towerofanimus | (no subject)

Who: Marty and open (if you don't mind the freezing snowy outside)
Where: Floor 35
When: Evening
What: Fallout isn't just physical.
Warnings: Uh, this is depressing. Serious downer under the cut.

Today, Marty was standing at the edge of the fishing lake, staring at the water with his hands in his pockets. He sort of had to because it was getting colder every day and the last thing he wanted was frost bite. Just hiding them under the cowboy poncho he wore over the 2015 self drying jacket wasn't quite enough right now.

Today, staring at the water was the only way he could even remotely feel calm. After everything that had happened, he wanted to rampage. To break something, anything. To have enough power to break into the restricted levels and demand those people bring back everything he had known.

What kinda life was this? He had seen the future. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to grow up, get a job, marry Jennifer and have two kids. Maybe even a dog. Doc was supposed to marry Clara and have Jules and Verne (so Doc said but Marty hadn't quite gotten to that point when he'd been ripped out of the universe.)

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Watching the water, snow falling slowly, was the only thing that could keep him steady.

When monsters roamed freely.

When they lived in what could only be one of H. P. Lovecraft's Eldritch abominations.

When people died and came back.

When oatmeal was the meal of choice.

He was starting to feel like a rag doll someone had constructed and given memories just so they'd have a more interesting play thing. Like he didn't have a life of his own, just living someone else's.

Had any of it even been real? His life, his childhood. Setting the carpet on fire... Jennifer. It'd been real, right? Love had been real? Family, and pets?

Doc Brown was here. That was the one constant since this whole thing began. It was a small comfort.

No, he wouldn't cry. Not after everything he had gone through. There was still... just so much work to be done. He couldn't stop now.

"Fucking hell." It came out as a shivery, gasping sob. He still wasn't crying. At least that's one thing he could hang on to.

Even if he stared at it all night and froze to death, he would just wake up again.

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Only taking a second to glance over, Marty wasn't sure what to do or say with the newcomer. He was less likely to curse again. It was something he did because he thought he was alone. The last thing he wanted was for Doc to see him like this, or it to get back to him.

Enoch hadn't expected the face that belonged to the distressed person to be a familiar one. Or, rather, one he'd seen once before. He was good with faces.

"...This tower wears on all of us."

"Wears?" The word came out harsh, with incredulity tinging it. He dropped his head and sighed. "Grinding seems better..."

Enoch turned a little to face Marty and leaned in a bit, to seem more open without giving up the warmth of his raised hood and closed cloak. "...Will talking help?"

Slowly, he shook his head. He didn't know what would, to be honest, but feelings were often unpredictable.

"I don't know what to do. It just feels like we're ants trying to take down a mountain."

Edited 2012-12-10 00:43 (UTC)

He made a small noise of affirmation, and was quiet for a while. It was the same sort of feeling he'd had after October, after all. The feeling that nothing they did or that happened could go right.

"I know. And I know it won't seem like much, but...we can survive."

"Yeah, but what kinda life is that? I changed the timeline, so everyone would have a better life... now it's like, everything's gone, so what was it for? What's any of this for?" Marty's voice was quiet, calm, but it was the kind that warned of a storm coming, though not fully formed.

He looked up then, into the snow dropping down, and sighed. Everything that happened, was it for a reason? Was there something he was supposed to do?

"Dax is earnestly trying to restore our worlds. Our efforts at home will not be in vain. We only need to bide our time, and act when it becomes possible to do so."

Enoch shifted, letting go of the warmth trapped beneath his cloak to put a hand on Marty's shoulder. "Everything will be fine. Let despair pass, and keep your eyes open. We will find a way."

"Yeah, but how do we know that? I mean he could be lying. We'd never know." But the hand helped a bit, and he sighed, quietly gathering back his shattered feelings. "We don't know anything for sure. I dunno... this is too heavy. Nothing feels right anymore."

"Dax doesn't strike me as a liar." Enoch let out a long, quiet breath, visible in the air. "...But I know the feeling. And the best way to overcome it is to not... ...not be alone. Stay close to trusted friends, and share your troubles."

As reluctant to admit it as he was, he finally nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes a guy just needs to be alone for a while, too, you know? But I guess there's bad times to be alone."

"When coming to decisions, when thinking on certain matters...I'll say, yes, it's best to be alone for this. But not when your heart is heavy with worry."

Enoch would rather not be alone at all. Maybe some time to himself every now and then but he wouldn't begrudge any interruptions.