Hey Backies! What's up? I found this buried deep in my computer and wrangled it free, so here you go, recovered fic :) I hope you enjoy!

When he woke, he immediately knew he was sick.

His throat felt like broken glass, his eyes were watery and his eyelids heavy, and he could barely breathe. It felt as though someone was sitting atop his chest, and he rolled over onto his back hoping it would help. It didn't.

He threw his head back to check the time- before even when his alarm would go off for school he'd woken, that was how uncomfortable he'd been. Sighing soundlessly and trying his best to find another semi-comfortable position to fall asleep in, he closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth, wheezing as his lungs expanded with air and coughing at the resulting tickle. Letting out a shuddering breath and wrapping himself up into his covers, he shivered against the air, sniffing.

After an immeasurable amount of time he began to drift off again, blinking heavily and settling back into the warmth of his mattress.

His eyes snapped open as the image of holes in Doc's chest burned behind his eyes, gasping. He felt much, much worse, coughing shallowly and wheezing in a breath. Cracking his eyes open, he vaguely saw the sun through the curtains drawn tightly over the window, and blinked himself awake in a panic. He was late for school again and he was so going to get it from Strickland-

He threw the covers off and immediately began to tremble from the cold, but he grit his teeth and stubbornly swung his feet over the edge of his bed, going to stand. Soft hands landed on his shoulders and guided him back down, and he gasped and squinted, trying to see in the darkness. There was a familiar silhouette…

"Mom?" He rasped, his voice gravelly, "Mom, is-is that you?"

A hand stroked his cheek and a cool cloth was laid on his forehead, soothing the pounding in his temple. He settled again, rubbing at his gummied eyes slightly.

"Shhh...You've been out for nearly three hours now."

He moaned a little as his stomach tossed, turning onto his side. The cloth was readjusted on his forehead, and cool fingers slid into his hair. "Had a nightmare," he murmured. "Don't feel good."

"Aw Marty, I know. But it's alright. You're home, safe and sound."

The lump that formed in his throat was not from his sickness because he wasn't not home, not really, and he wasn't with his parents- this wasn't his real mom, this was the mom he'd accidentally created, and at that moment he missed his real mother so much it ached deep in his chest and he turned away, tears burning in his eyes.

"I need to go to school," he said, and was immensely relieved to find his voice level despite his clogged nose, "if I don't Strickland will have my head." On a pike. On display. In the trophy cabinet in the school.

His mother (not his real mother, never his real mother) tisked. "Now Marty, you know that's not true. Strickland likes you, remember? He and your father got along well when he attended. You're one of the only people Strickland tolerates."

No, he didn't remember, not really. Everything had changed, and he was having trouble keeping up and remembering how to act and who to be and how to be who he was meant to act like. He was struggling to keep up with the inside jokes he didn't understand, and Dave and he's strangely close relationship, and how his father was now big and successful and known and respected by people in Hill Valley.

After the glamour of his new car and his nice house and fancy belongings wore off, Marty found himself wishing for his old family. These people looked like them, sounded like them, and sometimes talked like them, but they weren't the same. His mother no longer drank, but she wasn't home all the time either, and she had a new outlook on life that confused and made Marty uneasy.

Dave was successful and was the executive of his own company, and his sister had so many boys hanging from her arms that it made Marty dizzy. His dad was famous and Biff, Biff Tannen, worked for him instead of the other way around. His dad was arrogant and confident, and Marty sometimes wished for the wise but timid old man he'd come to know.

There's something strange and slightly frightening after you realize that you and your parents are relatable, and Marty had wondered why he'd never managed to make the same connection with his own pop before he'd gone back in time. They were both alike in different ways- George with his writing and Marty with his music, but the concept was the same. He'd almost looked forward to asking his dad about how his writing had gone, or maybe if, somehow, George McFly still wrote.

But now, well, that opportunity was gone for good, because he'd gone and mucked it up. He'd never ask his dad if he kept writing, never really bicker with Dave over something ridiculous again, never see his sister with her curlers in her hair at the dinner table because she had a stylist that did that for her now. His mother didn't even have alcohol in the house anymore, and she was thin because of it, and even this change was scary and made Marty uncomfortable.

Everything was wrong. His whole life was a lie.

What the scariest part was though was that Marty remembered bits and pieces from this life; he remembered some of the trips that his family would talk about, began to understand some of the inside jokes and remembered being apart of when he hadn't been. The scary part was that he was almost beginning to get used to this life, whatever it was, and he was afraid that if he got too used to it he'd forget all about his real one.

It seemed like a betrayal to his own family if he started really knowing this one, in a way, like if he began to form relationships he'd forget about his old ones. He just wanted to go home, even if that meant his dad was a wimp and his mom was a drinker and his sister and brother weren't all that successful. It was home.

"Marty dear? Is something wrong?" His mother asked, smoothing back his hair again, and it took a lot of willpower not to flinch away. Yes, everything's all wrong, he wanted to say, but he pursed his lips and shook his head. "Are you sure? You've been acting...different lately," she said gently, and he turned his face away, closing his eyes.

He let out a shaky breath, his chin trembling, and he grit his teeth as he forced back tears. Be a man, McFly, he barked at himself. Jesus, you get a little cold and all of a sudden you're acting like a child? You're a grown up, and grown ups don't cry. Man up, will ya?!

"I'm fine," he said, and his voice was steady, and Lorraine sighed.

"Alright, but I'm always here, Marty, whenever you need me."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, Mom, I kno-" he sat up, hacking into his elbow, his eyes screwed shut against the pain flaring in his chest. A hand began rubbing circles on his back, and he didn't care at the moment who it belonged to, it was helping.

"Breathe, Marty, come on sweetie," his mom soothed and Marty wasn't sure whether or not to feel sick or reassured. "It's alright, Marty."
And God, why were his eyes burning? Why couldn't she understand that nothing was alright, nothing was alright since he'd gotten back?! Nothing was going right because nothing was right; the whole damn universe was screwed up because of that stupid DeLorean. And that stupid almanac. And that stupid, stupid dance.

"This is so messed up," he murmured, and his mother tisked, smoothing back his hair again.

"Oh honey," his mom sighed. "You've been acting different lately. But baby I want you to know that if you have anything you need to talk about, you can always come to me. You know that, don't you?"

Marty didn't answer.

"You know that, don't you?" His mother repeated, and Marty nodded, unable to meet the foreign woman's eyes. He turned his face away and shifted to he was on his side, facing the wall, and although his chest and body screamed in protest he needed the protection of a shielded face.

There was still a hand rubbing circles on his back, and it was comforting, if not a still a little unnerving.

He swore later to himself that the next part was what unraveled him, it was so familiar and heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once because he'd never hear it from his real mom, never again, but this strange copy knew it, knew what was theirs, and maybe it proved something a little in his heart that he could love this woman, too.

"You are my sunshine...my only sunshine…"
Tears finally rolled across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, plopping onto the pillow.

"My only sunshine…"

His mom always sang it to him when he wasn't feeling well. Whether she was drinking or smoking or anything, she still came to sing it. Every time.

"You make me happy...when skies are grey."

God, he used to love it. It made him feel special. He had his own song that his siblings didn't get to hear, ever. They had their own songs, and he got the Sunshine Song.

"You'll never know dear, how much I love you…"

Oh, he missed his mom.

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

He considered seriously for a minute rolling over and showing his mother his face, the fact he was crying and the fact that he needed comfort, but he couldn't, physically couldn't, not this, anything but show her what a wimp he was. He'd been through time, survived, through time again and back twice and he was fine, so why was this making him fall apart?

"I love you, Marty," his mother said, her face completely serious and her eyes genuine. "No matter who you are, or where you're from." There was a pause. "Or when."

And before Marty could really say anything in response, she kissed his forehead and stood, leaving the room.

And maybe he misses his real mom, and maybe he'll never get her back. Not really.

But he figures that the one he got isn't so bad, after all.

Thanks for reading, please leave me a comment, and I hope you enjoyed! How was characterization?