he left with a noticeable bounce in his step.

Amelia closed the door and returned to the couch, more baffled than she was before. She sat down next to Marty and placed the letter in her lap, starting at it. Her name was scrawled across the paper in the unmistakable loopy and disjointed handwriting of her father. But what was he doing sending her mail from a hundred years ago?

"Well, open it," Marty prompted.

Amelia gave a little jerk and then ripped the letter open. Her eyes scanned the sentences, gradually widening as she worked her way down the page. Marty sat anxiously next to her, trying and failing to read the reactions on her face.

"Well?" he asked after several painfully slow minutes.

"You're never going to believe this," Amelia said slowly, setting the letter back down on her knees.

"Try me."

Amelia turned to him with eyes round as saucers.

"My father is stuck in 1885."

"WHAT!?" Marty yelled, startling Einstein so much that he leapt to his feet and started barking. "Shut up, Einie. What do you mean he's stuck in 1885?"

"I mean," Amelia said slowly, "my father is stranded one hundred years in the past without any way to get home."

"How?" Marty asked frantically, stunned that she wasn't as worked up about all this as he was, "what happened to the car?"

"Read for yourself," Amelia said, passing him the letter.

Marty took the paper from her and quickly read through it.

"I don't believe this," Marty said, eyes still running across the page, "getting himself stuck in 1885! Did you read why? Listen to this, 'I ran out of fuel earlier than I had anticipated. Apparently the car's gas mileage varies when it is subjected to dimensional changes. Your help would be much appreciated'. How on earth does he expect us to help? He has the car!"

"Keep reading," Amelia prompted coolly. Marty looked at her, he still couldn't believe how well she was taking all this…perhaps she was still reeling in shock.

"'I've buried the car in an abandoned mine shaft'," Marty read on, "'with any luck it will still be there by the time this letter reaches you. Fill it up with gas and come get me. I look forward to seeing you soon, Love, Dad. P.S. Don't forget extra plutonium.'"

"Fairly straightforward, don't you think?" Amelia said when Marty had finished. "That mine shaft he mentioned, I think the mines used to be over by Boot Hill Cemetery. We can go over there after dinner."

"You're taking all this rather well," Marty said incredulously. "Did you not hear part of the problem? Should I read the letter again?"

"No," Amelia said with a frown, "why would you do that?"

"Because I don't feel that you understand what's going on here," said Marty, leaning forward. "Your father is trapped one hundred years in the past."

"Yeah," Amelia said slowly. There was an obvious question mark at the end of the word.

"Amelia! Some emotion would be nice!" Marty exclaimed. Amelia started to chuckle. "Not what I was going for, Aims."

"I'm sorry, Marty," Amelia apologized, "but it's not like we've never time-traveled before. This kind of thing should be routine by now, don't you think?"


"We're only going to pick him up, after all."

"I know, but—"

"And it's not like we have to find another almanac or avoid alternate versions of us. It'll be easy, why work myself up? No big deal, right?"

"I mean…yes…" Marty admitted lamely. "I was just hopin' for a bigger reaction."

A few hours later, the pair, loaded down with equipment, was headed toward the old Boot Hill Cemetery. The cemetery was set at the foot of a hill on the far side of town, well away from anywhere that experienced a heavy flow of traffic. Unkempt and forgotten, Boot Hill was the only great eyesore Hill Valley had. The weeds grew thigh high among the crumbling headstones, and the trash left by teenagers come to blaze up well away from parental supervision was beginning to pile up against the wrought iron fence. The place was a dump, but the determination of the Hill Valley Historical Society kept it from turning into a strip mall.

"Where's this mine?" Marty asked as the two neared the gate to the cemetery.

"We have to cross through there," Amelia said, shining her flashlight at the gate, "the opening to the mine shaft is at the back of the graveyard."

"Super," Marty said flatly.

Amelia looked at him and smirked.

"Scared?" She teased.

"Hardly," Marty snorted quickly, adjusting the knap sack full of tools on his back. "It's just that wading through all those weeds looks like hell."

"Sure," Amelia said with a playful smile.

Marty shot her a look but said nothing.

"Come on, grumpy," Amelia laughed, nudging his arm.

With a swift kick, Amelia opened the cemetery gate. It creaked and moaned in protest but allowed them entrance all the same. Pushing their way through the thick growth of weeds and crab grass, Marty and Amelia hurried across the cemetery to the base of the hill. Nestled among a few overgrown bushes, Marty could see what looked like the entrance to a cave. As they yanked away the brush the mouth of the mine came into better view, black and eerie in the early evening darkness.

"Damn," Marty breathed, stepping back from the mine and gaping at it. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Amelia said, face set in determination. "Let's go."

Flashlights at the ready, Amelia led the way through the entrance of the mine. It was very damp inside and smelled strongly of earth and rotting wood. They could hear the scrambling of tiny feet and Marty could only imagine how many rats were swarming around their feet. He stifled the urge to shine his light on the ground and instead occupied himself with looking for the car.

"You'd think it would just be sitting here waiting for us," Marty said, his voice echoing in the emptiness. "How many places could Doc hide a DeLorean in here?"

"It's probably in a closed off shaft," Amelia said, "look at the walls; see if there's a tunnel that looks caved in."

They shined their flashlights along the muddy walls. For a while it didn't look promising. Then, just as Amelia was beginning to grow frustrated with her father, Marty called out.

"Aims, look here!"

Amelia quickly turned in the direction his light was shining. There, carved into a support beam, were the letters E. B. Amelia's stomach jolted.

"This must be it," she said, hurrying forward.

"The mud is pretty solid here," Marty said, scraping at the caved in tunnel. "We're gonna have to dig it out."

Within fifteen minutes, the two had successfully burrowed through the thick wall of rock and mud and burst into an open tunnel. There, sitting in the middle of the tunnel, covered in a thick layer of dust and rat droppings, was the DeLorean.

"Son of a bitch," Marty breathed, "it's really here."

"Come on," Amelia said, scrambling through the hole they had created, "let's get this thing filled up and out of this mine."

Marty still couldn't believe it. Amelia was right; he really should be more used to these sudden time traveling escapades, but the fact of the matter was that he wasn't and probably would never be. It was just too easy, that was the part that really made Marty feel uncomfortable. Their adventures had never been as simple as picking somebody up, there was always a catch, always something to throw the entire game off balance. Maybe he was just being stupid, but something deep inside him didn't trust the simplicity of the situation. Then again, that same part of him half expected Biff to pop out from behind a headstone and yell "gotcha!".

Amelia is right, Marty thought as he started the car, everything is going to be fine.


The DeLorean roared to life and then fell to purring contentedly, like a pet that had finally found its way home. Marty wiped a thick layer of dust off of the gages and then shifted the car into drive, he could almost hear the gears sigh in relief. Amelia fastened her seatbelt and grasped Marty's free hand. She gave him a nod and Marty pressed down on the gas. The car shot out of the cemetery entrance and sped off down the adjacent road, tires squealing happily. Marty watched the speedometer climb and his insides clenched with the old familiar anticipation. The inside of the car started to get very cold and their seats vibrated violently. Marty pressed down harder on the acceleration. The speedometer needle rose higher.

"Let's get your dad," Marty said, squeezing Amelia's hand.

She smiled at him before pressing her head against the seat and closing her eyes. Take off was never Amelia's favorite part.

The car shook tremendously and the steering wheel went ice cold under Marty's grasp. There was a thunderous crack, a flash of blinding light, and the DeLorean vanished.