When the Clock Strikes Twelve

::15::

   The heartbroken Doctor Emmett Brown walked into the saloon, only half paying attention to those surrounding him. He walked towards the bar.

"Emmett. What can I get you, the usual?" The bartender asked.

"No, Chester, I'm gonna need something a lot stronger than that tonight," Doc replied.

"Sarsaparilla?" He questioned.

"Whiskey, Chester," Doc said.

"Whiskey? Emmett, are you sure? You know what happened to you on the Fourth of July."

"Whiskey," Doc replied, ignoring any and all warning signs.

"Okay. I ain't your papa. I just don't wanna see you do the wrong thing," Chester said, pouring the liquid into a small cup.

"And you can leave the bottle," Doc said, picking up the shot glass.

"It's a woman. Right?" A man near them asked. "I knew it. I have seen that look on a man's face a thousand times all across the country. All I can tell you, friend, is you'll get over her."

"Nope. Clara was one in a million," Doc said. "One in a billion. One in a googolplex. The woman of my dreams, and I lost her for all time."

   "Well, I can assure you, sir, there are other women. If peddling this barbed wire all across the country has taught me one thing for certain, it's that you never know what the future might bring."

   "Well, the future. Oh, I can tell you about the future," Doc replied.

   The next morning, Marty and Rosie woke up to the smell of smoke from the fire, that had burned out, and the sound of a horse neighing.

   "Good morning," Rosie said to Marty.

   "Good morning," Marty replied, kissing her temple. He could get used to waking up to his girlfriend. Preferably in a bed. He sat up from his sleeping position, stretching. "What time is it, Doc?" They turned around, expecting an answer.

   "Oh no," Rosie said.

   "Doc!" Marty called out.

   "Oh my god. We have to get out of here before Tannen finds you," Rosie said in a panicked voice. Marty took the picture out of his pocket, seeing the words written across the tombstone.

   "We have to go get him," Marty said. He grabbed a saddle and tossed it onto the horse, clipping it together. He helped lift Rosie onto the horse, then hopped on himself. Little did they know that Buford Tannen was already preparing.

   The men in the saloon listened to Doc as he held the cup of whiskey, not understanding a word of what he was saying.

   "And in the future, we don't need horses. We have motorized carriages called automobiles," Doc said. The men laughed, not believing a word of what this crazy man said.

   "If everybody's got one of these auto-whatsits, does anybody walk or run anymore?" Someone asked.

   "Of course we run, but for recreation, for fun," he replied.

   "Run for fun? What the hell kind of fun is that?" The man questioned.

   Marty hopped off of the horse, lifting Rosie off by her waist, setting her down. He ran into Doc's place through the stable doors.

   "Doc! Doc are you in here?" Rosie yelled.

   "He's not here," Marty said in a stressed tone. Rosie looked behind him, and he turned around.

   "The saloon!" They yelled at the same time. They ran into the building, hoping to find their friend.

   "How much has he has?" A curious bystander asked, pointing at the Doc.

   "None. That's the first one. He hadn't touched it yet," Chester replied.

   Marty and Rosie ran through the swinging doors, bolting towards the Doc.

   "Doc! Doc! What are you doin'?" Marty asked.

   "I've lost her, kids. There's nothing left for me here,"'Doc said.

   "Alright, that's why you gotta come back with us," Marty begged.

   "Where?" Doc asked.

   "Back to the future!" Rosie and Marty exclaimed together. Rosie anxiously glanced between the doors and her friends.

   "Right! Let's get going!" Doc exclaimed.

   "Great," Marty said.

   "Gentlemen, excuse me, but my friends and I have to catch a train," Doc said.

   "Here's to ya, blacksmith," a man cheered. "And to the future." "Amen."

   "Amen!"

   "Emmett, no!" The bartender exclaimed, but it was too late. The Doc chugged the small glass of whiskey, and immediately passed out. He fell onto a table, causing it to break, then fell to the ground.

   "Doc! Doc!" The two teenagers exclaimed. Rosie tossed the table top off of his body as Marty rolled him onto his back, shards of glass surrounding him.

   "Come on, Doc, wake up. Wake up, Doc!" Marty exclaimed.

   "Hey Doc. You gotta wake up," Rosie begged, emotions running high. She then looked up to see the bartender. "How many did he have?"

"Just the one," he replied.

"Just the one?" Marty asked, before turning back to his friend. "Come on Doc."

"There's a fella that cant hold his liquor," the bartender said.

"Get me some coffee, black," Marty said.

"Joey! Coffee!"

They then heard the clock tower ring.

"Marty coffee isn't gonna do it. We need something stronger," Rosie said.

"Any suggestions?" Marty asked her, worry evident in his tone. The bartender then stood up.

"Joey! Let's make some wake-up juice," he said. They threw together a concoction in a hurry.

"Come on, Doc, snap out of it," Marty said.

"We need to get Marty outta here," Rosie said.

"In about ten minutes, he's gonna be as sober as a priest on Sunday," the bartender said confidently. Marty and Rosie looked out the window quickly.

"Ten minutes!" They said at the same time, then looked at each other.

   "Why do we have to cut these things so damn close?" Rosie asked. Marty shook his head.

   "We need to break the habit," he replied.

   "Here, stick this clothespin on his nose," the bartender said, handing Rosie the small object. She did as told. "And when he opens up his mouth, go ahead and pour it on down his gullet. Oh, and stand back."

   Marty set a funnel in his mouth, pouring the disgusting looking liquid down his throat. The Doc opened his eyes, and jumped to his feet, nearly knocking Rosie over. He ran out the doors, screaming loudly. He dunked his head in a bowl of water, being followed closely behind by his friends. They pulled him out of the water quickly.

   "He's still out!" Marty exclaimed, holding onto the unconscious body.

   "Oh, that? That was just a reflex action. It's gonna take a few more minutes for the stuff to really clear up his head," the bartender explained.

   "Perfect," Rosie replied in a frustrated tone. This day was not going as planned.